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How to watch the playoffs without looking like a homicidal maniac

Ever get the sense your neighbor is the kind of guy who would try to bribe the cops with a billion dollars?
Ever get the sense your neighbor is the kind of guy who would try to bribe the cops with a billion dollars?

As you may have heard, the Blues lost Game 1 to the Sharks in double overtime. Somewhere between throwing my couch off the porch and lighting my kitchen table on fire, I thought about what my neighbors must be thinking about my childish, immature behavior.

"Mother of God, my upstairs neighbor is a homicidal maniac."

When I watch the Blues game, I use the f-bomb in more creative ways than you'll ever imagine. I make Bruce Boudreau look like a choir boy. I scream it, insert it in the middle of words, and yell it when we score. I feel like I need to explain my erratic behavior to my neighbors. I printed out the following explanation to my neighbors. Feel free to use it if you have the same anger management issues when watching the Blues.

Hello neighbors,

As you may know, the Blues are in the playoffs. I live and die with the Blues, so I may exhibit erratic behavior during this period of time. Don't worry. This is perfectly normal. If you hear screaming obscenities, loud crashes, or muffled sobbing, don't call the police. Here is a translation of what is really going on so you won't worry about me being a danger to myself and/or others.

"You Swedish pussy! I fucking hate you! Why don't you fucking style your hair some more?! You suck ba...Oh, my God he actually fucking scored! FUCK YEAH!"

Translation: No, this actually isn't a domestic dispute with a buxom Swedish chick. I'm yelling at Patrik Berglund. Seems to motivate him.

"What the fuck, Huskins? What. The. Fuck. How the fuck are you not having a fucking hot dog eating contest in the press box with Crombeen? Are you bribing the fat man with KFC? I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!!!"

Translation: I'm not actually going to kill Huskins. I'm just very upset with him and displeased that our rather pudgy coach elected to dress him for the game.

2 straight minutes of: "FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!

Translation: No, I'm not having a lady of the evening over. That's only on Tuesdays, and it doesn't last 2 minutes. The Blues are either on the power play or penalty kill. Any crashing noises heard during this period of time means someone scored.

"I'm going to shoot every single fucking zebra bastard out there."

Translation: I don't have any zebras in my apartment. The lease wouldn't allow it. And I'm not a zebra poacher. I'm displeased with the substandard quality of officiating.

"Are you fucking shitting me, Huskins? Are you fucking shitting me? Fucking terrible. More turnovers than a fucking pastry factory!!! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU."

Translation: Again, I do not actually plan on committing homicide. And unfortunately, Huskins does not produce delightful bakery goods during the course of the game. Although if you see me with an axe at this point in the game, will you please tell the authorities that I never left my apartment all night?

"I tell you 'why he wouldn't be' on the top line, you short mother fucker. Because Sobotka is giant offensive piece of shit."

Translation: I'm rather disgruntled with our diminutive color commentator's undying love for vertically challenged hockey players. This will happen at least 12 times per game, with varying degrees of obscenities.

Stewart, you stupid son of a bitch! What are you doing in the fucking corner again?! Unfuckingbelieveable!!

Translation: I'm not yelling at a male dog for doing unmentionable acts in the corner of the room. I'm displeased that a f...reaking power forward doesn't drive the net. Sorry. Almost slipped there.

So, to recap. Screaming, crying and throwing things are perfectly normal for this time of year. Please don't worry about me. Have a great day, and Go Cardinals or something, I guess.


Mr. Hooligan