Corsi and Fenwick: What the *%&$#* are QoC eTOI% and QoT TOI% F rel supposed to mean?

So, who are Corsi and Fenwick? Do they have first names? Or are they like Brazilian soccer players and Madonna?

rooftop riting biz card back sideI have a confession to make: I’m old school.

I’m so old school that I sometimes think I was on the work crew that helped Don Cherry build the old school.

I mean, I still call a chalk board a black board. To me, the word “hip” means something other than one of my many body parts that requires replacing. I don’t listen to music unless it includes a turntable, a needle and a thin slab of round vinyl. I’m still having difficulty with the notion that the Cubs play night games, that the 1970s are over and that Hedberg and Nilsson left Winnipeg for Gotham.

That doesn’t mean I live in the past. Nor does the past live in me. It isn’t that I’m anti-progress or anti-change (lord knows I fully embrace change). It’s just that I’m a bit slow on the uptake when it comes to new-fangled thingamajigs.

So you’ll have to excuse me if I’m having difficulty with these Corsi and Fenwick dudes.

For the longest time, I was quite curious about Corsi and Fenwick. It was a curiosity that bordered on fascination. I’d never seen them. I just kept reading and hearing about them. All…the…time.

I figured Corsi and Fenwick were finalists for the Hart Trophy and every other significant National Hockey League award. After all, they’d been mentioned in every shinny story written in the past half dozen years. I kept waiting for them to arrive on the red carpet at the NHL awards gala last month in Vegas, but they were no-shows. I was quite disappointed because I wanted to see what their dates were wearing.

That was quite presumptuous of me, though. Why would I assume that they had dates? Female dates. For all I knew, Corsi and Fenwick were a couple of gay dudes. Perhaps partners.

Naw. Couldn’t be that. We all know there aren’t any gay dudes in hockey (even though we all know there are gay dudes in hockey).

So, who were Corsi and Fenwick? Did they have first names? Or were they like Brazilian soccer players and Madonna and Shakira?

Hockey people and media types have long been in constant debate about Corsi and Fenwick. Take Steve Simmons of Sun Media (please, take him). He scoffs at, and heaps scorn upon, anyone who suggests Corsi and Fenwick are what hockey is all about today. My friends at Arctic Ice Hockey, on the other hand, are convinced that Corsi and Fenwick are the be-all, end all. Corsi and Fenwick do it all.

I figure if Corsi and Fenwick are that bloody good, the Winnipeg Jets should make a play for them. Give me Corsi, Fenwick and a first-round draft pick and I’ll give you Evander Kane. I’ll even toss in a player to be named later, as long as that player’s name is Ondrej Pavelec.

Well, we can’t make that trade because it turns out that Corsi and Fenwick aren’t hockey players. They don’t even have a pulse. (You know, much like Jets general manager Kevin Cheveldayoff.)

Corsi and Fenwick are fancy numbers. They are advanced stats. They are analytics. I’m supposed to look at Corsi and Fenwick and they’ll tell me everything from how often Jacob Trouba has the puck to how often and when Dustin Byfuglien takes a lunch break.

When I look at Corsi and Fenwick, though, it’s all Greek to me. It looks like something out of the Wall Street Journal, not The Hockey News.

Seriously. QoC eTOI% and QoT TOI% F rel are supposed to mean something to me? An old school girl who was weaned on plus/minus numbers?

I suppose QoC ETOI% and QoT TOI%F rel would make sense if I followed the stock markets.

“QoC eTOI% shares were up .25 at closing, but QoT TOI% F rel dipped .50 and is in free fall. Meanwhile, NZShr, DZS% and TMSh% made significant gains on both the TSE and on Wall Street.”

Quite frankly, I liked it a whole lot better when I thought Corsi and Fenwick were hockey players.

But that doesn’t mean I pooh-pooh fancy stats and the people who endorse and use them. I salute the numbers nerds who devised the stats, and I’m quite certain they have merit.

Let’s put it this way: All I need to know about fancy stats is that Steve Simmons thinks they’re stupid. That convinces me they’re brilliant.

(FOOTNOTE: I invite your comments. I do not, however, welcome some of your comments. If you believe what I’ve written is the natterings of a nincompoop and belongs at the bottom of a bird cage, let ‘er rip. Tell me why. I enjoy healthy debate. That can be fun. If, on the other hand, your idea of a critique is to attack/insult me about my gender or sexual orientation, then we aren’t going to get along. Let’s put it this way: It is permissible to question the size of my IQ, but not the size of my boobs. Bottom line: I don’t get paid to write this crap, so play nice, kids.)

