Dancing Queen, Part II

#PlacesOzzieMightSingDancingQueen Part II! I was hoping to post this after his 400th victory, but that's okay. I'll post it for the sake of it being a Monday of a holiday week and everyone needs some lolz to get them through these next few days.

So here it is. Part Two. Where Dancing Queen really gets stuck in your head.



[and as a slight off-topic post-comic note, my take on the game last night - and all I am willing to say on #400 is over here at NHL Hot Stove.]

Dancing Queen Pt. I

#PlacesOzzieMightSingDancingQueen was a hashtag that was around my part of Twitter on Tuesday evening. If you didn't see THIS ARTICLE by Pierre LeBrun, you're really missing out. But for this comic, the article isn't the important part - it's the interview. [But do still read the article because it's awesome.]

Chris Osgood is a [shirtless] representative for ESPN.com and gets to interview Lidstrom. At one point, he asks him the question, "Favorite Swedish golfer [male or female] and favorite ABBA song."

He continues to ramble on and says: "'Cause I love ABBA. 'Dancing Queen' - I used to dance to that nonstop in my early twenties. I don't anymore, obviously..."

Well, he's obviously lying. Because he totally still dances to it nonstop. Here's just a little bit of proof...


[My favorite is definitely the science class frame.]

Many thanks to everyone who pitched in. I'm going to try to get all of your ideas in there. But thanks to @thetinnishflash, @brigid22, @TheTripleDeke, @LolaByTheBay, @bradonweb, @saraneuie, @captnorris5, @sullyosis, @rednuck, @k_lap, @joe55167, @mserven, and @allisonRW96.

Yeah, it was that crazy.

Part II coming soon!

Shadowing Crosby

Us Red Wings fans know that Zetterberg does a hell of a job shadowing Crosby when the Wings/Pens play each other. You know, he poke checks things away, keeps Crosby tied up, and it leaves the guy pointless and maybe even a minus or two in almost every game they play together.

Well, what if Zetterberg kept this up off the ice, too? The results may look something like this.
[You know the deal by now: click to make it bigger.]

I would apologize for the crummy hand-drawn comic, but the tablet computer-drawn comic is pretty much the same quality.

Wings/Montreal

My actual recap of the game will be up over at NHLHotStove.com, but over her you get a mini video blog.

And the point of this is to show you guys what the ladies sitting behind me sounded like with their ridiculous Canadian accents.

As a disclaimer, I absolutely love Canadian accents. I could sit and listen to Chris Osgood talk forever and be completely content. But these ladies were just hilarious because it was like...the stereotypical accent. Also, I honestly like the Habs. Just...not when they're playing the Wings.

Patty Kane Cameo

November was a busy month. Not only was there a lot of epic hockey and a lot of epic hockey encounters, but it was also National Novel Writing Month. This was my fourth attempt at NaNoWriMo, and my third time in a row making it to the 50,000-word goal. If you'd like to look more into what NaNo is, you can look at their website.

My opinion on NaNo: It is hilarious, ridiculous, crack-tastic fun trying to write 1,667 words per day in 30 days for a story. It's 30 days and nights of literary abandon and at the end when you make it to that goal, you feel extremely satisfied. And also drained. I haven't wanted to sit and write since it ended; I finished with a little over 53,000 words in my story, and it is not yet finished.

Summing it up in a nutshell, my novel this year is about the life of an outlaw on the run, and she's on the run for a crime she didn't commit. And the media has given her the uncreative alias of Cassidy Sundance, simply because she used the name Cassidy once. [I swear this gets hockey related...]

But within this month of novel-writing, there are crazy storylines that come out of nowhere. At one point in my story, Cassidy and her sidekick at the time, Jason, get videotaped on Cash Cab. Also, she goes to a Washington Capitals game in DC against the Vancouver Canucks and talks to a Wings fan at the game.

Also, Cassidy has a run in with Patrick Kane. In a taxi cab.

Now, if there are any good-natured Hawks fans reading this blog, I mean no disrespect at all. I swear I'm just poking fun. A special thanks to @alyssa_irl for giving me some background information on Patty Kane as well, since I really don't know much about him outside of the taxi incident.

Background info you need to know for the scene: She's in Chicago [duh]. The Jason mentioned in the narration is her last cohort and he was, for lack of a more appropriate word, a badass. And please remember this is pretty much unedited and crack-tastic.
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She tried not to take taxis, mostly because they were expensive. But leaving a crowded club in what looked to be a bad part of town at three in the morning made Cassidy think twice. She hailed the first taxi she saw, surprised that they stopped when there was a young looking guy in the back seat.

