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I am Old, Old, Old

You call him “Mr. Orr,” punk. We call him “Bobby.”

The only guy I’ve seen win a Stanley Cup with his feet higher than his head and no drugs involved (I am looking right at you, Messier):


If you never saw him, you will never, ever know what a freakout it was when he decided it was time and turned his eyes up-ice. I was a little kid goalie watching with my ass firmly planted in the couch (remember Peter Puck?) and he’d scare the shit outta me. You damn well knew where the puck was going to wind up. If he didn’t put it in the hole, Espo would pick the rebound up.

Fuck the Black Panthers: This SOB was Soul on Ice. 57 years old, is number 4 ….jeezus! (props to A Large Reg. for the image).

(Excuse me, I gotta go talk to my self about this whole “Christ, I’m Old!” dilemma.)

UPDATE: Found my Cheevers mask! And remembered who was the first to kick ass when Teddy Green got waylaid…God, I so loved the Big Bad Bruins…give me ten guys named Bucyk…give me ten guys named Bucyk, today. Hell, give me three Chiefs, we’ll take over the whole East Coast and then go beat the shit out of Detroit.

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