Winnipeg Jets: Almost two years later, nothing has changed for Evander Kane

If there’s been one constant since this National Hockey League franchise moved to River City from Atlanta, it has been Evander Kane-bashing.

rooftop riting biz card back side(Editor’s Note: While sifting through my archives during a bout of research, I came across this piece I penned in December 2012 for Arctic Ice Hockey. It underscores how little life in Winnipeg has changed for Evander Kane in the past 19 months.)

I’m afraid the Kane scrutiny will never end. Not as long as Evander Kane wears Winnipeg Jets linen, it won’t.

That’s why at some point Kane will walk into general manager Kevin Cheveldayoff’s office and say, “You have to get me out of this hell. I can’t take it anymore.”

He might already be there emotionally. Kane and Winnipeg, you see, are not a happy marriage.

A large portion of the fan base have not warmed to Kane. I doubt they ever will. It matters not how productive he is on the ice. Judging by the fierce, intense reaction to his posting of playful pics from Vegas and previous perceptions of the 21-year-old left winger, it’s painfully apparent that Kane is going to get crapped on from high heights if he so much as picks his nose in public.

In the most simplistic terms, fans just don’t like him.

Local news scavengers, meanwhile, never avoid an opportunity to slice and dice Kane.

Gary Lawless of the Winnipeg Free Press is the leader of the Poison Pen Posse. He describes Kane as “a distraction the Jets will eventually determine is tiresome,” and the day will arrive when the Jets “will want to run.”

Well, you don’t have to be Nostradamus to predict that Kane no longer will be wearing a Jets jersey one day. That’s like saying there’ll be snow in Winnipeg in January. The fact is, the vast majority of players do not go wire-to-wire with their original outfits. Of the top 30 scorers in NHL history, only four started and finished with his original club—Steve Yzerman, Mario Lemieux, Joe Sakic and Stan Mikita.

So, yes, Kane will be moved. It might be the day after Gary Bettman and Donald Fehr kiss and make up. It might be a day before the next NHL lockout. But I say Kane wants out of Dodge before the Jets/fans/media run him out.

Who could blame him?

I mean, not since former Blue Bombers quarterback Dieter Brock made a flippant, harmless comment about the Assiniboine Park zoo has a River City jock been subjected to such scorn for doing or saying something so inoffensive away from the playing surface. Something that doesn’t impact on anyone else’s life. Fans and media rag on Kane for supposedly dining and dashing, for silly Twitter tweets, for supposedly getting into barroom brawls and now for posting goof-off pics from Vegas.

If there’s been one constant since this National Hockey League franchise moved to River City from Atlanta, it has been Kane-bashing.

So, what is Kane supposed to think? Try this: “I’m 21, the fans hate me, the media hates me…is this what my life’s going to be like for the next 15 years? Well, no thanks, I’ll pass.”

I’ll tell you what and who this reminds me of: The Toronto Maple Leafs, Humpty Harold Ballard and Laurie Boschman.

You might recall that Boschman was a highly regarded talent when he graduated from the Brandon Wheat Kings. So impressed were the Leafs, they plucked him ninth overall in the 1979 Entry Draft. His first two seasons were unremarkable, and he struggled mightily in 1981-82. That’s when Ballard, the Leafs’ bankroll, began to blow hard, threatening to dispatch Boschman to the minors.

Humpty Harold, of course, was always harrumphing about something. One day it would be “commies” and the next it would be women being good for just one thing: “Lying on their backs.”

In Boschman’s case, it was the Bible. Yes, being a born-again Christian was a sin in Ballard’s little mind. Boschman had “too much religion” and it made him “soft.” Big buffoon Ballard conveniently ignored the fact that Boschman had been battling mononucleosis and blood poisoning. Humpty Harold had the kid was a Bible-thumper, period. Many fans bought into Ballard’s bluster and, eventually, Boschman had it up to his chin whiskers with the taunting and torment. He asked for a trade and was accomodated. He went to the Edmonton Oilers, then the Jets, where he had a most productive career.

No one in Winnipeg remembers Boschman as a “soft” player. Soft-spoken and sincere away from the freeze, he was a right nasty bit of business once they dropped the puck.

But it was never going to work for him in Toronto.

Same thing with Kane in Winnipeg.

And that’s a shame, because Kane is going to be a very good player for a very long time.

(Editor’s Footnote: Do I still think Kane will be traded? Absolutely. As I stated, precious few NHL players spend their entire career with one franchise. I don’t think Kane will be one of them.)

(FOOTNOTE: I invite your comments. I do not, however, welcome some of your comments. If you believe what I’ve written is the natterings of a nincompoop and belongs at the bottom of a bird cage, let ‘er rip. Tell me why. I enjoy healthy debate. That can be fun. If, on the other hand, your idea of a critique is to attack/insult me about my gender or sexual orientation, then we aren’t going to get along. Let’s put it this way: It is permissible to question the size of my IQ, but not the size of my boobs. Bottom line: I don’t get paid to write this crap, so play nice, kids.)