“You sure I can hop in?” Cassidy asked as the guy opened the door and slid across the leather seat to make room for her.

“Yeah, of course, sure, why not?” he replied in a rush, seeming overly elated at Cassidy’s arrival. She got into the taxi and closed the door behind her. In Cassidy’s opinion, he was a scrawny little kid, who looked a little on the dorky side, although she had to admit that his neck and shoulders looked pretty tough. His light brown hair was curly and long, practically a mullet, with several longer locks seeming to wrap around his ears.

“So where are you headed?” he asked. In just these few words, Cassidy got the impression that Jason would have beaten this kid up for simply existing.

“Downtown,” she replied. She wasn’t about to reveal her entire history to this stranger.

“Downtown’s pretty big, hon,” the guy told her. “Care to be more specific?”

She noticed a bit of a slurred edge to his words. Was he drunk? Cassidy shook her head. “Wherever you’re not going,” she told him.

“Oohh.” The guy let out a bark of a laugh. “Nice one, but I betcha you don’t know who I am if you’re saying that…”

Cassidy narrowed her eyes at the boy. Was he supposed to be famous? She certainly had never seen him before and she didn’t really care to find out his name. Well, two could play at that game. “I bet you that you don’t know who I am if you’re being so casual with me.”

He leaned over the invisible barrier between them to ask in a low voice, “You aren’t a cop, are you?” There was a hint of beer on his breath, but it was so faint that Cassidy wasn’t sure if she smelled it or if she was just imagining what she wanted to smell.

“No.”

“Okay good.” He moved back to his seat with a grin on his face. “So you really don’t know me?”

“Nope.”

“Want to see my Stanley Cup ring?” he asked suddenly.

“Your… what?” Cassidy tried to repeat what the guy had said.

“My Stanley Cup ring! For winning the Stanley Cup!” He was holding out his right hand, which had a large diamond-encrusted ring on his third finger; it had an Indian chieftain head in the center with “Stanley Cup” on one side and “Champions” on the other.

“…Impressive,” Cassidy finally said. She didn’t know what to make of it.

“Thanks!” He was grinning at her, looking more like a teenage boy than however old he was. “I’ve got a silver medal from the Olympics, too.”

“…Do you wear it all the time?”

“Just when I think I’ll need it,” he joked. “Tonight, I wasn’t so smart.”

“Too bad,” Cassidy said, sarcasm etched in her tone. “That would have really done the trick.” The guy sat back in his seat and sighed. “So then where are you headed?”

“The United Center,” he replied. “Practice in a bit.”

“Practice for what?”

“The Chicago Blackhawks. This city’s National Hockey League team,” he explained, giving Cassidy an incredulous look. “Are you from out of town or something?”

“Yeah, I’m from Tulsa. I’ve never paid attention to hockey,” she said. “And you do know it’s three in the morning, right? You probably don’t have practice.”

“What?!” he exclaimed. He rifled through his pockets and pulled out his Blackberry. “But Tazer sent me a text that said we had practice! Here!” He held out his phone for Cassidy to read a text. The road was so bumpy that she couldn’t get a good look at the screen, so she just made a noncommittal noise.

“Maybe he’s playing a prank on you?” she suggested.

“Hm… that does sound like him.” The guy sighed and sat back in his seat, looking out the window dejectedly. Cassidy felt a little sorry for him, although she didn't know why. Being pranked seemed perfectly normal for someone his age (or what she assumed was his age; after all, he looked like he was barely sixteen).

"What's your name?" she finally asked, realizing they hadn't exchanged that information.

"Patrick," he told her. "You?"

"Cass," she said. "Nice to meet you, Patrick."

"You, too." He was smiling. "So seriously. Where are you headed?"

"I don't know. I'll just get out wherever you get out."

"Sounds good." Patrick's knees bounced in time with an unheard song. For the remainder of the taxicab ride, they sat in almost complete silence, save for extended moments of small talk. Patrick seemed to be engrossed in nothing but his hockey, and Cassidy couldn't say anything on the subject; likewise, she couldn't tell this random person the truth about her, even if he wouldn't remember the next day since he seemed to be drunk.

"Well, I'm getting out here," Patrick said as the cab pulled up to the United Center.

"You're still getting out here, even if you don't have practice?" Cassidy asked.

"Yeah, there's some good restaurants around this area," he explained. "And I don't live too far away. Actually - " He seemed to be off in his own world. " - Tazer doesn't live too far from here. If he's home, I could get him back..."

