Raising Hope

Rather than punch-out a Dickensian piece on the state of professional sports in Western New York and rehash the never-ending tale of rebuilding and messianic hope like the Apostle Paul reminding Israel of it's miserable history, let's take a moment for what it is:

There are two teams in Buffalo whose teams are as good as their records say they are.

The western half of the Empire State, which shares more in common with its southern Ontario neighbors and northeast PA than it's Big Apple brethren harvests hope year-round. When there's a drought, there's always a draft; when there's a spring, there's always a setback, followed by a soothsayer.

The Buffalo Bills and Sabres front offices have pulled their respective fans through turnstiles and have rung them back through the bucket into the brown suds only to be soaked back-up with the same mop and squeezed all over again.

This time, just like any other time, is different. (Of course it is.)

Just like replacing a Kaufman's with a Macy's, it's just new suits selling the same stuff with different name tags. And we line-up each time like it's Black Friday.

Let's start out with the Buffalo Bills. Any fan who thought this team would be a playoff contender would be considered a glue-sniffer by even the most optimistic fan in his blue sunglasses with rose-and-charging-buffalo-colored lenses. But the fact that Doug Marrone and his staff turned around a leaderless defense and played their first seven games to either victory, or within a possession thereof, evoked a fire inside every fan to Bill-ieve the franchise was on the fast-track to meaningful January football.

They'd lose EJ Manuel and replace him with an undrafted rookie QB. Then replace him with a practice squad player. Then replace him with the guy he replaced, before replacing that guy with the guy he replaced. They all combined to start a dozen NFL games. Yet, until the Pittsburgh game, even a hypercritical fan would hinge.

Until the Pittsburgh game.

The week before, the Bills had lost to an undefeated Chiefs team which they held without an offensive touchdown thanks to the two turnovers turned touchdowns. Head coach, Doug Marrone, said he was sick over the loss, and even offered one of the more memorable postgame lines in Bills history (of which there are as many as there are playoff appearances) when he said he wouldn't pet his dog upon his way home, then would return Monday morning fired up for the Steelers.

Sounded great. And we believed him. Who wouldn't after 13 seasons of Bills' misery and six coaches-worth of cliches.

Then came the "Stillers."

And the Bills played as if Chan Gailey had given the postgame presser and Gregg Williams had been leading them in the trenches.

Nine punts. Six of which came from their own 45 yard-line or better. Even captain Fred Jackson said he felt the team got punched in the mouth and never recovered.

So much for a change of culture.

Yet, there was Marrone the Monday after, emphatically saying "hell no," there's not time to rebuild this team and start over.

For once, a Bills coach didn't refer to the Monday Morning handbook of tape talk.

Marrone certainly believes it all starts and ends with him and will tell you so. And if you're a Bills fan, you need to believe him to this time. Unlike his six predecessors, the proud SU grad is not going to allow someone else to continue to make him look foolish.

That includes WR Stevie Johnson and RB CJ Spiller.

If the Miami Dolphins have proven anything, it's that a culture can't just change with a new head coach. And if the Phish have taught us anything, it's that a coach shouldn't let his locker room police itself.

The Bills are allowed to have six captains. They have half that. Any wonder why Nos. 13 and 28 don't have a four-starred capital "C" on their right shoulder pad?

Watching their performances of late, it shouldn't shock you. One still drops passes. The other is afraid to run through his problems, and would rather run around them. It's as literal as it is metaphorical.

Especially with a rookie QB, you'd think EJ Manuel would have some veterans to rely on.

Nah.

Then there's the Buffalo Sabres. Three wins.

Enter two fan favorites.

Pat LaFontaine, who has more hockey credentials around the league than anyone in Buffalo since John Muckler, is now the guy who hired back former Sabres head coach, Ted Nolan, who brought Buffalo it's first division title in 16 years in the mid-1990's.

LaFontaine admits he's not ready to be a general manager, but he has enough clout in the league to find the guy who is. Nolan is listed as the team's interim head coach, and is OK with the opportunity to come back and clear his name from the last time he coached behind the Sabres' bench.

Will it all change this year? Not likely.

But are the right folks in charge? For once, bet on it.

The Buffalo Bills and Sabres have the right folks in place to finally harvest hubris instead of hope and reap pride instead of pessimism, followed by more hopeless hope.

Within the next two years--at most--it'll make a great book: "Tale of Two Franchises."

