Battered in Labatt Blue

I know we haven’t spoken in a long time. Actually, a little more than three years.

Wow, you look like Sean Avery, Jordin Tootoo, and Derek Boogaard ran a train on you great.

I didn’t hear much about you for a year after we broke up. But then I saw you hanging out with a couple of other stations in town: that old network you dated before me and some hotshot. Seriously, those networks? You’d rather hang out with them than a network like me with all the money? No, I’m not just saying that to be nice. I’d like to give this relationship a second chance.

Three years ago, our interests just seemed to conflict. I care about making money, and frankly, you hit a rough spot. Why’d you stop working? Poker never complains; it’s a fucking workhorse. I We get so much money out of fat people delicately lifting two, three, four, five, or seven thin pieces of plastic. And those athletes make so much money in only one day of work! That’s a real fucking sport!

It’s not all your fault, although a lot of it is. Like you not being named “NFL”. If you could just change that second letter in your name, we’d be cool. Do you realize how many suckers would tune in to see you? How much advertising money would that make me us? How many startup sports blogs will pander to you? Maybe if you changed the shape of the puck from a flat cylinder to something like a prolate spheroid, or made a bigger deal about incidents that happen away from the arena, I could create a new hockey show starring Jay Mariotti and Brett Hull.

I’m in love with NASCAR, soccer, X-Games, and lacrosse right now, but that’ll change eventually. Hell, the NBA’s in my doghouse right now. You know how much money it takes to pay Stephen A. Smith and Mark Jackson to yell incoherently at each other? More than Sidney Crosby and Evgeni Malkin combined. I’m seriously considering preempting the NBA Finals for 3 hours of Phil Hellmuth comparing himself to Sisyphus.

So, NHL, please come back. You’ve seen what you’ll lose after ditching me the first time. What? NHL, you better shut the fuck up! You ditched me, remember? Just nod. That’s right. Now get in the fucking house. Joe Morgan needs a sponge bath.