IRB's Classy People of the Week: June 5th

This week's classy people of the week are a group of folks that like to party - hockey players. Who doesn't like to party? Not anybody I want to know. Following a big win (say in game 6 of the Stanley Cup Finals), the team likes to party. Lord Stanley's Cup is by far the best trophy/cup/medal/ribbon/bowl you can win. You spend your whole life training for it. You spend 2 months growing a playoff beard for it. There is only one Stanley Cup, and it keeps growing. If your team wins the cup, you're on it forever. However, the cup is classy mainly because you can put things in it.

What things? How about, say, a 6 month old baby. Nothing classier than putting your child up about 6 feet in the air in a bowl for a photo opportunity.


Now, it's well know that hockey players (much like baseball players) like to drink. Well goddamn, you can put booze in it too!


After that, you drink out of the cup.


Traditionally, players can take the cup home with them for a day. Each player can do what they want with it, as long as they're accompanied by a member of the Hockey Hall of Fame.

It's gotta be awkward standing outside a guys bedroom when you know he's doing this with the cup:


Of course, the gayestclassiest thing hockey players do immediately follows the end of the game. They cheer, yell, cry, and then jump in a man-pile around the cup. Example:


That's a big beard-pile.

Commander Flex Plexico's Mustache of the Week (4/28): NHL Playoff Edition

  Welcome to your weekly installment of machismo . . . it's Commander Flex Plexico's Mustache of the Week: NHL Playoff Edition, brought to you by our friends at McMurry's Mustache Wax: If it's good enough for your grandmother, it's good enough for you!

  For some of our more enlightened readers, as well as those coming to us from America's Hat (assuming they have the interwebs in Canada, I doubt it, considering it has nothing to do with maple syrup or Tim Horton's, someone check on that), you all know what time of the year it is.  No, not national poetry month (it is, but that's a different post all together).   The NHL Playoffs are in full swing hosers and hoserettes!!  For those of you not as in touch, hockey, America's 27th favorite sport, sandwiched between Beer-Hunter and Monkey/Herding Dog Rodeo, began it's road toward climax a few weeks ago, ending in the presentation of the Stanley Cup in a few weeks.  While the action on the ice has been breakneck to this point, the real focus of all you hockey fans out there has undoubtably been the players customary playoff beards.  In a show of unity and solidarity, all the players, minus Sidney Dive-sby (it turns out 12 year old girls have trouble growing beards), sport mountain-man Chet beards as long as their teams remain in the playoffs.  By the time the finals roll around, it looks more like the Hatfield's versus the McCoy's rather than a hockey game.  While the beard is a respected relative of the mustache, it certainly doesn't brandish the same pantload of rigid respect the more venerable mustache has associated with it.  This post salutes those who were willing enough to put the entire team on their back a carry them, with their deficient awesomeness, to the next level.

  Back in the glory days of upper-lip libido (1970's-1980's), the NHLer mustache was quite common, appearing predominantly in its mythical form, the mustache / hockey hair (mullet) combo.  Supposedly, if you catch an individual with a mustache and hockey hair, they're legally required to bring you to their pot of gold, but it's said that rather than gold, it's filled with McMurry's Mustache Wax.  This is all hypothetical of course, as you could never actually catch . . . nay, gaze upon one of these individuals without you head exploding from the sweetness.  This, folks, is the holy grail of follicle coordination, and only the most brash of men can sport it.  I believe the prerequisite was having killed 50 ninjas with your bare hands, that, or frightening 250 babies / small children / weak adults back into the safety of their mother's wombs, whichever came first (it was usually the ninjas, they're forced to test their skills against the manliest opponents available).  With this in mind, I submit to you, a who's who of the NHL nose neighbors.  

Disclaimer: The contributors of "Just Rub Some Sugar On It" are not responsible for any head exploding that may ensue from extended viewing of the photos below.  We will not compensate for carpet / furniture cleaning after your gray matter is splattered thusly.  You have been warned!!

With a last name like Goulet, what did you expect?

Before the days when the helmet was required.  Not for the safety of the players, but rather that of the viewers and their heads

Must . . . . caption . . . . intercranial pressure . . . . building . . . . SPLAT!!!

George Parros

(he's obviously just returned from the past after beating the crap out of Mohammad Ali,

Not Pictured in Shot: the rest of Ali's severed arm)

Ryan Hollweg receives "Knuckle Justice" for not allowing his stache to fully bloom

(find a picture of him now, he's learned his lesson)

  I leave you, until next time, with an English Proverb: "A man without a mustache is like a cup of tea without sugar."  By cup they mean keg, and by tea they mean blood of those intent on standing in your way, and by sugar they mean sugar . . . fuckin' English.

-The Commander