Only with this Dickensian story, there may be two teams to celebrate. And Buffalo can finally get to the top of the world.

And have the excuse to stay there year-round.

(Yup. They've done it again.)

Marrone's March

It's been an interesting couple of weeks to be a Buffalo Bills fan.

This writer will go out and jostle the branch and say it's not a repeat of 2008 or 2011. This year is definitely different.

That's not to say due to significant injuries, piles of penalty yardage and enough youth to garner Jerry Sandusky's attention this is a playoff team. But unlike Bills Busts of yesteryear, this campaign has the feel of real change.

After a woulda-coulda-shoulda loss to the New England Patriots and a come-from-behind, 98-second rally to beat the Carolina Panthers--sans timeouts--Bills fans may never leave Ralph Wilson Stadium prematurely the rest of 2013. Granted, this Bills team could easily be 0-2 and in the basement of the AFC East--a place many NFL pundits and pretenders would project them to be.

In fact, it's much easier to argue the Bills should be 0-2 than 2-0, where the Bills Mafia could convince anyone who needs convincing.

It doesn't matter, though.

Regardless of a playoff appearance in a division the New England Patriots have owned since 2001 (Save 2002 and 2008), the team looks much different in areas it annually repeated ineptitude. Take EJ Manuel's closing drive in Sunday's victory: if it didn't remind you of Jim Kelly's end zone dive in Miami in '89, or Doug Flutie's bootleg past Jacksonville in '98, then you probably haven't reached puberty yet. Stevie Johnson finally made good on a game winning touchdown pass, one he admitted afterward he'd been chasing since his drops in losses to Pittsburgh ('10), the Jets ('12) and two weeks ago before Buffalo handed Tom Brady another near miss.

Captain Fred Jackson looks every bit the 'Ole Faithful that's catapulted him up the depth chart past the likes of Marshawn Lynch and even CJ Spiller at times. In fact, while Fred's numbers didn't shine like Spiller's, Sunday's game-winning drive was every part his as it was his rookie quarterback's.

The Bills have three captains--half of the six the NFL has allotted. And for good reason: times have changed in Buffalo. Jackson--listed as a BACKUP on the depth chart--is joined by defensive tackle Kyle Williams and center Eric Wood.

There's still room for Stevie, but he's not a cap'n. There's room for CJ. But he doesn't get a badge, either. There's an excuse for EJ--he's a rookie who missed half his preseason with knee surgery. Even Mario Williams and his Bills breakout haven't given him a "C" on his chest, while Jairus "Pay Me Like Big" Byrd doesn't seem to be in any hurry to earn any of the $6 million-plus he's guaranteed as the team's franchise player. But don't think the fact three vacancies in the captaincy has been lost on the Bills "stars."

They want that respect.

More importantly, their teammates want them to earn it.

Carte blanche hasn't been granted like it was to Terrell Owens or even guys like Drew Bledsoe. It's a new era in Buffalo. A new front office and the right head coach in Doug Marrone.

If this writer is wrong and this staff is excommunicated from One Bills Drive in the next 24 months, he will print this column, dip it in Quaker Steak's Triple Atomic Sauce and eat it whole.

This team has accountability--something absent from a baker's dozen years worth of Gregg Williams' chicanery, Tom Donahoe's derangement, Mike Mularkey's malaprops, Marv Levy's passe, Dick Jauron's phlegm, and Chan Gailey's good intent.

All that has given way to the Guns of Doug Marrone and Marrone's March to the Meadowlands Sunday. Don't think he won't remind his players he'd like to come back and coach there in February.

More importantly, don't think this particular group won't remind each other.

Winsurance

Any Yankee fan who wants to disown Alex Rodriguez should Instagram themselves torching their 2009 World Series Championship shirt, hat and commemorative Sports Illustrated issue.

The what-have-you-done-for-me-latelies are using A-Rod's PED punishment as an excuse in hoping their beloved Yankees save millions Band-Aiding Brian Cashman's misses in the farm system, as well as taking fliers on vets whom would be collecting pensions if not for the Steinbrenners' deep pockets.

Rodriguez hasn't been the same since he finally hoisted the World Series trophy more emphatic "umph" than when Lebron James bodyslammed his proverbial monkey two seasons ago.

Funny how that same year, Yankee fans rallied behind his needle-pocked buttocks as he routinely crushed game-winning blasts over the left field wall at the new Yankee Stadium, a feat seldom accomplished by a right-handed hitter since the days of Joltin' Joe.

