Singing the Blues

Hello from the Gateway to the West, soon to be the Gateway to the Best . . . Darn Little Eighth Seed that Dave Checketts’ money could buy. Me, well, I used to be a journalist, but I got too much respect from people I would meet at cocktail parties. So I went to law school, and now I am no longer invited to cocktail parties.

It was a tough choice on the legal sleaze-o-meter, but I ultimately decided not to do criminal defense (no offense, Reasonable) and instead concentrate on representing labor unions and their members. Some might suggest that there is a lot of room for overlap there. But certainly not among any of the fine, law-abiding clients my firm represents.

My team, naturally, is the St. Louis Blues, best known for the Players That Left, the two greatest players in franchise history. Brett Hull and Chris Pronger left town, with their tickets kindly purchased by ownership, and happily won Stanley Cups elsewhere. Otherwise successful, multiple Cup-winning players (Gretzky, Glenn Anderson, Grant Fuhr, Mike Keane, etc.) came to town, mostly to watch their careers die. Doug Weight has the remarkable distinction of wearing both hats, having snuck off for a few months to Carolina two seasons ago, only to come back to ride out the string in St. Louis.

But I’m all about Hope, as you’ll see in my soon-to-come season preview, and in the shameless shilling I will do over the course of the season. (Just wait till those draft picks develop! Keith Tkachuk still has something left! Martin Rucinsky is due for a hot streak! Those seats at the Scottrade Center are NOT empty, they’re just waiting to be full!)

I know no HTML tricks, so there will be no video, unless I get around to learning it. I INSIST upon proper capitalization and spelling, and demand that you call attention to any typographical errors.



  1. Who is Hope? If she’s hot, I’ll be all about her too.

    I’m guessing that Kariya fits into the “watch their careers die” category?

  2. Hope is that town in Arkansas that Bill Clinton pretended to be from. Or that chick from Days of Our Lives who’s always getting hypnotized or going into comas. Or that strange tingly feeling in the pit of your stomach that peaks in October, and turns to sour curds of disappointment in your gut by Christmas. I forget.

  3. Ah St Louis, the team of “oh so close”. I still remember as if it were yesterday watching Wayne Gretzky (the Great One!) give up the puck at center ice in overtime and the series ending goal in our last closest try for the Cup. A fitting end to the euphoria of the Keenan-Pronger-Gretzky era that is as apt a metaphor for the team as any (and there are many). They ain’t named for color of their jerseys!

    I gave up on them after the Laurie sell off and dispatching of Pronger to Cup glory elsewhere (natch!). Your posts just may bring me back.

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