Friday, August 29, 2008
Deserving or not? We know where HF4 stands. The rest of the FHF have had spirited debates over the credentials of a number of former Habs and whether or not their numbers deserve to be raised or lowered from the rafters ... check Bill Durnan's career stats, or compare the impact of Elmer Lach, Newsy Lalonde, Aurel Joliat, or the Georges (Vezina and Hainsworth) and tell us why they aren't up there but Ivan Cournoyer and Boom Boom Geoffrion are (and don't get us wrong, we LOVE the Roadrunner and Boom.) Off the ice, Patrick has proven to be a world-class ass, but in a Habs jersey he was one of the best ever. What say you? St. Patrick to the roof with Rocket, Beliveau, Morenz, Lafleur and the rest? Or someone else from the Habs pantheon?
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Because we couldn't say it better in our own words, we asked permission to publish this great reply by TrackFan96:
Yoni Goldstein, I don’t know who you are, meaning how old, what sports you love, where you have been, what you have done in life. But after reading your post on the End of the Beijing Olympics, (the first time I come across your blog), you sound nothing short of a sheltered nudnik with a good job who has pretty much stayed in his nest his whole life, a nest radiating of American hegemony (yes unfortunately in Canada we apparently cannot resist it) whose sports culture is based on games where hockey pucks should have neon red trails blaze behind them so that the entertainment value of our programming interests can be nudged a inkling higher if not by the pervasive ads that pepper images of what are supposed to be athletic achievement.
Yes sports must have an entertainment value, but the fact that you cannot see it in Olympic sport speaks volumes about your TV consumer habits in between Olympic years. Sure, Canadian sports coverage sucks. Though it’s slightly better than American coverage, let’s face it: we’re not a sports loving nation, we’re a hockey loving nation. So no kidding it’s hard to follow other sports in this country. But there’s a great invention called the Internet that kind of revolutionized things a wee bit over a decade ago that allows you to pretty much follow any sport taking place in any continent. Then there are airplanes (another nifty invention, thank you Wright brothers) that allow us to actually go SEE these events and really appreciate their entertainment value and athletic excellence, revel in euphoric atmospheres, and also get to discover some really interesting countries while we’re at it. I take it you have not conducted any of the latter two types of explorations. If you have then you must be one hell of a grump!
I’m an athletics (meaning track and field) and football (meaning soccer) fan despite the fact that I have lived in Canada my whole life. Hardly anyone relatively gives a crap about these two sports in this country, one of which is amateur (and boy does that ring true for track in this country). Every few years, track greats like Asafa Powell and Tyson Gay clash at the world stage and what makes it so exciting is that between those years you get to follow their and their peers’ exploits from obscure places like St-Kitts and Nevis, or the Netherlands Antilles, via the net and see their stories unfold and intersect every now and then. This produces the drama and entertainment value you seek so much in your NBC-ed, CBS-ed and CBC-ed enhanced versions of the sports you allude to. If you wish not to follow what happens to these athletes or their peers between leap years, tough luck man, it’s not as if you had no means to anyway. If you just don’t like it, not many will actually care to hear you rant about it. After all, who cares to hear someone rant for the sake of complaining, especially when they are paid to do so for god’s sake! Those who do probably have nothing more interesting to add to the discussion anyway. As someone who also works in the media we all know that the only interesting rants are A) the funny ones, B) the ones that actually have intelligent comments backing them up. In this case, your post is devoid of both.
A lot of these amateur sports (some of which are not that amateur) are actually quite enjoyed and played at high levels in countries worldwide, like volleyball and handball are across Europe, track and field in Jamaica (haven’t you heard that the country has pretty much been on holiday for a week?) and swimming in Australia (read Ian Thorpe: walking god among mortals in Australia – even before he won six medals in Sydney, and a slew more in Athens). They are also well funded and so Italian sprinters who cannot even crack 10.20 (who has even heard of an Italian sprinter apart from Pietro Mennea… have you even heard of Pietro Mennea???) actually don’t need to flip burgers and buy bus passes to putz around because the state gives them the means to excel and even sometimes the wheels to go with it! The narrative builds up, year after year on each pro or amateur circuit, teeming with rivalries between athletes and countries, and climaxes when they all meet at the Olympics, where they actually don’t get paid to play in their arena of excellence (now isn’t that a paradox!!!).