Cassidy tried not to roll her eyes at his childishness. Instead, she reached into her bag and started looking for the envelope of money she carried with her at all times. Patrick put a hand on her wrist to stop her.

"No way, Cass," he said, shaking his head. "This cab ride is on me."

"I can't let you do that," Cassidy tried to protest, but Patrick was already handing money to the driver. "Thanks, Patrick... I guess."

"Not a problem." He was grinning at her again.

"Excuse me?" the cab driver said to catch their attention, his Spanish accent thick. "I don't have enough change for you."

"...What?" Patrick asked.

"Your change is twenty-five cents," the driver repeated. "But I have no change on me. Not at this time of night."

"So you're shorting me a quarter?" he said, his voice slowly raising in volume and pitch. "I should kick your ass for that!"

"I'm sorry..." he was trying to explain, but Patrick seemed to be blinded by his rage.

"Geez, you're getting upset over a fucking quarter?" Cassidy exclaimed, causing Patrick to look over at her. She hadn't realized she had sworn at him; apparently Jason's foul mouth had rubbed off on her. "You're a professional athlete and you're upset over a quarter? I mean, come on." He was giving her an incredulous look. She was enjoying poking fun at the guy. "You would really beat up a cab driver over a quarter? That's just stupid. Maybe even career suicide." She didn't know the workings of the sport of hockey, but assumed fighting with a cab driver over a quarter didn't make for a pretty headline.

"I hate to break it to you..." Patrick tried to begin, although Cassidy wasn't listening; she had exited the cab and was already walking down the sidewalk. He was hot on her heels. "Hey, wait a minute!" he called after her as she strode down the street.

"No thanks," she said over her shoulder. "I've got my own plans, Patrick, and they don't involve getting arrested for beating up a cab driver for a quarter. Even I wouldn't do that, and I'm almost at rock bottom."

The running footsteps that had been approaching her suddenly slowed and came to a stop. Cassidy didn't dare look back; she had a feeling Patrick had a sad puppy dog look on his face and she didn't want to be sucked into feeling regret.

"Call me?" he shouted before Cassidy rounded the corner. She just shook her head amusedly and kept on, hoping to find a park of some sort to get some rest in for the evening. Perhaps tomorrow would bring better fortune. And better fortune certainly wasn't in Chicago, Illinois.

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[By the way, having Cassidy call him "Patrick" is just really weird. I'm so used to calling players by their last names.]

Comments? Concerns? General responses?

Happy Thanksgiving

This Red Wings comic is actually from last year, so I suppose I'm cheating, not having drawn one for this year, but too bad.

This is going old school, back before I got a tablet and started doing fancy things, so it's all hand-drawn. And not even colored, because I was lazy.

So if you can recall at this point last year, we had about sixteen of our players injured, including both Kronwall and Franzen. In an article last year in the Free Press, there was the quote of "Johan Franzen plans to cook a turkey for the first time, with or without the help of Niklas Kronwall," that spawned this comic.

I present to you "Cooking Lessons with Johan Franzen and Niklas Kronwall (Thanksgiving Dinner)."


Happy Thanksgiving!

Franzen meets Franzenmuth

There's that saying of "it's not what you know, it's who you know." I firmly support this statement. Tonight is yet another testament of its truth.

As you guys can read in that little heading over on the side, I'm known as the craziest Wings fan at Caribou Coffee. Last year, one of the morning regulars who is a season ticket holder gave me his three tickets to the Season Ticket Holder Open House, where you can skate on the ice, tour the locker room, and get autographs from at least three players. That was perhaps one of the best nights of my life.

This year, he gave me the tickets again. Of course, I brought along my two brothers because otherwise they would kill me. And I mean that literally.

Last year, we were all about skating on the ice. We signed up for the first skate possible and were three of ten people skating at that time. It was awesome.

Our goal this year? Get Nicklas Lidstrom's autograph. Skating could wait until later [and it did]. You're assigned to one of the autograph stations and once they rip your ticket, you can go in the "overflow line" for any other table. How the overflow line works: everyone in the normal line [who has been assigned to that table] goes first, then the overflow line goes. So, in essence, if you're waiting in the overflow line for Datsyuk, you could be waiting for an hour.

There were three chairs at our table when we got in line up in the stands. We all took wagers on who would be there. If I may recall correctly, I guessed Filppula, Salei and...either Bertuzzi or Modano.

The lady in the row in front of us asked the person escorting the rows down where players were. The worker pulled out her list and was showing it. My brother got a good look at it and whispers loudly, "We got Lidstrom!!"

