The Oilers are dreamy

With the off-season ambling to a close, we’ve recalled all of our writers to OilersNation World Headquarters™. Some returned from far-off lands in moonshine-powered airships, while others simply abandoned their boxes on Jasper Avenue, their bid to create a “Kinder, Gentler and Concrete-ier Tent City” a lost cause.

One such writer is Ms Amber McCormick, an Edmonton-based comedienne who’s been with us since our humble beginnings (ie, back when we sucked). We met her on Facebook. And stalked her. Until she agreed to write for us. This is her story.

—DJ Spyn Cycle

Another hockey season is fast approaching. The papers, the internet machine and people’s mouths are all making their predictions for the Oil. Some opinions are just plain ridiculous and some have genuine merit. I, on the other hand, tend to be rather superficial. It’s not my fault, I’m just a girl. So what if I’m unable to rattle off stats like Rain Man? I can recite the entire dialogue from Sixteen Candles. I suppose everyone has a gift.

I’ve been the victim of smack-talk from friends asking me, “Why would they let you write for a sports site?” I explained to them that the Oilers Nation is a place where people can express themselves without judgment. A place where, no matter how old you are, man or woman, your opinions matter. I chose to leave out the part about nepotism and sexual favours.

Perhaps my friends have a point. Why should a girl, who admits her ignorance in the realm of solid-water skating sports, write for The Nation? I’ll tell you:

Because it’s fun. Pure and simple.

I like to think there are other women out there like myself. Women who are concerned about whether or not Pisani is taking care of himself and eating right, wondering what kind of hair gel Pouliot uses (which he now refers to as “product”—he’s so fancy), trying to imagine what Stortini would look like in a turtleneck and if there is one out there to accommodate his large sternocleidomastoid muscle.

See, I know stuff.

Bottom line is I love watching the game. I love the butterflies I get in my stomach when there’s no score going into the second period. I love the excitement of a dirty play. I love to see a little blood on the ice. Twisted? Perhaps.

But I feel I have a place in this community. I like having a voice and a soapbox to share my opinions. Who else is going to be the one to break it you that Penner’s purdy eyes have been out-purdied by Lubomir Visnovsky’s? It’s me. It’s my job 24/7. That’s 24 hours a month, seven months a year.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have cramps.