Signs of the Apocalypse
So the Mariners, like the Canucks with Pavel Bure, have decided to honour Ken Griffey Jr. The simpering, sniveling brat who pouted his way out of beautiful Seattle to end up, of all places, in Cincinnati. Now he's all choked up about being honoured by the team that he kicked in the crotch, the winter before A-Fraud had his go as well.
Meanwhile, Jody Shelley, who played 627 NHL games over 11 seasons, scoring 18 goals and 54 points but amassing 1538 penalty minutes has been hired by the Blue Jackets as a "broadcast associate and team ambassador."
So great, another Don Cherry/Mike Milbury (and sadly, I have to admit, Chris Nilan) type to set the tone for the game. Because the fighting-elbowing-crosschecking aspect of old-time hockey is woefully underrepresented in NHL broadcast coverage, with only P.J. Stock and Brad May and Nick Kypreos to advocate for the BloodPound Gang when they cross the line, and explain that "they're not really that kind of player". Nobody ever is.
A thoughtful TSN viewer had this to say: "Now that's a guy that played the game the right way, honestly. It doesn't matter if you are a fourth line peacekeeper or a top line sniper, just bring it every shift. We could use a few more like him in the game. Good luck in your new job from a Bruins fan."