Bob Probert, one of the NHL’s all-time heavyweight champions, died yesterday at the age of 45. A true legend of the game, Robert A. Probert spent 16 years in the NHL enforcing the code and fucking people up. Standing six foot three and weighing in at 225 pounds, Probert racked up an incredible 3300 penalty minutes in his career, good enough for sixth overall.

The left winger from Ontario was drafted by the Red Wings in the third round in 1983, part of a class that would also include Steve Yzerman, Petr Klima, and Joe Kocur, who was Probert’s “Bruise Brother” partner. In a statement, Kocur said that his “favorite memory of Bob would be sitting down before a game, going over the opposing lineup and picking and choosing who would go first and if the goalie would be safe or not.”

Probert was as notorious for his off-ice activities as he was for his legendary bouts with Tie Domi. In 1989, he got caught crossing the Detroit – Windor, Ontario border with 14 grams of cocaine in his underwear. He was sentenced to six months in federal prison, and his suspension from the league was only lifted when his sentence had been served.

Probert also totalled his motorcycle in a 1994 accident; cops pegged his blood alcohol at triple the limit, and traces of coke were found in his system. On top of the DUIs, he racked up a couple of assault charges once he was out of the league; the cops in Delray Beach, Florida had to hit the man with a Taser to slow him.

Here’s Probert in his own words, talking about his craft in a 1999 interview:

A lot of bruisers out there claim that getting in the first shot is really important. It’s a total myth, I say. I’d rather get in the most punches. Remember, in hockey fights there are no body shots. The decision making is pretty basic: Do I hit him in the mouth? In the nose? Upside his ear? Do I like hitting guys? Let’s just say I like it a lot more than I like getting hit. I don’t worry about anything fancy. I just swing as hard and as fast as I can until the officials break it up.

Guys get hurt during fights, but here’s a reality check: You’re much more likely to get badly injured just playing. Think about it. A 200-pound guy skating 25 mph smashing you into the boards has the potential to do a whole lot more bone-pulverizing damage than the same guy throwing a couple of left hooks with bare knuckles.

If you get cut or you get knocked down during a fight, you’re not going to get rushed to the hospital or anything. Cuts are actually as much a part of hockey as the Canadian national anthem. You’re bleeding like a stuck pig, and the trainers will just steri-strip it on the bench and then stitch it up between periods. Some guys have the area frozen before the stitches, but I just tell ’em to sew me up and get it over with. It’s quicker, there’s no swelling, and, hey, a little pain builds character.

Let’s close by remembering what #24 doing what he did best.

RIP, Bob Probert. Go break St. Peter’s teeth.

Goddamnit! Kobe and Sasha got some strong chemistry going on with one another… and I don’t mean just in the locker room! The good stuff starts at the 0:17 second mark by the way. I wonder if Ron Artest needs to be worried about a possible love triangle situation going on in Los Angeles?

Either way, watch out there Kobe, Sasha’s a player!

P.S. I will update with better quality video when it becomes available. The NBA conveniently cuts just before the “embrace” from all of their official video recaps.

As promised, a World Cup megapost. 100% of the analysis contained herein is 100% not my own, so if you feel like your nation has been unfairly slagged, duke it out in the comments with the authors: Justin, Guch, Gnou, Dusty Gorilla, and thanatz.

Big thanks to those dudes for penning the previews! I actually learned something reading through these, so catch me posted up at the bar tomorrow morning acting like I know. Everything’s after the jump…

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Congratulations to the Chicago Blackhawks, who wake up this afternoon as Stanley Cup Champions on the strength of Pat Kane’s series-winning goal in overtime. Watching the Blackhawks hoist the Cup for the first time in 49 years brought tears to the eyes of Jeremy Roenick, which was weird and fascinating.

