and i love hockey

fun guessing game: with Brandon Saad gone what cbj player is Columbus’ generic sports stores going to shove down our throats next

anonymous asked:

My family is Russian so I understand/speak it. Just thought I'd let you know that Panarin is extremely intelligent (& also hilarious) in his native tongue. He speaks very good Russian. Some Russians do not speak great Russian. Malkin's is kind of, for lack of a better word, lower class Russian? Malkin is def not dumb but many Russian hockey players do not speak well. Panarin is very articulate. I wish English speakers could see.

THIS JUST MAKES ME WISH I SPOKE RUSSIAN MORE i swear i’m gonna order some children’s workbooks off of amazon or some shit i’m really gonna do this i wanna listen to his interviews. INTELLIGENT AND HILARIOUS I LOVE MY BABY

8

“I don’t think you’ll find a better personality in sports when it comes to being a good friend and being a supportive, positive teammate.”  Carl Hagelin on Marc-André Fleury

so for the longest time I’ve enjoyed the way ngozi has given smh significant numbers for their jerseys. like how we all love that holster and ransom are 4-11 respectively because they quite literally give us the 411 on hockey shit in bitty’s first year.

but I only JUST noticed that shitty’s number is 42, which for all you non hitchiker fans out there, is the answer to the question “what is the meaning of life?”

this could either refer to the fact that shitty is a little existential (though he’s no johnson), and likes to answer questions about the world in a way smh giggles through with good-hearted amusement. or it could refer to the fact that shitty is one of jack’s few real friends, and certainly one of his first ones at samwell. he was responsible for getting jack a little more out of his shell, aggressively befriending him and making his life worthwhile again. so alternatively, the meaning of life is shitty - is friendship.

straydog733  asked:

If you're still looking for prompts: physically disabled Jack playing sled hockey. Bonus points for trying to teach Bob. Thanks!

“Stop making fun of your father and get over here,” Alicia yells, slapping her sticks against the ice. “When he finally figures it out you’re doomed, might as well score now!”

But Jack doesn’t move because he’s laughing so hard he’s actually crying. “How are you a living legend? You can’t even balance on a sledge!” 

Bob pushes himself upright and nearly falls over on his other hip. Under normal circumstances, he’d be embarrassed, so clearly struggling before an entire wedding party's worth of current and former NHLers, but this is a unique circumstance. He’ll happily play the part of the fool, today, or forever, really, if it means he can see Jack smile like this on a regular basis.

“We – ” Jack gasps for breath, shaking so hard he might topple himself, “– we can’t play if Papa can’t skate.”

Alicia streaks past, still radiant in her makeup from the morning’s ceremony. “Bobby, even I’m better at this than you. How is that possible?”

“You are ruthless,” Bob breathes, watching his wife circle him, “and you’re on my team! Is anyone else seeing this? Eric! Have some compassion and come help your father-in-law!”

Bitty, who up to this point has been taking easy laps with his parents, breaks away only to be quickly intercepted by Jack.

“Oh, no, it’s only been six hours, you can’t start playing the father-in-law card.”

Shitty quickly shoots between them, “Make it quick, gentleman, Bitty’s mom is brutal. She’s laid out Tater twice.”

“What’s the point of you getting married if I can’t abuse the relationship for personal gain? You helped Richard, you traitor, so your husband can help me.” Bob argues, propping himself up with his hands instead of the sticks.

“I didn’t think you’d need the help,” Jack grins, switching to French and sliding up beside his father, “you’re supposed to be the best.”

“Ah, well, one too many concussions and my balance isn’t quite what it used to be.” Bob looks up from the ice in time to catch Jack’s smile falter. 

“Are you feeling alright? Is your vertigo back?” 

Christ. He didn’t want to make this about him; any latent injury of Bob’s was dwarfed a long time ago by Jack’s accident, not that this is anything close to a competition. He shakes his head and holds out his arm so Jack can hold him stable. 

“I’m more than alright, just old and jaded, watching all you handsome young bucks skate circles around me.”

Jack laughs and Bob watches his gaze flit back to Eric, who’s carefully coiffed hair is finally falling out of place as he tries to keep his mother from ramming her sledge into Alexei Mashkov. 

“Lean forward a bit, center your weight around your hips,” Jack explains, pressing a hand against Bob’s lower-back. “Not too far, use your sticks to move forward, it’s easier to balance when you’re in motion.”

Bob is struck suddenly by a sense of deja-vu; remembering how easy it had been to teach Jack to skate nearly thirty years earlier. Or how easy it had seemed to a Stanley Cup champion. Jack must have felt exactly how Bob does now, unsteady and unsure. 

“There you go,” Jack says brightly once Bob has centered himself. “See? Not so hard after all. Now you just have to score.”

Jack pulls a puck from between his thighs and tosses it onto the ice. Bob moves to pass it and promptly finds himself lying back on his side.

“This is just like the time I tried snowboarding,” Bob groans. “Had to scoot down the mountain on my ass.”

“Can we make new teams?” Alicia asks. “This doesn’t feel fair.”

Jack snorts a laugh and pulls Bob upright again. “C’mon, Papa, you’ll have this down in no time. Can’t let Maman get bragging rights, she’ll never let you live it down.”