Happy Sunday morning to the TBC audience. It's going to be gorgeous outside today, so make sure you enjoy the beautiful weather by having an adult beverage or three on a patio somewhere before you come to the Thrashers-Leafs game.
With the ownership situation happily in limbo (thank you Charlie Sheen!), fading playoff hopes (losing 16 of 19 will do that), and rumors abound of potentially good players going to other awful organizations (Bogosian to the Islanders? Um, what?), I'm feeling a bit nostalgic this morning. Reminiscing of all the good times I've had with the Atlanta Sprit, the bad times....actually, it's really only the bad times. Our old friend Colby Armstrong and his Thornburn-esque nose are in town. Didn't we have Joey Crabb and Clarke MacArthur at some point, too? Weird. It's like a middle school reunion and you're having to pay to get in.
Anywho, since it is a Sunday morning, here's The Best Song Ever Written in its acoustic form for your enjoyment. Also, go outside. Stop reading this bullshit. Go get some vitamin D, you pale asshole.
Go Thrashers? I'd think at this point, we shouldn't be telling the Thrashers to "Go" anywhere.