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Cinch It Up & Hunker Down

Tonight marks the NHL’s annual award ceremony in Las Vegas, where F-list celebs uncomfortably deliver patter at the podium prior to drunk hockey players receiving replica trophies and mumbling through an acceptance speech in between impossibly poorly curated musical acts. It truly is one of the greatest events in all of show business and sports.

So naturally, because nothing Cardinal John McDonough and his PR cadre ever do is on accident, the night before he could walk home with as many as three trophies, information “leaked” that Garbage Dick is on his best behavior this summer here in the placid lakeside outpost that is Chicago under the team’s watchful eye, rather than in the cesspool of temptation that is Buffalo, New York.

This is yet another misstep from McDonough and Blunk from a situation they have been absolutely screwing up for going on an entire year now. First of all, this horrendous fanbase has shown that it truly does not give a shit how bad a person is even into the realm of criminality so long as they still get to see SHOWTIME and hum “Chelsea Dagger” like  lobotomized automatons once the red light goes on. There is absolutely no gain in reminding anyone just how awful last summer was at this point, as the entire cottage industry of #ISupport88 has emerged victorious, with entire publications owing their very existence to the defense of a millionaire criminal. Bringing this up now carries the stench of desperation, showing that the Hawks brass still do not trust this little bastard as far as they can throw Brent Seabrook. And this, along with his comments regarding LeBron (as if anyone gives a shit what the son of a used car salesman with an 8th grade education thinks about anything) show that all the past year has done has reinforce his belief of being able to do no wrong and how different and special he is.

This man’s ability to not get it is truly frightening.

Equally as frightening both in its poor logic and implication is the actual meat of the above linked Sun-Times piece:

A source said the team wanted Kane to stay in Chicago for the summer, to keep his focus on hockey and to keep him away from any potential trouble back home.

The “trouble back home” turn of phrase is stomach churning, as it can only state two possible things. Either this is yet another round of victim blaming from the media arm of a professional sports team, or the team now knows that he is in fact the problem and the events of last year went down as everyone with a conscience has feared. Not to mention the baffling logic that Chicago is somehow a virtuous metropolis where it is impossible to get into trouble, as if there isn’t a massive floating cocaine party in the lake every afternoon and evening all summer literally called The Playpen that the police simply ignore because everyone participating is rich and white, two defining characteristics of Patrick Kane’s existence.

When taken in conjunction with one another, these two quotes show that this little piece of garbage has learned absolutely nothing from this, and the team is still terrified that something else is going to happen, otherwise he would not need to be supervised. The support he received from the cargo short and visor set (as well as even more depressingly the demographic he shares with One Direction), has only shown him how invincible he is, as long as he keeps proving the haters wrong. But it’s becoming more and more clear that this story is not going to have a happy ending, and the focus has to shift to just hoping that Napoleon In Skates doesn’t become the subject of a 5-part 30 For 30 himself 20 years from now.

Which brings everything back to tonight, the moment all of the fanboys have been waiting for, where Garbage Dick will take to the microphone at least once for the Art Ross Trophy acceptance, if not three times should he capture the Hart and Ted Lindsay awards, and they will finally get what they have been longing for since last year. The inevitable “Thank you” from him, the “thank you” for standing by him during his most difficult time, as if it wasn’t entirely of his own making and at the expense of the entire existence of a young woman from Buffalo. This one last touchdown dance from the egg avatars and white guys named “Ray” and “Steve” will be coupled with a firehose of fanboy jizz. Final validation for their unwavering support from their hero, even if he does not give the slightest shit about anyone but himself.

Tonight will be final proof that Patrick Kane can accomplish anything, if only because to him literally no one else matters. And that should be a terrifying thought to anyone with a soul given his track record.

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