Yes of course some get million dollar contracts following their gold medal feats, but the fact of the matter is, if you can’t see entertainment value by 10 000 athletes coming together for nothing other than to win a piece of metal to hang around their necks for the time to belch out their national anthem, then you seem to be suffering from a serious bout of North American I-don’t-care-about-sport-if-it’s-not-hockey-baseball-football-basketball syndrome, where we need posers like Bob Costas to overdramatize ad nauseam the story of every player on the field, schmucks like Don Cherry to keep us in front of the TV as we fatten ourselves up with more pizza and beer while our girlfriends in the background wait for those thrilling 200 minutes to end, or illiterate yutzes on RDS to tell us what’s happening on the ice - though we can actually see what’s happening on the ice !!! (Wow that was in bad taste, Jacques Demers was actually illiterate!! Much respect Jacques.)
And why should we put tax dollars towards what you call “worthless endeavours”? Have you ever picked up a tennis racket, laced up some track spikes, glided through waters with a paddle and scull lighter than your own weight? It sounds as if you haven’t. But it doesn’t matter, because you probably have not noticed the obesity epidemic afflicting the planet, especially our continent.
And though we’re not going to get into the Freudian psychology of why people are fat and eat through their emotions, you and I very well know that people who love sport more than they love food grow up to be more balanced individuals who will in one way or another end up costing a whole lot less tax dollars while we spend the balance treating the others suffering from diabetes, heart attacks, strokes - you name it - and their insurance companies with ever increasing premiums dish out the cash for their relatives to throw them in nice and earthy pit in the confines of a nice and cosy pine box. I am still baffled at how a country like Australia can have such a high obesity rate. But when you actually walk through cities like Melbourne , Sydney , Brisbane , or Perth , which produce most of their sporting legends, you realize it’s no shit the Aussie fatties live in out in the countryside while the supermen and superwomen walk streets of the nation’s metropolis.
I’ll assume that you understand that most of us grew up playing hockey because of the Great One and his peers interspersed across the NHL, or shot baskets through slanted and netless hoops screwed into cement walls because Larry Bird and Magic Johnson made green and purple actually cool to wear.
Those of us who did not get inspired to go play with our brothers and friends and their tomboy sisters in our backyards or streets while we dodged passing cars or tried figuring out how the hell to make a baseball diamond out of a back alley ten feet wide by fifty long (thank you Tim Raines) either opted to sit on our lazy-obese-and-antisocial-asses-to-be and play Nintendo (sorry, loyal disciples of Sega) - or decided to give a 100m dirt stretch a try at full speed after we saw Donovan Bailey deny the Americans a podium twice in seven days sometime last millennium. Let’s face it: most of us play sports because we were inspired to.
I’ll put my tax dollars to them any day if it means it’ll teach kids that sports are not just a genetics freakshow laden with too much sponsorship money and insanely rich prima donnas, but actually a pretty damn good way to spend some time in life. And no, I will not get into the importance of sports in a balanced lifestyle. You can instead read Pierre de Coubertin’s declaration (and skip its sometimes Euro-centric and supremacist undertones), which itself was inspired by the British model of sport as a way of rejuvenating society. Too bad British hegemony got somehow blown off by the Atlantic and therefore we never got to see rugby reach the New World . There isn’t enough game stoppage there to allow for advertising time in between plays anyway.
Come on Yoni. You work in the media, you should know better than to write empty posts like the one you did on August 25th. You know that in this ADD-and-short-attention-span infested world we live in we need entertainment value to dilute articles, films, and shows to get us to read something, while their writer hopes that the original message (hopefully an intelligent one) will be absorbed during the viewer/reader’s hypnotic trance of content consumption. After all, you are taking up our all-too-precious time while we willingly gulp up your words. I would have hoped to have gotten something out of it, but I’m afraid in a post lacking in both entertainment value and any form of eloquence, not many people will.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Canadiens General Manager Bob Gainey addressed the Mats Sundin saga/soap opera/sideshow/clusterfuck yesterday, and he's in the same boat as all of us, apparently:
"We haven't had much contact with him. It appears he's not interested. He hasn't asked many questions about the organization ... We haven't spoken to Sundin's camp for at least a week," he told RDS. "There's nothing new, he hasn't decided anything yet. He told me he'd decide in August and today's the 26th. We'll know, provided he respects his own due date, his decision should come sometime throughout the next week."