They did the same thing for Jason Giambi. Not after his admission to using PEDs, but when he finally started hitting again after Cashman threatened to send him to down to (then) Columbus. It's hard to say fans dealt with A-Rod the same way after his return from surgery in May of 2009; His first pitch sailed over the wall at Camden Yards. It was pretty easy to root for the guy after that: he took the fans off the hook the way most troubled athletes do. By winning.

Just ask Boston Red Sox fans. There no bandwagon that grew faster than "Red Sox Nation" spreading like Islam all over North Africa during the sixth century. Saux fans can't talk either. We all remember the "anonymous" positive test leaks of fellow curse-busters David Ortiz and Manny Ramirez. Heck, two World Series rings hang on those Bash Brothers. Funny how nobody in the Twins organization thought Ortiz could hit, while Papi didn't even start Opening Day in Beantown. Suddenly, he emerges in the middle of June, 2003 the way Sammy Sosa resurrected himself five seasons earlier.

Nobody here is asking for folks to trade in their rings, memorabilia or memories over titles tainted by needles in their haystacks. What's won is won. Blame baseball. Blame the Players Association. Blame the CBA. Blame the 1994 strike. Blame Jose Canseco.

But be honest. Blame yourself, too.

The real reason you hate A-Rod is because he's not the same player he was when the Yankees re-signed him, and the Yankees are still stuck paying him until further notice.

Even the Texas Rangers are on the hook for $40-50 million in deferred payments they owe the 'roid-smuggling slugger who admitted to use during his days in Arlington, starting in 2016. You don't hear much from them nowadays, do you?

He was once great and now he sucks. That's why you loathe him. That's the only reason you loathe him.
Whether he plays in grays tonight against the Chicago White Sox is irrelevant. A suspension is coming and his career in pinstripes is over.

No Mariano Rivera-like goodbye tour. No Hideki Matsui Retire-a-Yankee Day. No Derek Jeter tearjerker moments, the likes of which haven't been seen since Cal Ripken, Jr. said goodbye.

No day in Cooperstown.

Our generation will be the first among many of which baseball fans won't be able to argue who The Best was.

Mays or Mantle? Ruth or Cobb? Or Gehrig? Williams or DiMaggio?

Stack those against Griffey vs. Name-the-User. Can't even fairly argue FOR Griffey since thanks to his downfall in Cincy, or due to full-time PED-lers. The fact A-Rod and his Biogenesis brethren even skated this far shows the skid baseball mas to make-up in catching more users.

Welcome to Baseball's Boo World Order. Albeit, hardly new.

Less than one generation from now, records will be like those in the NFL: irrelevant.

The late Oakland/LA/Oakland Raiders owner Al Davis was ahead of his time: "Just Win, Baby."

Even if you get caught. Just keep producing.

Because failure has nothing to do with cheating anymore.

It's failure to produce WHILE cheating.

Life of Riley

To say Riley Cooper effed-up is like qualifying Michael Vick's serial dog killings as misdemeanors.

Though there's not much that's sillier than white SportsCenter anchors asking black correspondents to opine on the Philadelphia Eagles WR, or white-white commentary, or even black talk show callers excusing Cooper simply because they're black and have authority to do so by default.

Cooper was drunk. He was on tape. And he figuratively boasted he could kick the assets of a black bouncer he characterized with a hateful word with roots stretching as far back as the whips used on the backs of that security guard's ancestors.

Cooper became a household name faster than his quarterback did among Westminster breeders. Is he a racist? Maybe. Does it matter? Apparently. Has he apologized? Of course. Was he sincere? Sure. Will his Mea Cooper work? Time will tell. It is football after all, and the problem should solve itself both on the field and in the locker room.

We all know by now the forbidden word in America used by racists and hypocrites alike. If you don't want a problem, don't use it.

But unlike Jimmy the Greek, Al Campanis, Michael Richards and John Rocker, Cooper can still quell collateral consequences:

Catch touchdowns.

If recovered canine killer, Michael Vick, and countless steroid users have taught us anything, it's the fact that winning cures all. And it better.

If the Eagles struggle, Cooper won't have to worry about the consequences of being the NFL's Grand Wizard.

He'll just struggle to find work. Anywhere.

