Two For Hooking

I miss hockey. In a big, pathetic way.

The other night, I purposely overcooked some burgers on my George Foreman Grill just so I could slap-shoot them on a simulated power play in my living room. (My cat, Mr. Mittens, played the role of Olaf Kolzig.) I've thrown at least three hip checks while shopping at the local Safeway. I've been intravenously feeding myself Labatts at night. I even hesitated putting the moves on my girlfriend out of fear I might get two for instigating.

The NHL lockout has to stop.

I have the solution.

What's this entire debate between the owners and the players about?

Money, and who has it, needs it, wants it, or bleeds it.

All of this yammering about luxury taxes and salary caps and revenue sharing comes back to one problem: that the NHL simply doesn't make enough money to sustain itself. Not from TV, and not from the sagging attendance in dozens of cities.

Hockey on TV, alas, is a problem for TV; until HD technology takes hold, and enough cameras are added to the rink to convey the speed of the game, hockey just won't work on television.

But increasing attendance and revenue are two problems with an easy solution, courtesy of yours truly:

Legalized prostitution in NHL arenas.

Convert all of that open space in the bowels of the buildings — you know, those large stretches of concrete reserved for ambulances and circus elephants — into about fornication stations. Then take three luxury suites and convert them into "VIP" rooms, so American fans can experience what's commonplace in Canada: having the game on while you're getting your swerve on.

Open the arena three hours before the game, sort of an "extraordinarily happy hour" if you will. (Sure beats tailgating in 10-below on a Wednesday night.) Close the place up at 2 AM, unless there's a day game — there won't be any "dating" during matinees ... you know, for the kids' sake.

Hire back all of those goons Bettman legislated out of the league and make them bouncers. I sure as hell wouldn't push the issue if Stu Grimson tapped me on the shoulder and told me time was up.

Here's how this deal works: the price of a ticket guarantees you the opportunity to book some time with the puck bunnies. At any point during the evening, you can head down to the lowest level of the arena and visit the reservation booth for a full list of available professionals. Here's the best news for the NHL: everything on the menu has a concession stand-style markup compared to real-world price tags! If you think an $8 beer is outrageous...

Now, this isn't just going to be for the fellas. There will be a full staff of Eastern European man-whores for the ladies; players of limited ability who came to North America seeking to become the next Pavel Bure, but who are now bagging groceries at the local Wegmans.

Now, I'm sure some of you are bellyaching about things like "morality," "fidelity," "scabies" or what have you. But look at the facts:

Attendance problems? Solved. Every night'll look like Red Wings/Avalanche.

Revenue issues? Solved. Not only with the price for "services," but also with the money spent on such post-coital products as officially licensed NHL stripper-glitter remover, as well as a framed Polaroid of your big moment.

On-ice product? No problems there. I don't know about you, but after I scale Everest, they could play the entire game in a puddle of horse manure and I wouldn't stop smiling.

At the very least, no one will complain about lack of scoring in the NHL any more.

Could the world's oldest profession save the coolest game on ice?

All I know is if hockey fans are going to keep getting screwed, it might as well be with someone better looking than Bob Goodenow...

Random Thoughts

New York Jets quarterback Chad Pennington missed practice this week with a bout of the stomach flu.

Jets fans were left hoping that when Pennington takes the field against Pittsburgh on Saturday, he won't be in the run and shoot...

I'm usually so quick to slam ESPN when it comes to professional hockey, allow me to give credit where it's due. ESPN.com produced this week a plan for something called "ESPNHL," in which the Cable Cabal dramatically remade hockey in its own image. It had some hits, it had some misses, and it had some complete frivolity that makes me confident that the quality of reefer in suburban Connecticut these days is outstanding.

The league, if the boys from Bristol ran it, would be contracted from its current total of 30 teams. This is smart: I'd drop Carolina and Florida tomorrow. But ESPNHL wants to reduce the league to 20 teams, dumping (among others) Stanley Cup champion Tampa Bay, hockey hotbed San Jose, and the New York Islanders. It would keep teams in apathetic Atlanta and the constantly financially challenged Alberta cities. Hartford would get a team. So would Las Vegas ... because, you know, a city that already proved it couldn't house a franchise, and an arena-less berg in the middle of the damn desert deserve professional hockey more than Buffalo — another contraction victim.

Oh, and despite being 20 teams large, 16 teams would enter the postseason, which makes the ESPNHL basically Major League Soccer Version 2.0. (It also means a four-team draft lottery ... "and the Pick 4 numbers are...")

There'd be a luxury tax instead of a cap, confirming my long-standing belief that ESPN's so-called "experts" are closeted schills for the NHLPA. There'd be further restrictions on fighting, which makes me wonder it I'm still the only one who sees the decline of fighting and the decline of television ratings as parallel lines. There'd be a shootout, because the ESPNHL doesn't really need to be about hockey.

But above all else, the most curious and unintentionally hilarious proposals come under the umbrella of "marketing."

First, players will not only be contractually obligated to "meet and greet" fans after home games (like it's some damn carnival puppet show), but two players will be obligated to wear microphones during games. Great idea ... if half the league didn't speak English as a fourth language.

Does this mean we'll get to hear even more of Jeremy Roenick?

But without a doubt, the most idiotic thing I've read on ESPN.com since it announced the debut of "Mohr Sports" – ESPNHL will mandate the improvement of "quality and level of analysis" on televised hockey broadcasts.

That's right: The same network that's thrust Darren "Bowling Pin" Pang, Bill "Porn Star Mustache" Clement, Barry "Les Sopranos" Melrose, and Brian "Swedish Muppet" Engblom on us for the last decade is now saying that the analysis on hockey broadcasts isn't good enough.

Whose Fault is That?!

Sorry ... didn't mean to shout...

Finally, WHFS is dead. It was a decades-old rock station in Washington, DC that used to be one of those great FM-ers that would break the new Cure song, play a kick-ass REM song, and then play something you've never heard of that would become Jane's Addiction or Smashing Pumpkins a few months later.

WHFS flipped to Spanish dance music on Wednesday. Literally, in the middle of the day, without any warning. Fans of the station were stunned, and people who haven't listened to it in years were mourning its passing.

The station used to have a voice. Sure, its popularity was a niche; but its cultural impact within that niche was immeasurable. Fans were loyal. Fans were vivacious. Fans treated the station like an old friend, and looked forward to spending time with it.

Then that voice was gone, somewhere in the mid-1990s. The new, exciting bands were missing, replaced by Pearl Jam clones, then Eminem, then Nirvana clones, then the same five Linkin Park songs. The station sold out everything that made it peerless in a desperate grab at a brass ratings ring it could never wrap its fingers around.

Then, on Wednesday, it dropped dead.

The NHL could learn a thing or two from WHFS...

Greg Wyshynski is also a weekly columnist for SportsFan Magazine. His columns appear every Saturday on Sports Central. You can e-mail Greg at [email protected].