Hell I was pretty goosebumpy myself, truth be told. Right as Kane got the puck, I got this premonitory Spidey-sense kinda feeling, so I jumped up and got real close to the TV and yelled THIS IS IT RIGHT HERE and then BAM, #88 blew past Timonen and fired a bad angle shot past Leighton to silence the sea of orange. I got pretty loud at that point and woke up my wife. I wasn’t excited because Chicago won, although I like seeing this dynamic young Hawks team take the crown, or because I had a weird moment of hockey ESP right before the goal. Nope, I was most excited because it was Patrick Kane, the pride of Buffalo, winning the Cup in overtime. Playing street hockey growing up in Buffalo, we all dreamed of scoring that goal, but Kane did it for real.

Kane’s from South Buffalo, born and raised, so like any good Buffalonian the first thing the kid did in his NBC and CBC victory interviews was holler at his hometown:

Fuck yeah. I read an interview recently where Kane was recalling the ill-fated 1999 Stanley Cup Finals between Buffalo and Dallas. He had gone to Games 3 & 4 in Buffalo, of course, but had to be on the road for a tournament with his travel team for Game 6. Tired as hell, he fell asleep before Brett Hull “scored” on Hasek to “win” the Cup and break Buffalo’s heart again. Kane remembered being woken up by his teammates chanting “DALLAS, DALLAS” outside his door to fuck with him. Since then, he’s been picked first in the draft, won the Calder, and snagged a silver medal. Now he’s won a Cup, which will spend a raucous day in South Buffalo sometime this summer overflowing with Genny Cream and Labbatt Blue. “Behave yourself,” said Pierre McGuire to Kane at the end of their interview, during which Kane both used the phrase “holy crap” and spat. “Not a chance, not a chance!” replied Kane, skating away. Good for you, kid! Wish you’d been wearing blue & gold, but hey. Crook thinks Kane’s gonna be a punk from here on out, but I think 88′s gonna be all right.

More champagne-soaked shots and a report from the Jagerbomb-fueled celebration after the jump. World Cup preview coming later today.

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Yo dudes. So my American brain is increasingly aware that a major soccer / football (“football”) tournament starts this Friday, and I know some of you have been waiting a long time for it. (What, like three – four years, right?) I know this because I saw that one Nike ad, which was dope:

And I keep seeing these posters ESPN made for each country posted up at bus stops round Manhattan, which I like:

Just playing. I’m not that ignorant of “the beautiful game,” homies, and I know the World Cup starts Friday. Hell, I even know that the US plays England on Saturday; that North Korea is in the tournament; that England’s captain, a Brazilian dude named Julio Cesar, and the one dude from Ivory Coast (googled his name – Didier Drogba!) are out with injuries. I watch enough Sportscenter and know enough soccery people to pick up on the big storylines, although I feel kinda like a six-year-old at a Super Bowl party. (“Who’s that guy again? What are they doing now?”)

But at this point, with the Stanley Cup winding down – watch Chicago fulfill my prophecy tonight tomorrow night! – I’m ready for this crazy-ass quadrennial tournament to begin. I like the “drink beers in the morning” aspect of it, certainly, and the nationalistic sporting fervor it inspires, and there’s a lot to be said for watching a sport that doesn’t have billions of commercials every five minutes. So yeah, I’m into it. Let’s go.

However, I could use some help getting together a decent preview of the tournament, given my superficial and sparse football knowledge. Anyone out there feel like helping out? I know you football heads are rabid about this shit, so now’s your chance to shine, show off and share the knowledge.

I figure each interested reader could write a quick preview paragraph about a group, send it to me, and I’d post them up here. If you’re down, hit me up at caps-at-thestencil.com and leave a comment below claiming your group. I know we got kind of a tight deadline here, but writing about sports for the Bloglin is fun-n-easy and looks great on your resume.

In a couple hours, the Chicago Blackhawks and the Philadelphia Flyers will commence battle. Game One marks the beginning of the end, the final act of the wildly unpredictable 2010 NHL postseason. To the winner goes the most excellent trophy in all of sport: Lord Stanley’s Cup. I’ve rhapsodized about the glories of the Cup in this space before, so I’ll save you the rerun, but it’s a hell of a prize.

More importantly than donuts and beer with the Cup, however, the winning franchise will end decades of heartbreak and frustration for their long-suffering fanbase.

