Still Not Over It

The Avalanche today announced more details for the cool '96 Cup reunion scheduled to take place on opening night October 7th. While I can't attend in person, the list of attendees is a veritable who's who of Avalanche alumni. 22 of the 24 players who appeared in the playoffs that year will be at the game, including Stephane Fiset who only saw 1 minute of ice time. Going through the list is like taking a pleasant stroll through memory lane. Sakic. Forsberg. Roy. Kamensky. Ricci. Deadmarsh. So many favorites...I feel a little like a stoned guy in the candy aisle.

And then I saw it.

Marc Crawford Head Coach

 

If there was ever any question about whether I had any unresolved issues about the Steve Moore incident, it was answered when I read that Marc Crawford would be attending. My first, unbridled reaction: "what is he doing on this list?"

Clearly, I still have a ton of festering anger over the Steve Moore incident. And it is by no means aimed squarely at Crawford, the Canuck's coach at the time. Obviously, I have anger towards Bertuzzi. I have anger towards Brad May and his fucking bounty. I have some anger towards Johan Hedberg, who stood at center ice trying to coax David Aebischer into a fight while Moore lay bloody and unconscious just a few feet away and I have anger towards all the Canucks who took runs at Abby all game long. I'm angry at the league for letting Bertuzzi off the hook early. I'm angry at the Avalanche for signing Brad May (really? no other washed up goons available?). I'm angry at the league for the juvenile payback mentality and I'm angry at myself for getting caught up in all of it (there was no chance I'd miss that game). And, yes, I'm a little angry at Steve Moore for refusing Bertuzzi's apology. Heck, I'm even a little miffed that Colby Cohen has chosen Moore's old number 36. Legitimate beefs? Not all, but that's how my twisted brain works.

Marc Crawford coached this team to their first Stanley Cup. He should be a hockey god in Denver, never having to pay for another drink or dinner again. And yet all I can think about when I read his name is that fucking smirk he had after his gutless baboon broke Steve Moore's neck with a cowardly hit from behind. I'd like to be able to put my feelings aside and think back to happier times...but I don't think I can. Stanley Cup or not, in my book he's just a thug. A thug with a smirk.

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