I didn't believe him. At all. Number one, he can't really see [I mean, he can, but he wasn't wearing his glasses] and number two, he's looking at the list from a distance and could be looking at a different section.

Player number one at our station: Dan Cleary

Cleary...doesn't seem to like these events. As you can see, his Blackberry is on the table. While the line was backed up, he started texting on it; he did this same thing at the Detroit Economic Club Luncheon - he was on his Blackberry half the time. So I decided to relieve his boredom and ask, "Hey, how are these things usually?" He looked up, smiled, and said, "They're... they're okay."

That's not exactly reassuring, Dan. And if you're actually reading this, I apologize if I'm making a broad statement about you enjoyment at these things. This is just what I perceive.

Player number two? NICKLAS LIDSTROM.

I was in awe. And, not to sound like a fangirl, but he touched my hand twice. Nicklas Lidstrom, unlike other players, took the puck out of my hand, signed it, and placed it back in my hand rather than sliding it across the table. Nicklas Lidstrom is all class. And he is so nice.

Player number three was Joey MacDonald. The picture didn't turn out of him.

So, having our goal accomplished by sheer luck, we were uncertain of what to do. Who should we try to aim for? Datsyuk? Zetterberg? We scoped out the tables. The ones I remember: Datsyuk, Salei, and Helm were at one, Zetterberg was with Miller, Ozzie, Kindl, Franzen, and Filppula were at one, Ericsson, and Salei were at another, and Bertuzzi, Holmstrom, and Kronwall were at another. We were vaguely tempted to get in Bertuzzi's line, but we met Homer and Kronner at this last year.

It was between Datsyuk and Franzen. We opted for Franzen. Despite having already met Filppula twice and having a signed puck and a signed picture of his goal in Game 2 against Pittsburgh in 2008 and getting a hug from him, I was all for it.

And I brought the Franzenmuth picture that's the header for this blog. This picture I made up two years ago after a typing error when I tried to type Frankenmuth. I sent it to someone at the Detroit News last summer in hopes that he would get a kick out of it/show it to Franzen. Which he did, and Franzen was confused by it because he didn't know Frankenmuth.

That was all going to change. Oh yes indeed. [sorry, I get a little carried away with epic things, hah.]

While in line, I had about four security people ask me about the picture. Two ladies thought it was cool, one guy chuckled, and the guy behind Kindl was thoroughly impressed.

Kindl signed my puck. And then it was on to Franzen. I had my brother take a video to document it.

You can't hear what I say at the beginning very clearly, so here it is:

Me: "I don't know if you remember, but someone from the Detroit News showed you this picture before..."
Franzen: "Yeah!"



For the best part about this video, watch it again. But this time, just watch Filppula in the background. [maybe doubleclick and watch it in Youtube since Filppula probably gets cut off because of this layout.]

Here is the finished result. This will be in its own frame on my desk at home. I still get deked out of my pants looking at this signed photo.
Oh and as a side-note, after I explained it to Kindl, I looked at Franzen and said, "So you have an entire city named after you. I mean, it's fictional, but it's still a city!" And my brother told him he should go to Frankenmuth because "it'll be a good time."

Now, you may or may not know that Filppula is one of my favorite players and has been since 2007 or so. This next part just makes my life complete.

I had Filppula sign my jersey since I don't need another puck. And he kept looking at me with that cute smile and kind of glancing at the Franzenmuth picture since I still had it on the table. So I grinned at him and said, "Do you want to see it, too?" since Kindl was super involved before. He answered yes.

I showed it to him and explained the whole thing. He picked it up, looked at it, read, "Fran-zen-muth," sounding it out in his awesome Finnish accent, and started to giggle. And I mean giggle. He handed it back to me and I was entirely smitten.

We ate our free dinner of a hot dog, chips, and pop, and took pictures of the rest of the players. I stopped and watched Ozzie for a full two minutes. I should have asked for a quick picture - his line was going slow enough, but I didn't want to be a jerk.

We skated out on the ice with about a hundred other people and took pictures at center ice and in the penalty box. We opted not to do the locker room tour because the line was about three-hundred people long.

All in all, an extremely successful evening. This was better than last year's for sure, despite me impressing Kronwall last year with my Kronwall bag.

I am thankful for the people I know who give me opportunities like this. I owe them so much more than they can imagine. Opportunities like this don't come up that often and if I sound as though I come off bragging, I'm really not trying to do that. I just want to share my experience with you awesome hockey fans who will appreciate it.

I shall end this as every post should probably end:

Let's go Red Wings!