First Thought:

Watching Entourage this season got me thinking about how much Gary Bettman must hate that show. Sure it’s free publicity but it’s the exact polar opposite of Gary’s Crosby-Ovechkin marketing strategy. I mean look at this…

This is how most teenage males in America are being introduced to the game of hockey: With Dan Carcillo and the NY Islanders! That’s like being introduced to The Godfather by watching the 3rd installment first.

Second Thought:

This are some damn good “last words” to leave the world with, courtesy of Jack Layton:

My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.

I just may steal those for my tombstone!

In Closing:

Sorry for the lack of posts but as you can see by the Entourage thoughts, there really ain’t much going on in this brain. Besides, I’m too busy stuffing my face with hazardous levels of fried fish & chips this summer to make hockey posts.

"I can't believe Blades hasn't been fired from blogging already."

There will be a new post soon. I promise. If you’re wondering why there hasn’t been a post in like a month, well, it’s because I’ve been on a deeply rewarding quest of trying to become the new head coach of the Dallas Cowboys. Sadly, it was not to be… this year.

Nah, I’m lying. Truth is that I really wanted to go a month without a post just to see what it feels like. Then I made a bet with a friend who thought I couldn’t do it. Obviously, I won and am now filthy rich.

Ahh, lying again. You caught me! The real identity of “Blades” is actually Nazem Kadri, and for the past month I’ve had to concentrate on hockey so I can get paid. Now that I’ve been called up, I’m going to have extra time to spit out a post or two since, y’know, the Leafs don’t actually play hockey.

Ha!

Nah, again I’m compulsive with this shit. The truth is that I told myself I won’t post until the Devils win a home game and, y’know, it just spiraled out of control. Frankly, I’m surprised I even remembered the password to this blog.

Anyway, this is just an appetizer post. There will be more soon. For now check out this hilarious series by Jason from Discard What You Don’t Need. Part #2 here. HILARIOUS! Jason is the bastard who called me out on Twitter about not posting in almost a month and then threatened to jam a toothpick into my Sami Salos if I didn’t post soon. So you have him to thank for this post.

Don’t forget to follow along on Twitter. 1019 followers and no tweets since November 7th. How cool am I?

Makes you think...

Since there’s nothing going on in the hockey world, I thought I’d share this funny experience I had yesterday.

It all started when I was checking recent referrals to the site (which reminds me: big shout out to Stay Classy, Puck Daddy, The Rat Trick, Die By The Blade and Discard What You Don’t Need!). Anyhoo, I also came across a message board which was sending some visitors my way. Being the curious fellow that I am, I clicked on over to see what’s up, and while the page was loading, I was greeted by the title “THE WORST HOCKEY HUMOR SITE ON THE INTERNET”. The all-caps meant this was quite serious. Uh-oh.

But surely, I thought to myself, someone probably just dropped my link as a nomination for that honor.

Nope.

I was the headliner. Behold…

The post went on to bash my latest fantasy hockey post and others chimed in as well.

While the response to BoF has been overwhelmingly positive, the addition of passionate hating means I’ve finally arrived on the internet, right? … right? … anybody?

Now, I’ve been married for 7 years; I can take a bashing and verbal beatdown with the best of them. Thus, I created an account on the forum and posted the following to poke fun at myself…

Which was greeted by this post from someone who I would later learn is a moderator (more on this later)…

“???,” I thought to myself. Did I just mistakenly issue a challenge for a duel?

Oh damn! It wasn’t a duel. It was a “showdown”.

Being the non-combative type, I decided to clear up any misconceptions that I was there for a fight to the death. So I posted the following…

I came back a few minutes later to find two things…

1) I noticed that my post was edited by “HFPM” with the message “needs more commas, champ”. I don’t know much about internet message board culture, but I think this is how a person tells the new guy he is a forum moderator, and thus an alpha male of the community.

2) A poem…

At this point, I realized that these weren’t haters but rather people whose humor doesn’t match mine.  I vanished into the night…

But yeah, the board did send some hits my way and also inspired this post. So to return the favor, check them out! …  just make sure you’re ready to throwdown!

Some spammage…

This Thursday at 9pm est. – hear me talk nonsense as a guest on Rink Side Rants.

@bladesoffunny – if you prefer to read nonsense, follow me on Twitter.

RSS Feed – if you’re an advanced geek who uses an RSS reader, you can add the BoF feed. Unless, of course, the Gizmodo feed keeps you busy enough as is.

