NSFW Recap

Chardougla   8 October 2017

Welp.

I was going to write about how much the Sharks looked bad today, but I got so upset about LA in the GDT that I’m going to devote 90% of this rant to them. First, the PP still sucks donkey dick, at least the PK didn’t behave like a total slut, and losing to LA is the kind of horseshit that puts me in a bad mood even after Wisconsin beats Nebraska in football, and Ohio State in hockey. Thanks a lot, Sharks.

So, if you didn’t know, I hate LA. I’m from the San Francisco Bay Area, and my dad is from San Diego. Sufficed to say, an intense dislike of the “City of Angels” emerged. It’s bar none the most overrated city in the world. Sure, it has beaches, but you know who else has beaches? San Diego. You can drive an hour south, and get just as good, if not better beaches without 90% of the headaches you get in LA. LA is polluted, overcrowded, and the people there are arrogant fucks that like to lecture you about how great LA is. So for the reason that it’s from that city alone is enough to make me bump the Los Angeles Kings up near the top of my shitlist. But that pure and perfect hatred that I carry towards that team, the kind that, whenever I hear their name instantly puts me in a bad mood? That comes from something else. Something far more personal. For that, we have to go back in time, to The Horror.

The year was 2014, and high school aged Chardougla was living his best life. He had finally visited Europe, the Gus Bradley era of the Jaguars was full of optimism (oh you poor fool), and most importantly, the Sharks were badass. Thornton and Marleau were awesome, Brent Burns was a power forward of awesomeness, Dan Boyle was a power play wizard, Niemi was good, Stalock was the goalie of the future, and young Chardougla got to see 10-15 games per year thanks to his dad. Life was good. The playoffs rolled around, and it we were hosting LA. Oh good, Chardougla thought, time to pay those bastards back for the only-home-wins series last year. We have home ice now, this will be fun. Then the first 3 games happen, and it’s like something out of a wet dream. Gpalz after gpalz, and LA looked lost. Young Chardougla was in heaven, he got to give his LA-based goalie coach in lacrosse all kinds of shit about how awful the Kings looked and oh, I thought Jonathan Quick was supposed to be a good goalie? LAWLZ-ow coach why’d you shoot it so hard? Anyways, when we got blown out in game 4 was Young Chardougla worried? Not at all. Sweeps are rare, he told himself, it’s not strange for the team down 3-0 to come out firing in game 4. Then games 5 and 6 happened, and while the losses were concerning to young Chardougla, he never truly felt threatened. For when anyone at school thought it was fun to tease the well known Sharks fanatic about how the Sharks would soon choke, said fanatic confidently referred back to the 2011 playoffs, when the Sharks were up 3-0 on the Red Wings, and the Wings stormed back to win 3 straight before Patty Marleau and the Sharks confidently dispatched them in game 7, in front of middle school aged Chardougla. Chardougla had tickets to game 7 vs the Kings, and he was confident that his mojo from the previous victory would triumph.

When young Chardougla arrived at the game, he arrived at his seat to find, to his disgust, two women, clearly mother and daughter, decked, head to toe, in Kings regalia. Fan-fucking-tastic, he thought. Someone sold their tickets to the enemy. Traitors. Oh well, he reasoned to himself, all the more satisfying when we win. Young Chardougla, you see, was a hardened optimist, and he was not to be dissuaded. The game began, and it was a very competitive game. It was fun, fast, and intense, at least from my memory. The only downsides were the neighbors. The mom especially was starting to grind my gears a bit. Whenever a Beat LA chant would start, she would chant “Go Kings Go” in the interlude. Whenever on the Sharks had a power play, she would constantly be screaming (and she had quite a shrill voice) “KILLLLLLL” at random points during the action. Young Chardougla was growing tired of her “chants” and very much wanted her to sit down and shut the fuck up. But young Chardougla was also polite, so he held his tongue, and prayed for a Sharks goal to shut her up. And like manna from heaven, the Sharks answered. Matt Irwin, bless his heart (to this day I root for him for this very reason), put a screamer into the upper netting while Quick was screened, and young Chardougla was glorious in his vindication. It took considerable willpower not to scream in the annoying Kings lady’s face, but he managed by throwing his vitriol at the other members of the Kings. The Tank was rocking, and for a moment at least, everything was going to plan. Then the Kings scored. And then they scored again. And again. And again. And again. Each time, the Kings fangirl next to me got louder and louder. To this day, the only memory I have after the Irwin goal is Tanner Pearson skating around a helplessly slow Scott Hannan to fire it to Toffoli so he could roof one past Antti Niemi. After the 5th, and mercifully final goal, I put my towel over my face. I couldn’t bear to watch. And when that final horn sounded to end it, and the daughter spoke up to say “Mom we invaded the Shark Tank to win it!”, I lost it. I just started sobbing into my towel. I couldn’t believe it. Everything everyone said. “The Sharks have no heart”, “The Sharks are perennial chokers, they’ll never win the cup”, “Lol it’s the playoffs, guaranteed Sharks choke”. All things I had vehemently argued against, in that moment of heartbreak, they were all true. All I could think about was facing all those people again, and having absolutely no comeback, no argument against.

In the days that followed, I solidified on one hope, one thought. LA could not win the Cup. I forsake all other values for this goal. I cheered adamantly for the Ducks, Blackhawks, and Rangers. I begged Corey Perry to score infinite goals. I prayed for a Patrick Kane highlight reel. I pleaded Henrik Lundqvist to make superhuman saves (after those playoffs, my dislike of these teams was even more solidified by their failure to stop the Kings). It was all for naught. And when Alec Martinez scored the Cup winner in OT, and I watched Dustin fucking Brown parade around with the trophy held above his stupid, happy, potato loving face, it was just another slap in the face and a reminder, that this team had ripped away my innocence as a hockey fan, and dealt my beloved Sharks a crippling blow. Oh I was angry at the Sharks too. After that series, I wanted everyone fired. I wanted everyone traded. Hell I was open to trading Thornton (guys, I want to emphasize what a dark time this was for me. I acknowledge the foolishness now). But eventually, I knew I would love the Sharks again. There was, however, a burning ball of hot pain in me, a rage that I needed to let loose. So I let loose on the Kings, the team that I already disliked, the team that had ruined what had been an amazing season. I will never forgive them, and I will certainly never forget.

Some rivalries cool with time, and a shifting of fortunes in the teams, or perhaps a movement away (think the Sharks-Red Wings rivalry). My hatred for the Kings will never die. I wish that franchise nothing but losing and futility. Nothing will ever make up for that loss. No playoff victory, no matter how dominating, will ever make up for the memory of that pain. I am an addict, and I am addicted to the suffering of Kings fans. I pray that they will finish worst every year, only to lose the lottery and draft a bust. I pray that their cap space will remain debilitating for years to come. I will never stop loathing them, no matter what.

Fuck LA.