Gainey also stated he felt the Habs were the perfect team for Sundin at this point in his career. While that is debatable, the Canadiens certainly do offer an enticing blend of young talent, history, and a rabid fanbase, making them an attractive proposition for many players (idiot media, language police, taxes, and general crazy excluded.)
But frankly, this whole thing has gone on way too long. Is Mats Sundin really this conflicted? Is he selfish? Just fucking obtuse? He must know that by this point any decision he makes will be greeted more with a "fucking finally!" than anything else. Reports keep mentioning "five or six teams" whose current players, fans and management are all going to have quite the bone to pick with Mats if and when he decides on a destination. You don't think he'll hear it in Philly or New York or Montreal if he signs elsewhere? You don't think Leaf fans will brand him a Judas if he leaves Toronto for Montreal for free rather than for a boatload of picks and players? You don't think there will be some resentment even in the room he finally deigns to join after this whole act? At this point, I want Sundin to go somewhere else so I can boo his ass everytime I see him. How do you think the Canadiens feel? Fuck, Alex Tanguay can't even pick his jersey number just in case Sundin gets his fucking head on straight and makes a decision.
I'm sure it wasn't your intention to drag this out, Mats. I'm pretty sure you aren't a prima donna, but I'm stunned that this has gone on so long. But please, do SOMETHING. Go to the Rangers and be the man on Broadway. Take the no pressure way and go to the Leafs, where they might (might) forgive you and love you again. Sign with Detroit and blend into the background for a Cup. Retire. Whatever. I don't care anymore. Just stop fucking jerking Bob Gainey, the Habs, and their fans around.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Friday, August 22, 2008
As Jeff himself told us it's a bit long, so we're introducing a handy new "read the full post" feature in honour of the occasion. So for an unedited look into the childhood hockey memories that hide in the electrified Swiss cheese of Jeffhk's mind, please join us, as the kids say, after the jump. Pants.
Oh my young tender boys, my little sweet...crap, wrong site. How embarrassing.
There was this feeling of surety watching the Canadiens in the 70's. If you were born in the early sixties or before, life was simple.
On a snowy Sunday in January, -75 Fahrenheit (we had global cooling then, big panic at the time, but the oil truck always showed up and kept our asses alive for another winter, thanks to our killing cold war world dominance and posh sheik types of guys in the middle east who had to send their sons to Oxford), you'd twist the UHF rabbit ears thingy to catch channel 22, WPTZ, welcome to the Boston Garden. And then you'd see the Habs win, again. Though the Bruins scared the fuck out of us every time.
I loved those games from the Garden and Madison Square. I loved the Bruins and the Rangers (a great story always has enemies you respect); they played their asses off every time. Vic Hadfield. Brad Park. Both teams always had great players.
And then Buffalo. Buffalo? Where the hell? What are they doing in the league? They used to piss me off, they even fucked us up sometimes, in the playoffs too. How dare they. Perrault that cunt, christ he was good. I’ve heard from a goalie who played then that Richard Martin had a wicked heavy wrister, just fuckin impossible to see, and if it hit you, it hurt like fuck, every time. You just never saw it coming.
Or you'd tune in to Dick and Danny, CJAD, live from Detroit, at 10 PM, and fall asleep after the Habs won again, live from Joe Louis Arena. The Wings were always crap then, a shame. Fucking fantastic though, to listen. Detroit was a million miles away then.
And that year, every year, the snow kept falling, and my damn fingers had frozen agony solid putting up the Christmas lights with my brother, bending the wires around rusty nails set in by my father in 64.
Los Angeles was just way too fucking late, (I was like 10 OK? I hadda go to sleep) and who the fuck were they anyway, Jesus, the KINGS? What the fuck gayboy kinda stuff was that?
I got the Harry Howell Esso card though, in 72. Last sticker, filled the book. Sweet. Harry played out his last years in LA, no teeth, in the sunshine, gintonics by the pool, doing tons of coke and having sex with young girls from Minnesota who wanted to be film stars. Always liked Harry Howell, great name. He may also have been the guy who’s point shot was deflected into Plante’s face in 59, thus forcing Jacques the man to put on the MASK for the first time. Need to check my facts on that one though.
