I think that life as a mom forces me to seek decent ways to express rage. When my kid lies about stuff, for example, I can't say what's actually on my mind (which is usually a Pulp Fiction quotation, to be honest, along the lines of "Does Marcellus Wallace LOOK like a ..."). Instead, I reach for some maturity, and say, "Hey, your lies have far-reaching consequences that you need to ponder."
I am feeling this way about hockey this weekend. Although I'd like to punch the sport in the insufferably smug face, I'm too Mom for that. Instead, hockey is grounded. Hockey is in the other room pondering the fact that an athlete's Cup weekend is besmirched by an investigation of a rape he might have committed. And hockey better not come out until it can say something to me that I'll respect.
Until then, here are other things that are going on.