In this post, I’m going to do something that most blogs never do. I’m going to give my readers a behind-the-scenes look inside the world of hockey blogs. Yeah, that’s right, a place clouded in mystery, where participants struggle and fight for that elusive two-figure payday. This stuff is cutthroat to the core.

The Negotiation

It all started with an email from a network manager who praised my awesomeness and asked me if I would like to join them.

Naturally, I took this as a sign that my time had finally arrived. I was ready set myself up for life. Become an internet millionaire, if you will.

So I sat there in my basement. Waiting.

For three straight days I waited. I knew if I wanted the upper hand, I would have to play it cool.

Finally, on the third day, I took off my Tar Heel blue Kangol and put on my negotiating hat (which is also a Kangol, only black).

I sent him the following email:

Meet me in your office at 3 am. I’ll bring the garlic bread.

Why the odd time? To derail his natural cycle and leave his mind not performing at its peak.

The garlic bread? In case he’s a vampire, duh.

He replied:

Who is this?

I sensed that he was trying to get to me. I wasn’t falling for the trap:

I’m the funny man. Don’t act like you don’t know. Make no mistake about it, this ain’t my first time at the circus.

He replied:

Oh yes, now I remember. This is what I can offer you:

1. [top secret information removed so you don't get jealous]
2. [top secret information removed so you don't get jealous]
3. Monthly all-expense paid trips to Amsterdam.
   
4. [top secret information removed so you don't get jealous]

With the ball in my court, I fired back:

I want exclusivity!!!!!

He came back with:

???

Ah, I now realized that he wanted to play hardball. What he didn’t know is that my balls are as hard as anyone’s:

If you can’t offer exclusivity, then I must insist on a right of first refusal clause.

This request must have shown him that I was serious and not some random lunatic.

He wrote back:

Look, this is not a job offer or a takeover. This is a chance to join our network.

Obviously, he was trying to play it cool by acting like this wasn’t a big deal. At this point, I knew I would have to spice things up if I wanted my millions. So I played my ace card:

I’m going to have to pass. In a shocking coincidence, I just got a letter from ESPN and they want to bring me on board. I’m afraid their offer was too good to pass up so I’m signing with them. Sorry.

BTW, If you’re thinking this is some crazy negotiating ploy, think again. I took the liberty to scan their letter and attach it in this email.

Attachment:

Boom! Checkmate!

After not hearing back from him for 15 minutes, I got a little worried and fired off another email:

Deal with ESPN fell through. They wanted to pay me in US dollars and, well, y’know.

Ball is in your court.

At this point, my wife came down to the basement to ask me where I’ve been the past few days and why the hell I’m wearing a hat inside the house.

I rose from my chair.

Looked her in the eyes.

Slammed down my hand on the desk.

And yelled, “NEVER ASK ME ABOUT MY BUSINESS AGAIN!”

(I think my reaction was influenced by the fact that I had been watching The Godfather non-stop for 3 straight days, something I always do when I’m involved in a negotiation.)

She left, muttering under her breath something that sounded like “idiot.”

Sadly, I think the network manager was left uttering that same exact word as I never heard from him again.

The Smelly Kangol

After squandering my chance at millions, and my black Kangol hat smelling like a hat smells if you don’t wash your hair for nearly a week, I did what I had to do: I changed back to my Tar Heel blue hat.

However, having not washed my hair, this too proved to be a mistake.

But all hope was not lost…

The Rising Sun

No longer possessing any confidence in my negotiating skills, I quickly hired an agent.

Soon after, the deals came flowing in. Nike. Molson. Gatorade. Cialis. They all begged to sponsor me.

I ended up signing with Ice Jerseys.com. Sure, the 5-year/$12 million offer had something to do with it, but there were other perks that attracted me to them:

1) They offered me exclusivity AND a right of first refusal clause.

2) They sell shirts which embarrass my wife when I wear them out in public with her:

And, 3) They threw in a jersey for Vladimir into the deal:

I hope you’ve enjoyed this behind-the-scenes look into the business side of Blades of Funny. Over the next few weeks, you will notice some changes on the site. Soon, every post will consist solely of a picture of a featured jersey and a link to the shopping cart. The RSS feed will morph into an order form. And the Twitter stream will be used to move clearance merchandise. Here’s an artist’s rendering of the proposed new look:

Of course, the site will employ the latest in privacy invasion technology and spit out custom pages based on information it uncovers about you. Thus, say, if Down Goes Brown visits the site, this is what he’ll see instead:

Get your credit cards ready!