The Flyers haven’t won it all in a generation; it’s been 35 years since Bernie Parent and the Broad Street Bullies chugged champagne in Buffalo’s Memorial Auditorium (RIP) after knocking out the upstart Sabres in six. That 1975 championship made the Flyers back-to-back champs, and Parent was a two-time Conn Smythe recipient. Since then: nothing but a pair of mid-80s losses in the Finals to Gretzky and Edmonton (’85, ’87) and a four game sweep by the Red Wings in 1997. Oh yeah, and a couple of heartbreaking Game 7 losses in the Conference Finals to the Devils (’99) and the Lightning (’04), respectively. Ouch.

As rough as Philly’s had it for three plus decades, Chicago’s endured far worse: The Blackhawks haven’t won shit since the Kennedy administration. Yup, not since 1961 have the Blackhawks raised the Cup in Chitown, and that’s a hell of a long time – the longest drought in the league. (Get ready, Leafs fans.) I imagine more folks remember Stan Mikita from his donut store in Wayne’s World than that championship Chicago team at this point – and hell, in a world where “Wild Out” by the Lox is now “old school” on Hot 97, Wayne’s World might as well be Thucydides and the Peloponnesian War. But really, the futility’s even deeper than that – the Hawks haven’t been to the Finals since 1992, and before last year, they hadn’t been to the playoffs, period, since 1997.

Bottom line: It’s been a minute. But the past is the past. For both these cities, happy times are here again – for now. Only one can win. Who’s it gonna be?

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Via The Basketball Jones.

Unrelatedly: Ayo Montreal, what happened? San Jose, you out there? Orlando, talk to me! Phoenix, wake up!

These conference finals kinda suck so far.

You gotta hand it to the Habs: They’re getting pretty damn good at crushing dreams.

In the opening round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs, the Montreal Canadiens dispatched the Presidents’ Trophy-winning Washington Capitals in seven games. For their next act, which concluded in a lopsided 5-2 victory last night, the Habs took out the reigning champion Pittsburgh Penguins, again in 7. Both times, underdog Montreal has had to silence rowdy hometown crowds in the deciding game. Both times, they’ve had to shut down the league’s best offensive talent. But against this miracle Montreal team, Ovechkin and Crosby – not to mention Backstrom, Green, Malkin, Staal, and all the rest – have each fallen to this season’s scrappy, Samson-esque giant killers, the Canadiens.

Did I mention this was the last game that’ll ever be played in Mellon Arena? Bummer.

While Pittsburghers drowned their sorrows in Iron City beers, crazed Canadians were rioting in Montreal near the Bell Centre last night. Can you blame ‘em? It’s not often one is lucky enough to be a fan of a #8 seed that knocks off not one, but two heavyweights, let alone in consecutive Game Sevens. And with the Flyers and Bruins hacking the shit out of each in the East’s other series, which will also go the full seven games, the happy, hungover Habs faithful may get to see le bleu-blanc-et-rouge in their first Finals appearance since 1993,  when the storied franchise seized its 24th Cup. In other words, it’s a good time to be my man Tony Tanti, the biggest Habs fan I know. He wrote me late last night:

AGAIN!!!! The whole city is going fucking nuts, had to leave Bell center area early, people were getting a bit out of hand, even with hundreds of cops out. Can’t wait to see who the Habs play against… Flyers are on their way for one of the best comebacks of all-time!!!

All hail the Montreal Canadiens, for they have slain the dragon. Last night in DC, the Habs became the ninth team since 1994 to eliminate the number one seed in the first round by beating Alexander Ovechkin and the Capitals in Game Seven by a score of 2-1 in front of 19,000 shocked fans.

But that simple description doesn’t do Montreal’s historic accomplishment justice. Think about it like this: the Capitals were the President’s Trophy winners, having the league’s best regular season record. So they weren’t just the #1 seed in the East; effectively, they were the #1 seed overall. The Canadiens, on the other hand, squeaked into the playoffs with 88 points – tied with the 7th-seeded Flyers, but sitting below them in the #8 slot. Of the 16 clubs making the tournament, the Habs would effectively be ranked 16th. So the #16 knocked off the #1 – something that’s never happened in the NCAA men’s tournament, by means of comparison.

