Soapbox: TV
Network: ESPN
Title: Who knows
Nickname: The Mullet
Our Nickname: Goodtime Barry
Though it's rare for us to list a nationally recognized sports pundit in this area, what index of NHL media homers would be complete without Barry Melrose, especially now that he claims to be driving the Divemobile?
Being told that Barry Melrose has picked your team to win the Stanley Cup is like being told that your puppy has been fed to alligators. Or like hearing that your team has hired Mike Keanan or signed Theo Fleury. Your season is toast.
Every year The Mulleted One leaps to the front of some unfortunate team's bandwagon and proceeds to drive it straight off a cliff. Of course, Goodtime Barry won't be aboard when the bus takes the plunge. He'll have slipped into another team's jersey long before the team he originally doomed has crashed the NHL guardrail and plummeted into oblivion.
Even Divesfan --who secretly, desperately seeks the approval and respect of the NHL community, though he'll never get it-- is sick to his stomach over Goodtime Barry's sudden case of bedroom eyes over all things Turnip. Just a few seasons ago Melrose was the target of considerable Avsmonkey rage for making a few benign statements to the effect that the Divealanche were not God's gift to humanity. The nerve! As everyone familiar with Avsmonkey Nation knows, to question the spotlessness of their heroes is considered an act of blasphemy. We are, after all, talking about a Denver sports fan base that has made the headlines after awarding rousing standing ovations to pro athletes facing allegations of drug felonies and domestic violence. No matter how rotten you behave, these fans will circle the wagons for you so long as you keep filling their gibbering gobs with the glory they crave.
So isn't it completely perfect that the biggest NHL homer pundit of them all (Melrose) has now declared his allegiance with the biggest NHL homers of them all (Divesfan)? Like a Brylcreamed mother hen overdue at her roost, Goodtime Barry has finally come to claim his flock of clucking gravel eaters.
A match made in heaven, we say.
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