Blah. Sorry Harry didn’t do that drug or girl stuff ok so don’t sue me blah…though I would of if I was him. Back to the story:
Now they sell those Esso sticker books on e-bay or whatever that crap site is. I wouldna sold Harry though, no fuckin way. I still wouldna. Cept I didn’t save the book because I grew up, and kids didn’t think about cash all the time then.
Made my mom fill up the fucking huge 5 ton no seat belts sharp things on the dash kill you GM Fury all the time to get those cards. Gas was cheap and life was good. I did not see the great world crisis looming on the horizon ok? I was fucking 10.
Point is it was fuckin great, and the moon circled the earth, and you'd go to the Forum 3 times a year and watch the Habs pick apart and fuck up some team. Just skate them to death. The Blues, or the um, Penguins. Penguins? What the fuck?
Cigars and beer in the halls between periods for the Dads. The forum halls reeked of beer and tobacco, of men, of Montréal men, French and English, who had paid for their tickets with hard work, and who no one was going lecture about smoking or drinking. This was their city, their building, their team. The forum was not a marketing idea; it was not a ‘venue’. It was a gathering place for all people of Montréal to watch their team play hockey. It was a civic place, a public place, a town square with seating so steep you could wave to your friend across the ice. It was our opera house. The pretty wives in the reds wore their fur, and the men with less money up in the whites watched the game with keen and quiet attention. It was the most dignified public gathering place I have ever seen.
And: It was bright, terribly bright. The light was pure white and hurt the eyes, the red railings were always fresh painted, you could see the play perfectly, but the shots were coming so damn fast that you still couldn’t see them all.
My mom would wear her fur coat, yeah a real one, christ she’d get killed now, and sit in the reds, falling in love with Larry Robinson, because “he was such a nice young man and had kind blue eyes.” I tried to explain that in fact Larry used to destroy decent men and damage their internal organs permanently, but my mom just liked his eyes. Jeez.
My step dad would just sit there watching, a cunning look on his face. He was a good goalie in his time and he was also one of those guys you see in suit and hat, smoking ciggies, in black and white pics from games in the forties and fifties. Sitting behind the wire mesh. Watching quietly. Fucking cool that war generation. Poor bugger flew bombers over Berlin and then drank way too much whiskey for the next 50 years. Don’t blame him, would a done the same.
So here we are now, and for us, my Montreal generation, French and English, generation X (and by the way fuck you, idiot media kids, generation X was 1960 to 65, not like 1970 or um 73, fucking moron badly educated cretins, read the book fuckheads), it's like some fucked up thing, a wrong nightmare, to see Habs struggle, or have a challenging game against the DUCKS or some marketing idea team from wherever the fuck. I mean it's just fucked really.
But the snow still flies in January, it's still cold as fuck, and this winter there will be a little guy on the South Shore, or in Beaconsfield, or in Laval, in Pierrefonds or in Park Ex, lacing his skates on to skate like fuck. He knows, he knows all of it, and he loves the Habs as much as I ever will.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
As the offseason drags on and on and on and on and on and (well, you get the idea) we need to find something to talk about. And once upon a time, way back in the beginning (around 1 BJ [Before Jaro, get your minds out of the gutter - ed.]) this blog started with a promise to discuss Soccer, Strippers ... and the Habs. We've done pretty well on the strippers and Habs topics, but our soccer talk is woefully inadequate, especially considering the wealth of hot soccer-themed pics that are out there. So here goes, as I pick up the soccer (or football, for the insufferable purist-types) ball and start running. (Which, ironically, would get me in big trouble were this an actual soccer game.)
My tastes run more towards the English game, with a side order of vehemently cheering against the evil that is Rangers in Scotland because that's what Scottish Catholics do. Scotland is predictable as hell, since Rangers and Celtic have won every league title since the mid-80's. Throw your lot in with one of the others if you don't mind winning the occasional Cup and getting bounced out of Europe early. I recently discovered my ancestors came from Lanark, so I may need to start supporting Motherwell or Hamilton Academical. Let's move on.
