Pathological Flowers

…a few reasons why my Grand Prix men’s season was an anticlimactic suckfest.

PATRICK CHAN – I’m not gonna lie, here.  I’m getting sick of watching you faceplant, assplant, trip, stumble, flail and slam yourself into the boards only to cruise through the season in a protective bubble of stratospheric PCS.  Even worse is reading your whining about being underappreciated.  You opened the Grand Prix series by tripping while stroking across the ice, you fucking klutz!  And you closed it by leaving a Patrick-Chan-shaped hole in the boards!  You want your name listed alongside Kurt and Elvis for something a cartoon dog can do?!   I could give a rat’s ass if you can get around four times – land the damned jumps.  And either stop tripping on your notoriously complex footwork or dial it down to something you can manage so that your inevitable gold medals don’t insult everyone’s intelligence.  It’s called a clean program.  Try it for once and remember that a little humility goes a long way in a day and age when the rest of us are grateful to be employed at all.   Just because the judging panel’s lips are superglued to your ass doesn’t mean that the public is obliged to pucker up.

EVAN LYSACEK – this pains me to absolutely no end, but you deserve a spanking.  And not the good kind.  What the hell is it with you?  Last year at this time you were giving interviews that had all but written off competition in lieu of relaxing on the slopes and pimping Smucker’s products on an endless Stars on Ice retirement plan.  Then, lo and behold, you drew two Grand Prix assignments in June and spent the summer sequestered in some frozen bunker, knocking the rust off your quads and posting training clips to YouTube while Frank Carroll played shortstop between you and the press.  Even your mom came down to Toyota and got all giddy about your new program.  Everyone was stoked.  Then you withdrew from the series a week before go-time and issued a statement that amounted to, “I really want to compete, I’m really ready to compete, but I won’t compete.  Really.”  Really?  Kind of WTF and illogical, but okay.  Six weeks later, you withdrew from Nationals, all but nailing the coffin shut on your season and leaving everyone with a keyboard wondering what the hell this stupid contract dispute is all about.  Every bone in my uberfied body wants to give you the benefit of the doubt, but I have to say that this impasse—whoever’s “fault” it is—had better be worth it.  Half of your appeal lies in your competitive bloodlust, in that neurotic need to win that drives you to the top; but this debacle of an undetonated season smacks less of want than of a big, fat shrug.  The public was expecting a throwdown this season, and instead got some recycled, two-minute performances on morning television and a handful of tweets about how old you feel.   A word of advice:  suck it up and come back next season with everything you’ve got.   You’re going to need it, big time.    

JEREMY ABBOTT – Get your head straight.  I officially feel sorry for you and that’s never a good sign.  I feel even worse for your coaches.  Have you noticed Yuka’s expression in the Kiss & Cry lately?  Resignation.  You’re a sure thing next month at Nationals, which means you have about a 25% chance of winning because screwing the pooch is becoming your calling card.   I’m going to be there and think I can speak for a fair share of the spectators that we aren’t taking time off of work, traveling across the country, and spending our disposable income on tickets to watch you be a mental case.   We need your ass in Nice.  Get there.  Nice quad.

DAISUKE TAKAHASHI – I love you but…I love you.  If anyone has made this men’s season worth watching thus far, it’s you.  This season is yours.  Beyond your incomparable artistry, you are a tremendous competitor and a gracious sportsman.  I could watch your GPF freeskate on loop times infinity.  Will you adopt me?  I’ll iron your shirts and sort your fan mail.   

ISU – I’m actually a fan of COP, but it needs to reflect the fact that sport entails risk and cultivates suspense.  Figure skating seems to be losing that edge at a precipitous rate, to the point that now even commentators are saying, “I just don’t get it.”  Imagine how the spectators must feel.  Bottom Line: keep tweaking.

USFSA – you pack of jackasses.  FIRST, I hate that I’m obliged to give you the benefit of the doubt (since I also gave Evan the benefit of the doubt), but I swear to Godddd if it turns out that he sat out this season due to some dumb-as-fuck, bush-league, power-grabbing decision on your part I’m going to fucking eviscerate you every night on Twitter for the rest of my life or until my fingers fall off.  SECOND, who the hell was in charge of that abomination of a calendar?  Do you people even care who your skaters are or do you just cut-and-paste at your convenience and label them with whatever titles sound right to you?  How is anyone supposed to have any confidence in how USFSA manages big-ticket items like events and, oh, skaters, when no one will even bother to proofread a calendar that’s destined for every donor’s mailbox?  Christ and a half. 

THE MORAL OF THE RANT:  everybody get your damned shit together!  For the love of God, you’ve spent the season pushing me toward football!  I feel so underappreciated as a fan that I’m considering spectating for China. 

Love and kisses,

~Ruze