The Braun's Medal

Ryan Braun isn't the only major leaguer whose PED dispenser rolled over on him. There's more to come. Each will get his share of beanballs thrown his way, only to be forgiven by hometown fans once they've paid their penance and bolstered their teams' rosters.

But Ryan Braun will be Milwaukee Brewers fans' first steroid test--a case study for loyalists of the other 29 teams in baseball.

How will Miller Park respond to a two-time cheater, liar, thief, accuser, coward, character assassin, prick, and every other perfect label that can be drilled his way.

He's right. He's not perfect. Neither are Braun's medalists A-Rod, Big Mac, Andy Pettitte, Manny Ramirez, Big Papi, Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, Rafael Palmeiro, the Giambis, Cansecos, the credits listed on the Mitchell Report, the cast of "Diff'rent Strokes," and even the original "Juice" himself.

Apparently, using PEDs to win an MVP, testing positive, appealing a suspension, destroying a FedEx worker's reputation, lying to millions in a press conference after a disputed reinstatement is absolved by the overplayed, overused, condescending, "I'm not perfect," punch-n-judy, statement.

Only cowards hide behind statements. Today, Ryan Braun is that coward. There will be more, but none of whom vehemently lied to cover their needle-scared assets the way Braun has.

Now comes the PED test for Brewers fans that should go for everyone else: Braun cheated, lied, continued to cheat, rotisserie'd a working man's career to become someone he'd clearly never be without it.

Will Braun be forgiven or given the Braun's Cheer?

In baseball, forgiveness isn't the protocol when one of your hitters gets a fastball to the head; it's retaliation.

Dino Laurenzi, Jr. is a native Milwaukeean whose rep was crushed like vials at the bottom of Braun's trash can. One of them.

If the folks at Miller Park have brains, they'll crush Braun the moment he's introduced Opening Day, and every moment thereafter.

Because, if they fail their PED test, they're just as phony as Braun himself.

Mo-One Better

If you want a blueprint for a  successful career, watch Michael Jordan's Basketball Hall-of-Fame induction speech.

If you want a monument for a successful life, watch Mariano Rivera take the mound for one last All-Star Game.

Jim Leyland proved he's a smarter baseball man than the rest of us: having the greatest closer ever pitch the eighth inning before thousands of his fellow New Yorkers, ballplayers and millions watching on Fox guaranteed the accolades the Sandman long deserved before a mere mortal closer risked the ceremony by blowing an American League lead as the designated visiting team.

Saving Rivera for the Ninth last night would be like saving your better pitcher for the day after a "Must Win." Even Pete Rose wouldn't bet with those odds.

Leyland proved he may be the best manager in the game last night. Not by pitch counts and substitutions, but by managing super egos to share their moment and allow an all-time great his place on the national throne. It may have been an inning earlier than expected, but while outraging some, the humble hurler himself wouldn't have minded who closed the game.

He just wanted to pitch.

And his monument was a packed house of mostly Mets fans--his crosstown rivals--and foes of 28 other ballclubs leaving him alone on the mound to say goodbye.

If that isn't a metaphor of success, then you're a Nihilist. Stop reading, because nothing matters to you in the first place.

With all of baseball's most embarrassing moments--some by Mariano's own teammates, past and present--here's the picture of one man who did it the right way, and never wanted he credit or the attention for it.

Often in life we get what we deserve. But rarely are we ever humble enough to shy away from the glory when it finally comes. Heck, even Cal Ripken, Jr. took a victory lap when he passed Lou Gehrig's consecutive games streak.

It's fitting Mariano Rivera is the last player to ever don the number 42, now retired by the rest of baseball. And if Jackie Robinson were alive today, he'd probably be pleased with the man who closed out that number.

Last night wasn't just a tribute to one man's career; it was a Bob Ross painting showing us what we each have to look forward to if we try to be the best people we can be, rather than the best (insert job description).

No shoe deals. No tweets. No reality shows. No BS.

Just a humble, 43 year-old kid from Panama, happy to play a kid's game with the same smile he had when he entered the league in 1995.

Take it from a closer like Rivera to be ready, especially if your call to the bullpen comes a little too soon.

Worst Place

Somebaseball pundits still argue the All-Star Game shouldn't determine home field advantage in the World Series.

It's about as late and tired as fighting for Al Gore's place in the White House.

Since the law was passed, home field advantage has mattered but once in the Fall Classic. Before that, it alternated when Series were much more competitive.

