…Hello, Internet. I’m a broken and battered man on this Tuesday. I partied all weekend, sailed all day Sunday, and watched 2 Blackhawk victories.

(The true battle of the weekend was The Sun vs. Irish Skin. The sun won. I’m peeling like an onion.)

Over the course of the weekend, I poured nothing but sin into my system. I drank beer almost exclusively. I smoked like it was a respirator. My entire diet consisted of Portillo’s catered Italian Beef sandwiches and combos. That last one is less a complaint and more me bragging.

During the sailing part of the weekend, which didn’t have much wind but plenty of insanity, I scraped the inside of my knee on …something, cut my hand on something else, and landed on a cleat when jumping off the boat. Except for the possible chip of a footbone, the other injuries are complete mysteries to me. All I know is that at one point I noticed blood, and followed the trail to my newest scar. I also recently switched deodorants, and this Old Spice crap ain’t working as well, despite that guy on the horse’s insistence.

So as I put myself together, let’s take a moment to thank the wonderful people at Neosporin. Thanks, Neosporin!

I’ll be back after I find some Aloe.

Those guys with their cream cheese and M. Night Shamamamalan better watch their asses. The Blackhawks are coming for blood.

I’m not what you would call a hockey fan, Internet. I like it, and I’ll watch it if it’s in front of me, but I don’t really seek it out. That’s what makes this so painful.

The Chicago Blackhawks are tearing it up this season. They’ve won the Central Division for the first time in 17 seasons, they set a franchise season win record, a franchise season point record, and a considered strong contenders for the Stanley Cup. The Chicago Blackhawks are a force to be reckoned with, as long as I am kept very, very far away.

I have watch precisely 2 Playoff games, and the Blackhawks have been DESTROYED in both. Both were planned events. “Let’s watch the Blackhawks!” Both ended in disaster. Because of this, I have come to a painful and depressing conclusion: For the sake of the team and the great city of Chicago, I will not watch the Blackhawks anymore this year.

This may be drastic, but in the sporting world, nothing is more important than superstition. As Crash Davis said, “If you believe you’re playing well because you’re getting laid, or because you’re not getting laid, or because you wear women’s underwear, then you ARE! And you should know that!” If the Blackhawks are losing because I’m watching, then I’ll stop watching. They were winning without me, so logically, they’ll start winning again without me.

I’m doing this for you, Chicago. Please remember this in October when the REAL playoffs start.