The EPL is almost as predictable as Scotland at this point, with Man U (Rangers-like evil, minus the religious bigotry) and Chelsea (new-money West London gate-crashers) looking better than Arsenal (formerly boring boring Arsenal, now slick and fun to watch, but young) and Liverpool (Cup knockout specialists, England's most successful team domestically and abroad, but equally bitten by glory and tragedy). Chelsea buys all the most expensive toys, Man U gets all the calls and is run by the Lou Lamariello of soccer, Arsenal is always exciting but doesn't have any money to spend, and Liverpool does stupid things like buy an entirely unecessary new forward at the expense of wingers, or spend the summer trying to sell their brilliant Spanish midfielder Xabi Alonso and replace him with an older, inferior Englishman named Gareth Barry. God help me. Those four will end up in the top four spots in some order, just like they always do.
Panger is the Italian expert, so I defer to him, but it looks like Inter is the team to beat, with Milan (and Kaka! - unfortunate name, but wonderous player) Juventus and possibly Roma making it interesting. At some point, someone will get paid to fix a game, Juve will get a ton of sketchy calls in their favour, and the majority of the games will be dull 0-0 draws.
Spain = Real Madrid and Barcelona, with a dash of Villareal, Athletico Madrid, and possibly Sevilla tossed in. Keep an eye for the yearly struggle of Athletic Bilbao to stay up; they are one of only three teams (along with Real Madrid and Barcelona) to never be relegated ... but they also refuse to sign any players who aren't Basque. That's pretty remarkable. Imagine the Bruins announcing they would only sign players from New England. Yeah. Not the easiest way to build a contender ... but nothing else works for those cheapskates, so maybe they should look into it.
In Germany ... oh, nobody watches German football. The league is called the Bundesliga. It's a fun word to say. Bayern always wins. Schalke once made Pope John Paul II an honorary team member. Bayer Leverkusen was actually started by the asprin maker. German football is weird. Exhibit A: FC St. Pauli.
In local news, the Impact has a great new stadium, Toronto FC has a great atmosphere, and the Canadian National team just fucking tied Jamaica. Hockey season can't come soon enough. We promise, no more soccer talk when that happens.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
ANWAY, ther reason we bring this up is that the (possibly) hot Ms. Duff may be engaged to Mike Comrie. Or she might not be. But it's possibly hot hockey wife news, so of course FHF must publish it. It's the law.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
No word on whether Milf Hunter demanded the trade out of the great white north a la Mrs. Pronger, which apparently would make her a bitch - but I've been to Edmonton, and I'm certainly not going to question such a request. And our condolences to the men of Edmonton. It's not like they can do without Milf Hunter - the girls there mostly* look like they fell out of the top branch of the ugly tree and hit a few twigs on the way down before landing face first on pavement. (Just kidding - don't worry, we'll be hammering on Calgary shortly, so don't you worry, Oilers fans.)
Monday, August 18, 2008
HUGE DISCOUNTS available for any orders from the Greater New York area. (Excluding Newark, Long Island, or Buffalo.)
*Quebec residents must ensure all provincial taxes are included in Sundin pricing.
SPECIAL SUNDIN SIGNS SUPPORT FOR OUR TROOPS! See here for details!
Friday, August 15, 2008
The Hockey News has unveiled its predictions for the forthcoming NHL season. And it goes a little something like this (always wanted to say that):
"Forget that two of the worst off-season free agent signings (Michael Ryder in Boston and Jeff Finger in Toronto) speak to the sizeable desperation levels existing in this division. Forget that, aside from the astounding Canadiens, there are medium-to-mountain-sized holes in every other team in the Northeast."
I love you, The Hockey News.
RDS has also spread the euphoria around by citing THN's claim that the Habs would finish first in the East. Et pourquoi pas?
Gone I say! Gone are the days where every media outlet on the face of this round, porous, and ozone challenged Earth rushed out the gate in a mad scramble to predict a season-long collapse for a Canadiens team they had ruminating somewhere between 13th and 15th place in the Conference. Today, we stand among the mighty, on the lands of a summit we once groomed with daily affection.