Get over it. There's about as much chance to eliminate this from the mid-summer slugfest as there is to jettison the DH.

Following a title vacancy in 1994, a "tie"  in the 2002 popularity contest, and a dodging another work stoppage that year, Bud Selig's approval rating as commissioner sunk lower than George Zimmerman's. So he turned-and-coughed, turned the exhibition into an expo and awarded home field to the winning league.

Who knew it would give writers and talk show hosts fodder for years to come?

Was Selig brilliant, or is there a dot-com-like boom of blogcasters and sports radio and TV networks running out of topics come mid-July?

Thank God Tiger Woods will take the pressure off come later this week. Tiger wins the British Open: "He's back!" Elderick loses: "Will he ever be the same?" Put two bits on it.

Selig secured flat ratings at worst for a game that would have been a mid-summer Pro Bowl performance at best and ratings sinking lower than the Stanley Cup. Home field advantage isn't going away.

If anything is killing baseball, it's these:

Geeks.

WARP: WTF?

Steroid talk: Punt. It's over.

Tim Kurkjian, Ken Rosenthal and Aaron Boone: Someone do another head count at the Lollipop Guild.

Expanded instant replay: Hey, why not make these games even longer?

Moneyball: Hey Billy Beane--win a friggin' playoff series.

Wanna fix the game? Eliminate scientific calculators. We looked forward to gym, recess and Little League to get out of class. Nobody was eager to go back inside for more pre-calc.

It's nice that nerds have found a niche to carve their ways into baseball when they couldn't play.

It just sucks for the rest of us who couldn't do either.

Court on the Kolb

Among the Buffalo Bills fans who have made their opinions heard on the signing of former Arizona Cardinals QB, Kevin Kolb, most dislike the signing.

What? They were better off with Ryan Fitzpatrick?

Even his Harvard IQ couldn't help his lobs when the Bills needed him on third down, or late in games. His 17-step drops only bought the defense a few more breaths between three-and-outs. Despite his offensive line--among the best when even compared to the K-Gun years--and CJ Spiller's long gains, his acumen either couldn't or just wouldn't talk former head coach Chan Gailey into just handing the ball off to the former first round pick rather than throwing into traffic.

Kolb has simply been a disappointment because he came from the Andy Reid QB school after the former Eagles head coach surprised draft pundits and punks alike by taking the gunslinger from Houston. Injuries kept have kept him off the field, when only Michael Vick's legs could save the Philadelphia offense behind an inept offensive line.

You can repeat that last line in regards to Kolb's tenure with the Arizona Cardinals.

If Doug Marrone and Nathaniel Hacket can get the ball out of Kolb's hands quicker than Gailey could with Fitz, the Bills may actually have something to build for 2013.

They will take a quarterback in this year's draft. And perhaps next year, too. The Bills have a better chance of the Cuomos re-gifting their luxury box at the Ralph to the Christies than breaking their NFL-leading 13-year playoff drought. Signing Kolb was not to win a Super Bowl. It was to have more than one veteran signal caller on a roster. Not just for insurance. Not just to help a rookie quarterback. How 'bout helping a rookie offensive coordinator?

Fans are spoiled by the success of Ben Roethlisberger, Matt Ryan, Joe Flacco, Russell Wilson, Andrew Luck and Robert Griffin, III and think any rookie can waltz into an offense and lead a team to the playoffs. The consensus among scouts has been this year's crop of QBs is among some of the worst. If there isn't a veteran signal caller somewhere on the roster, your precious draft pick will become a Jimmy Clausen sooner than a Colin Kaepernick.

Bills fans need to stop bitching about this year, projecting draft picks and whining over each move and non-move.

It'll be 14 years next January. Save your hopes AND your money for next September.

Things That Make You Go Ugh...

It was bad enough when there were only two ESPN TV networks, and whichever regional programming your cable company provided.

Now, radio shows are broadcast on cable and satellite to pass the time for spinoff networks, and both NBC and CBS have gotten into the mix.

Only, they're all reporting the same thing.

Or, reacting to something someone else reported.

And, to many a beat reporter's surprise (if it's many-a-beat reporTER, then the "s" comes BEFORE the apostrophe...), nobody cares who reported what first.

They just want the story.

Then they want it spun and baby-birded back to them.

Then the point-counterpoint shows ping-pong it.

And within an hour, it's old news needing rewrites.

