Writing on nervous energy in lockdown from the sunshine

Hi, folks, I am still alive and I still drink whiskey at night. It's been a few weeks since I submitted anything to the Plough and after two threatening phone calls and one threatening visit from heavies dressed in dark suits claiming to represent Mr. Derek White, I figured I should sit down and pen something . . . Anything to keep my kneecaps.

Mr. White is a close colleague and we go back many years from our days on the local sports desk but this site has opened up a new and vicious side to him that quite frankly makes me very nervous. I haven't seen or heard from him in weeks and the only contact I have (except through the heavies) tends to be one line e-mails. Straight to the point. Of course knowing Mr. White as I do, once this piece appears online he will send me a case of beer with a 'no-hard-feelings' note attached, for good or worse.

The British hockey scene has gone eerily quite over the past few days. In the month of May, Elite League news (good or bad) is rare, and every glittering ounce of it should be cherished and hoarded and worshipped and fondled like a priceless diamond.

Rumor talk has slowed and people are starting to move outside into the British sunshine away from their computers -- for the few weeks that we will actually see sunshine. Then when the rainy season in July and August comes along we will head back indoors to get up-to-speed on our team’s signings, you know, when the real import signing news starts to heat up.

Those of you reading this in our early summer afternoon are either chained to a desk in work or carry some bizarre allergy to bright sunlight. If it's neither of the above and you can simply not get enough about what your team is doing, then your issues are only just beginning. Someone close to you, someone who cares, should have you committed to a Mental Hospital, and locked down with restraints until you get your entire body dyed bright yellow, which will stay on your skin forever, or at least until you can turn off your machines.

As I ramble on, thinking of something hockey worthy to write about I pause for a coffee break, a quick check of Sky Sports News and then a return to this bastard of a machine to continue writing. My tan will not top up at any speed when living this kind of lifestyle -- hiding indoors for the good of the Plough and for the good of my kneecaps.

While boiling my kettle my mind beings to drift and I remember a time when the wage cap in British hockey was strictly adhered too -- or at least that is what we believed. We were all more innocent back then and rumors of player signings were not splashed all over scum websites such as The Snow Plough before the teams could release their news first. Wait, ignore that last sentence.

Remember the golden days? When Bob Zeller still walked the concourse of the Odyssey, when Tony Hand was one of few Brits in the league, when Coventry was in some other league and our Nations capital - London - had a team as well?

The league had its cap, the import limit was limitless or even very high, as it eventually became, and the rules were the rules for one and for all.

Where am I going with this?

I seem to be wandering, here, so let us drag ourselves from those innocent days of yesteryear and confront the terrifying reality of now.

The rules are changing as we read, type, speak, drink and wake up each morning. The latest is the split in rules between the top half and the bottom half. The top four from last season will play with one import less this year as the league look to balance things out. Whether you or I like it or not, it is happening and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. The excuses have already been laid down in stone, whatever side of the fence you sit on regarding the new rules:

1. Your team only won because you had that extra import that scored 130 points this season.
2. Your team only won because even with one less import - you broke the wage cap.

Watch for the farcical debacle at the seasons end as team unable to win the league look to throw games in order to assure themselves of an extra import slot for the following season - the back-up tenders will be hung out to dry, with an offer-sheet of a contract for the following season should they come through - 'for the good of the team'.

And all that brings me to predictions. Yes, I have a hunch. I have narrowed it down to two teams and a hunch is a hunch whether it comes to me one week before the season begins or four months before.

It is this simple.

Whoever wins the championship next year will be the big four team that suffers the least injuries to their reduced import quota -- The team that 'maximises' the wagecap and gets away with it. That is what it will take to survive the Elite League in the season Twenty Hundred and Eight/Nine -- and that team is probably Nottingham.

Of course those of you that can risk a few pennies on a longer shot team might want to look at Edinburgh as an outsider. They, of course, get the extra import and are building something up North. Yes folks, Edinburgh. That lifeless worm of yesteryear will turn into an invincible golden snake with countless arms and legs. They will be terrifying.

And on that note, I await my case of beer from Mr. White.

~R.Duke