The Albatross

George Jones, one of my Mom's favorite singers, sometimes used to be called "No Show Jones". He was an alcoholic and sometimes didn't bother to show up for a performance. Mom says Scott Gomez is worse than that, presumably because he does show up and always gives such a shitty performance.

Gomez does not always give a shitty performance, and since his return he's had good nights, but unless he starts putting up points regularly the guy is not going to get much of a break. It really does suck and I feel for him even as I rail about his play at times. He seems like a nice guy.

Look I like Scott Gomez, but if I could trade him for someone who didn't go over a year between goals or could offer up more consistent points yet still brought some nice karma to the dressing room I'd sell him upriver in a heartbeat. Luckily for Scott Gomez I'm not Pierre Gauthier and Geoff Molson or else he'd have been waived to the AHL quite awhile ago.

It strikes me as odd, this ability to like someone and yet not really enjoy seeing them. Gomez, as evidenced by his recent interview with Dave Stubbs on hockeyinsideout.com, is quite a likeable fellow. Open a Gomez soundbite and the man is simply fun to watch and full of character and sarcasm and potty mouth and humour, all of which I find terribly endearing in people.

Put him in skates and throw him out on the ice in the bleu, blanc et rouge and I grind my teeth. Put him next to me in a pub and I'm going to lean over and say, "Hey, how YOU doing?"

C'est la vie.

This paradox exists for me in my workplace too.

I had a coworker state at full volume to anyone within a 10 mile radius that he "Didn't give a shit" about another coworker. See, when I don't give a shit about something I just don't address it. It doesn't rate the thought or the vocalization, particularly at maximum possible decibels.

If it's not talked about here or not mentioned on one of the other sites I write for chances are pretty damned good I just don't give a rat's ass. That's just how I roll.

And this is my whole problem with Gomez. He talks an excellent game. He just doesn't play one.

Are there nights he looks great on the ice? Absolutely. The same can be said of some of his struggling teammates. But when one's record is so completely abysmal I have to wonder how long Gauthier and Molson can continue to protect him.

At some point, something will have to give and it's likely going to be the upcoming CBA (please Hockey Gods no strike) which will end Scott Gomez's career in Montreal. He's a good guy that deserves better, the team that adores him deserves better, and it is what it is and damnit sometimes I just really hate that.

Still, I have found some inspiration allow for the extraction of some humour in all this. Full apologies to Edgar Allan Poe and Scott Gomez in advance.

The Albatross

Once upon a Habs game losing, while the crowd was liberally boozing

Because the Habs were constantly snoozing and turning over pucks galore

And I bitched and griped and grumbled, watching the Habs continue to fumble

Upon the ice causing them to tumble out of contention to the basement floor

“Tis the Hockey Gods,” said I “causing them to hit the floor;

Only that and Gomez can’t score.”

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was way back prior to November

Friedman gave stats for contenders which most fans did then ignore.

“Faith!” they cried while staying cheery, even as I grew leery

Jaded, ambivalent and truly weary as only happened once before

When Houle and Tremblay gutted the team of its very core,

Hopefully repeated nevermore.

And the descent down the ladder has made fans so much madder

Frustrated the Habs are so much badder than only a year or two before.

Markov lingers hurt and broken, yet from the brass no word is spoken

Of important matters scarce times a token of which the fans now bore.

While on the ice the Canadiens resemble not the team of yore.

The power play no longer scores.

But smiling, laughing, acting brave though the situation is now quite grave

Though the pundits still often rave about the fact that he can’t score

The albatross returns to action. His struggling play a quick distraction

While I hunger for full retraction from fans now oft behaving poor

Down the ice he streaks and suddenly the whole crowd roars

“He’s actually gonna score!”

Out of my seat jumped I with glee, dizzy from the sheer poetry

Of Gomez scoring easily on a puck deflected at Pavelec’s door.

Silent fans in the Bell awaited, hopeful the drought had thus abated

While I remained quite agitated, chewed my nails, drank, and often swore.

Potty mouth aside I truly wished the Albatross had scored

Hoped he’d soon get many more.

Yet still endures the great misery of the Albatrosses next goal, so key

For the quiet faithful fans to see and treasure in a year so poor.

La Sainte-Flanelle, Le Bleu-Blanc-Rouge, Le Tricoloure did not often lose

Still I sit and quietly muse upon The Cup they won times twenty-four.

And missing the post-season show is a wound so terrible sore

Keeping faith at times a chore.

All around discuss new bosses, fantasy trading team albatrosses

Analyzing insurmountable losses and offering up excuses I do deplore

My love may be never ending but not at all do I savour spending

Playoffs where I am just pretending interest in this sport’s yearly war

And Les Glorieux are ghostly echoes of great legends of hockey lore

I’m a Habs fan and I want more.