Last night, as I settled back into the couch to watch the Kings-Canucks game, Mrs. Blades of Funny told me that she would be joining me for the first period. What transpired next was, well, quite comical and worthy of a post.

A couple things that you should know about the missus:

• She was raised in South America, and even though she has lived here for over a decade, her hockey IQ can be considered quite raw. Case in point: During a game we attended, she became quite agitated when the home team kept shooting the puck down the ice. “Why do they keep doing that?” she asked, her arms raised in disgust. “They’re trying to kill the penalty,” I replied.
• She is a fan of the Canucks based on the couple of years she lived in Vancouver; not because she likes to whine.

I swear that what you are about to read is 100% true.

(teams take the ice, crowd goes crazy)

Mrs: is it like this because it’s los angeles?
Me: no, it’s the playoffs, it’s like this everywhere.
Mrs: but isn’t LA very hectic?
Me: the traffic, yes, the vibe is quite chill though.
Mrs: is it true what they say, that there are a lot of pretty people there?
Me: I don’t know, maybe in beverly hills.
Mrs: but you went there, did you see many pretty people?
Me (realizing the trap is set): I wasn’t looking.
Mrs: I’m not going to mad, tell me the truth.
Me: couldn’t tell you, I wasn’t looking.
Mrs: riiiiight.

(a couple minutes after vancouver scores)

Mrs: are the canucks good this year?
Me: yeah, they had a good season.
Mrs: you think they can win the stanley park?
Me: not sure the city will give them that, no matter how well they play.
Mrs (laughing): stanley cup, you know what I meant.
Me: maybe.
Mrs: it’s easy to mix up the two names.
Me: you sound like jose theodore.
Mrs (confused): huh?

(jonathan quick pushes a sedin into the net)

Mrs: motherf$#ker, he’s going to score a fu#$king goal on you because you did that, motherf$#ker!!!
Me: classy, hun, classy.
Mrs: what? I said ‘freaking’.
Me: uhh-huh.

(subway commercial comes on)

Me: I don’t trust these subway commercials.
Mrs: why?
Me: they are just weird and all over the place.
Mrs: you’re right, they are weird.
Me: makes me think they contain subliminal messages.
Mrs (puts hands in front of her and pretends she is a zombie): subway, i need subway.
Me: mock me if you must.
Mrs: no, but seriously, the ticking clock is in my head now.

(ryan smyth’s head bounces off the boards after he gets hit)

Mrs: they should put padding there.
Me: that would be great for the speed of the game.
Mrs (laughing): what if they put padding over the glass too?
Me: hey, that’s a great idea, tv ratings would go up.
Mrs (laughing): you’d just be able to see the top of their helmets.
Me: look! the heads are bouncing up and down, I think someone just scored.

(drew doughty scores)

Mrs: that was cool.
Me: what, the goal, the lights, or the atmosphere?
Mrs: how fast the shot was.
Me: it wasn’t really that hard, it was a well-placed wrister.
Mrs: how fast can they shoot?
Me: around 100 mph.
Mrs: so 50 km/h?
Me: not exactly.
Mrs: you said 100 mph?
Me: yup.
Mrs: so half of that would be 50.
Me: yeah, but a km is like a mile x 1.6.
Mrs: aii, whatever, I still have that subway ticking clock in my head.

(sean o’donnell takes a penalty)

Mrs: that guy looks old.
Me: he is, he’s like 38.
Mrs (shocked tone): 48???
Me: 38, he’s not chris chelios.
Mrs (confused): huh?

(random conversation near the end of the period)

Mrs: are the sedins still good, or not so much anymore?
Mr: henrik lead everyone in points this year.
Mrs: oh, but they don’t seem to be doing good tonight. what do you think?
Mr: I agree. probably for the best though.
Mrs: how come?
Mr: if they don’t come through in the playoffs, henrik won’t be named mvp.
Mrs: why is that for the best?
Mr: because having a west coast player win the mvp is just wrong.
Mrs: why?
Mr: just how it is.
Mrs: that’s stupid.
Mr: nah, it’s funny to screw with people on the west coast.
Mrs (annoyed): you’re retarded.

(period ends)

Mrs: time to go shower and sleep.
Mr: the game won’t be the same without your commentary.
Mrs: awww, if you get bored, just think about the bouncing helmets.
Mr: luv you!
Mrs: luv you too. hey, tomorrow for breakfast, let’s go to subway.