A Letter of Disgust

Dear Jason Pominville,

You suck. What gives?

I know I've frequently enjoyed picking on you in the past, but honestly that's usually more about picking on my mom for liking you than anything else. Last night, though, I was genuinely appalled by your play. Now, I know what you (and my mom) are going to say: "But I won the game in the shootout!" To which I say: Big deal. That may be true, but the rest of your game sucked the big one. When you weren't passing to the other team or getting pushed off the puck by a stiff breeze, you were tipping the puck wide of an empty net. You know there's only one player on this team who can pull a stunt like that and earn my love for it, and you're not him. You're not quite German enough, and your shooting percentage is about 7 points too high.

You know I'm not just saying this to be mean. You know I want to like you. I have loved liking you in the past. But there's nothing to like about you right now. The only time I noticed you with the puck (during the non-shootout portion of the game) and didn't find something to gripe about, it turned out it was actually Connolly I was looking at and not you. It was hardly a perfect game for anyone, I'll admit, but at least the rest of your teammates graced us with a period of spunk before they slapped us with a period of suck. You were decidedly spunkless throughout. I know you have a new litter at home, and I'm sure that's exhausting and whatever, but you need to pull yourself together.

Luckily for you, your redemption can start as early as tonight, even though I won't be watching. I'll be spending the evening working, and I suggest you do the same.

Sincerely,
Gambler