It is indeed a joyful day. I want to feed the hungry squirrels in the parks of Montreal. I want to cook for the homeless. I want to learn Spanish and sing to my neighbour Maria-Fernanda. I want to paint the skies a bright bright Thulian pink. I want to sign my name in bleu, blanc, rouge across the heartlands of Oklahoma. I want to then explain to a confused people in Oklahoma why I am here, and why I signed my name in bleu, blanc, rouge. I want to make love. Dammit, I want to make love.
Maybe I just need my morning coffee. Have a nice day everyone.
As for what Jennifer Hedger has to do with all of this, well, not much. But Bob McKenzie just ain't as sexy as he used to be.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Le style que préconise le Canadien me va bien.
Mike Keenan is a prick who destroyed my career.
Je dois avouer que je n'ai pas encore pensé avec qui j'allais jouer. Cela reviendra aux entraîneurs.
I have full confidence that Coach Carbonneau will find me some decent linemates. I've heard that once he makes a line combination he sticks with it. Is that true?
Le Tricolore est une bonne équipe qui possède beaucoup de bons joueurs.
I'm just happy to be here, I hope that I can help the ball club. I just want to to give it my best shot, and the good Lord willing, things will work out.
J'étais un grand partisan des Nordiques de Québec.
(re what number he will wear) J'aimerais beaucoup avoir le 13, mais je vais attendre encore quelques semaines.
When Mats Sundin gets that fence out of his ass, the rest of us can get on with our lives.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Oh, one more thing: 19 points to lead the Habs in scoring in a little thing called the 1986 Stanley Cup playoffs. You might remember it more like this.
A Mats helping lead the Habs to a long-overdue Cup? Check.
All hail Le Petit Viking, the Mats we know and love. The Mats who wasn't tall enough to climb the fence, let alone sit on it all fucking summer.
Who's fucking tired of me blogging how there is nothing to blog about? Yeah, me too.
There is some report about Mats saying "I think sometime in August I hope to come to a conclusion on what I'm going to do," but since we're sick of Mats we won't even mention it.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Friday, August 08, 2008
What does this have to do with hockey or the Habs? Uh, not much. But fuck, there's nothing going on. When even Panger doesn't know who the Habs' most recent signing is, it's a slow news week.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
If a marginal NHL player like Dan Hinote can marry a Playboy model, well, fuck. We should have practiced harder in Pee Wee.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Prance around the desert and cook bread that looks like a feeble cracker. - The Messiah never came.
Build the Temple. - The Messiah never showed up.
Rebuild the Temple. - The Messiah stood us up.
Conquer Palestinian Land, evict the Palestinians - you know, violate a bunch of human rights and all that jazz. - No Messiah.
Resist Arab aggression and firmly establish a Jewish state to coincide with the biblical depiction of Israel. - No Messiah in sight.
Defy a flurry of Arab violations of basic human rights - respond in kind with new set of infringements. - Is that the Messiah at the door? Nope.
Watch and overtly enjoy every Mel Brooks movie ever made, including Robin Hood: Men in Tights. - Hey! Well if it isn't the Messi...um, no, no that's not him. Just the mailman.
Give Yasser Arafat a small role in the musical Annie (look for him in a cameo as one of the little orphan girls - a moving performance). - I don't think he's gonna show.
Draft Mathieu Schneider. - Donde esta il messiah? (upside down question mark) Il Messiah non esta aqui.
So Mats, if you think I'm going to fall into this waiting trap again, I, no, WE, we the Jews, know better. Forget it, take your schmekel someplace else.
TMS speaks for everyone in Montreal, Vancouver, New York and whoever the other interested cities are when we say Fuck You Mats. We're tired of this shit, and we don't even want you any more. Your bullshit masturbatory fence-sitting shows you really have no interest in wanting one last chance to win the Cup with the most storied franchise in the history of sports.
And if you do come, we'll just pretend this little mini-rant never happened.
Monday, August 04, 2008
Friday, August 01, 2008
Sure, you have a classic #10 jersey, but what about little Fido? Now he can support the team too with this official Habs Pet jersey. At only $30, your chihuahua, ferret or pot-bellied pig will be the envy of all the other pets who are just naked.
You could plop your fat ass on your boring old couch to watch the game, or you could spend $1079.99 on this fabulous recliner. It was $1779.99, so they'll be going fast!
Keep your Molson cold with the Habs bottle jersey. No jokes, 'cause this is fucking awesome and it's going on our Hannukkah wish list.