So, with that in mind, here are a few fresh thoughts from one guy who doesn't have a 24-hour TV show packaging and repackaging his insight:

Twitter Fights. If NFL DBs Richard Sherman and Darrelle Revis feel the need to play "Real Housewives," at least they could call Don King and get us heavyweight boxing worth watching for the first time in two decades. The NFL has turned into first generation gangsta rap: a bunch of pussies talking tough until somebody gets shot, hurt, or goes broke.

Danica Patrick. Great. You've earned the pole position and knocked the People's Champ from the podium at the Dale-tona 500. Can't wait to hear the "first woman to lead a lap at Daytona" talk. That and your modeling career are enough to keep you going another half decade without winning another race. Sure, the other drivers would treat you like a good 'ole boy, if you looked more like Marla Hooch. We all know you wouldn't want it any other way.

Bracketology. Kentucky basketball fans likely know hoops better than ESPN's Joe Lunardi. So his day-to-day four-in/four-out scare tactics have no impact on their sleepless nights. This goes for every major fan, and head coach. Keep winning. There's nothing to worry about. So, Joe, ESPN has you employed becauuuussseeee...???

Johan Santana. This is how a guy comes to spring training too weak to throw after a mediocre bounce-back season: He looks at his paystub, and realizes he'll continue to be paid by the New York Mets without having to play for the New York Mets. He may be the smartest guy in the Grapefruit League. Hopefully, the Wilbons have his number in their smartphones the next time a ponzi scheme arrives with their investment portfolio.

The NFL Combine. A lot of fellas' must be suffering from Post Valentine's Day Depression to sit through this stuff. It's amazing how diehard NFL fans--most of whom are clueless when it comes to Saturday ball--suddenly become draft experts around Monday as they punch-in.

Buffalo Sports. Two coaches replaced within three months. Two quarterbacks who'll battle for a job neither played for last year, one whose team won't commit to publicly. And a hockey team that looks more like Gordon Bombay's District 5 goofballs from Mighty Ducks than the Buffalo Sabres.

Yup. Just another western New York winter after all.

No, Thank YOU, Lindy!

VIDEO: Lindy Ruff thanks Sabres, fans

A True Ruffalonian

It's too bad about Lindy Ruff.

This writer has never been a passport-carrying member of the French Connection, nor does he own a Molson-dried hard hat from Mad Hatters. But a Sabres win has always been a good thing. And since the Sabres haven't done as much winning as expected in the Terry Pegula Era, the longest-tenured head coach in North American pro sports (before Wednesday afternoon) has been replaced. And in this region, this firing hurts the most.

Lindy Ruff was probably the second most-memorable head coach in Western New York sports history behind only Marv Levy.

He'd get angry. Behind the bench. Behind the locker room doors. Behind the microphones. And he knew each time which buttons to push to try to get his team and it's fans to circle the Zambonis.

He'd call-out opposing coaches during and after games. He'd note cheapshots in public record. He'd played the game and knew when his fans needed a boost from their team, rather than the other-way-around. He alerted his lines after the unexpected October blizzard of 2006 demanding that their customers "deserved better" before a comeback win on a Friday night when thousands listened through battery-operated radios waiting for NYSEG to fix the power, Meanwhile, in Orchard Park--at Ruff's juxtaposition--sat a stoic football coach in Dick Jauron, who looked like he needed a Matt Foley speech more than the Sabres.

Any coach in pro sports--and his team for that matter--could be due for a change, or perhaps a break after 16 years. Rare are the days of Chuck Noll, Tom Landry, and Tony LaRussa. Heck, even Joe Torre and Phil Jackson were politely shown the exits after a combined 15 championships. And we all saw what happened with Andy Reid this past NFL season.

Ruff won't be gone long. And no matter where he goes, he'll always be a Sabre. More importantly, he'll always be a Buffalonian. People should feel worse about his departure than Chan Gailey's from the Bills, whose last vision pulling out of the offices of One Bills Drive was a "THANK YOU CHAN" sign.

For Lindy's sake, let's hope he gets his taste from the Stanley Cup soon. As far as this blogger goes, if he gets his sip before Terry Pegula or Ryan Miller, that's good enough.

Cheers, Lindy! When that day comes, this guy will call for an impromptu "Miller Time" in your honor.

As a head coach, you're the truest Buffalonian we've ever had.

My site has moved here. Then again, I can't get it to. This Google/Blogger thing has turned into a complete ripoff.