The Habs’ achievement is even more impressive when you consider the fact that they came back from a 3-1 series deficit to win it all, just the second time in Montreal’s storied, 101-year-long history they’ve done so. Not only did they win three straight, facing elimination each time, two of those wins were on the road. In fact, three of the Habs’ four wins were on the road – mind-blowing when you consider that the Capitals had the league’s best home record. Just makes you realize how different the playoffs are from the regular campaign – and how much DC benefited from beating up on Southeastern softies all year.

It’d be fucked up not to mention the magic of Jaroslav Halak. The man was a beast for the Canadiens, stopping 42 shots while his team put up just 16. I was even getting text messages from my non-hockey-watching people marvelling at the man’s impression of a stone wall. And it’d be even more fucked up not to mention my dude Tony Tanti, manager of Death Adders Fantasy Hockey League team Laraque Obama and the biggest Habs fan I know. He’s probably pretty hungover this morning, but it’s worth revisiting his comment on my playoff preview post from a couple weeks back:

nice picks, but i’ll have to disagree with the choice of the Caps over the Habs. OK i am a terrible habs fan, but i actually think this one will go to 7 games, and it could go either way. Canadiens record vs Capitals this year, 2-1-1, pretty solid for a 8th place team… and Halak already got Ovy once during the Olympics, why not twice.

Tony, you called it, homie. Last night he sent me an email:

Yo Caps,

I really needed to send you an e-mail after this BIG win over the Caps! Not much to say other then… HAAAALAK!!!

Sucks though that your Sabres are out already, I would of love the Halak-Miller showdown. Too bad they got there asses kicked by the B’s.

Enjoy the golf…

Yeah, too bad indeed. My Sabres got their faces shanked by Tuukka Rask’s Bruins.  Deplorable. I have been drinking. But as My Pal the Crook noted on Twitter yesterday, at least now his Devils and the Sabres have company in their misery. Gonna be a long fucking off-season.

Round two in the West is gonna be a blast. Round two in the East? I dunno. Bruins-Flyers? Jesus Christ. More on all that later.

Part of the cool thing about the Stanley Cup is the fact that it’s a big-ass, tangible, tactile kinda trophy. It’s fucking gigantic – just under 3 feet tall, and weighing in at 35 pounds – and it’s a real shiny silver/nickel alloy, so it’s exactly the kind of big, gleaming object that humans are designed to covet and wish to possess as our very own. It’s kinda like the trophy equivalent of the big black obelisk from 2001 that makes the monkeys howl. Just look at Lanny McDonald up there – see how happy he is to hoist it aloft? (Also:  hell of a playoff beard.) The allure of the Cup is so strong that players refuse to touch it out of superstition, only allowing themselves to finally grasp it upon winning the championship.

As a result, part of the reward for winning the Stanley Cup – like a young Gretzky and Messier did several times together in Edmonton – is getting to hold on to it for a minute, push it up to the heavens, skate around the rink with it, take your picture with it, douse yourself in champagne and drink out of it, just chill out with it all safe and secure in your sole possession. In fact, in 1995, a longstanding informal tradition became officially sanctioned by the league, and now every member of the championship team gets his own personal 24 hours with the Cup – and the dude from the league office who travels with it, wearing white gloves.

But the league rep won’t stop you if you want to throw it in your pool, like Mario Lemieux.

Or sleep with it, or have your kids baptized in it, or take it to a strip club, or let your dog eat out of it – all kinds of shit. Or you can just let Hayden Panettiere lick it.

But whatever you want to do with the Cup, first you gotta win 16 of the most grueling, draining, fucking intense hockey games you’ll ever play.  And therein lies the rub. So after the jump and without further ado, my bold predictions for the opening round of the greatest tournament in sports: the Stanley Cup Playoffs.

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