The Peerless Prognosticator is on the air! Missed me, didn’t ya?

I am here in St. Gary’s Square, Toronto, where throngs of true believers, all of whom have this thing about adding, “eh?” to every sentence, have cast their gazes skyward to the Gretzky Chapel, where meetings shrouded in the rituals of antiquity are underway. The faithful are waiting in joyful hope that a decision can be made on whether Canadians from the shores of the Maritimes to the mountains of British Columbia will once more be treated to “Hockey Night in Canada” and bad suit jackets worn by Don Cherry.

Little of any substance has leaked out today, and the desire to see the puffs of white smoke wafting from the Chapel – “Habemus Hockey,” Latin for “game on” – has gone unfulfilled.

The principals in this solemn drama appeared earlier today, their attendants in tow. Trevor Linden, Ted Saskin, John McCambridge, Bill Daly, Harley Hotchkiss, and Bob Batterman strode purposefully to the Gretzky Chapel, where by tradition, they would be sealed from the waiting outside world until a decision had been reached on the terms of the next collective bargaining agreement. Only food, drink, and Mario Lemieux would be permitted into the conclave.

In the Chapel itself, the principals, as their predecessors have done for centuries, were to conduct their business from thrones provided for their comfort. Each throne is covered in a Gretzky replica sweater (Oilers, home circa 1984) and has a black and orange canopy, signifying the colors of the league. In front of each throne there stands a small square table with a “99” stenciled into it; upon this table each principal will mark his record of the voting – whether to accept or reject the proposal that has been tabled.

At one end of the Chapel, on the scorer’s table, will have been placed the paraphernalia for voting which is kept for such proceedings: a supply of ballot forms; a six-pack of Molson for each principal, and one of Mark Messier’s old helmets, used as an urn for the votes; a paten on to which the votes are poured out for counting; a silver box, in which the votes are deposited.

At the other end of the Chapel a small stove is set up, with a pipe leading from it directly to the roof. In this stove the ballot papers are burned, and the assembled throng, which might number in the tens of . . . well, tens . . . in St. Gary’s Square watch tensely as the smoke rises into the air. If the proposal fails to receive approval from the principals, then the ballot is unsuccessful. The ballot papers are put on one side, and a second ballot takes place immediately. If this too is unsuccessful, both sets of ballot papers are gathered together, mixed with broken sticks, and they are burned in the stove, so that the smoke shows black against the sky. When, however, the principals have reached agreement, the voting-papers alone are burned, and the smoke is now white.

At that glorious moment, the throngs in St. Gary’s Square will erupt in joyful celebration at the promise of a return to hockey, ending the long national nightmare. It is this for which we fervently hope and for which we wait anxiously.

This is The Peerless Prognosticator . . . St. Gary’s Square . . . Toronto . . . back to you.




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Play hard, shake hands, drink beer.

"LA needs two hockey teams like Switzerland needs two navies" -- Norman Chad (from "My 10-Point Plan to Save Gary Bettman from Himself")


If you've read this far, you probably could use a hobby

ok, it's got to be getting close. the peerless is alive... damn i want hockey and i want it now!

Good one, Peerless.

Who's going to be the new Pope of Hockey? Gary Bettman II?