Brock Lesner was raised on a farm in North Dakota. As a child, Lesner dodged a barrage of arrows with glee. Consequently, Lesner is now unable to eat s’mores without grimacing. On his 15th birthday, Lesner hid among the karaoke singers and dreamed of being the next big thing. Almost immediately, Lesner witnessed a...
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Charlie Gehringer Fowlerville Mechanical man: Automatic at second, Magic at the plate. Jim Abbott Flint Did all with one; the Angel with the fastest glove Peddled no excuse. Kirk Gibson Pontiac Feral baseball rush. Forget that limp-legged dinger; Tiger through and through Bill Freehan Detroit Good bat, good field— Professor disguised in the Tools...
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Jon Paul Fiorentino meditates on the utter lack of complexity in the linguistic patterns of hockey thugs in these two poems about Brian Bellows. Maybe you remember this? Brian Bellows Mows the Lawn Nice fucking mower, Bellows— get off the fucking lawn Grab your weed whacker, Bellows— yeah, that’s right Way to water that...
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A Poem Assembled from Metta World Peace (aka Ron Artest) Quotes I don’t shake substitutions’ hands. I lose my feet. I’d like to thank my psychiatrist. I felt something, But I didn’t know it was an actual head. I knew somebody suffered something at that point. There were a lot of emotions in that...
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The impossibility of resentment at the end of the NHL lockout I Dangling Datsyuk, not quite like Datsyuk Datsyuk. Ah, Datsyuk. Remember Datsyuk? Remember blind cross-ice passes right on Zetterberg’s tape? I didn’t. Then, as the lockout was ending, everyone was linking to Datsyuk’s final play for CSKA Moscow. It was a...
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On Thursday September 27, 2012 at the W2 Media Cafe in basement of the renovated Woodwards building in Vancouver’s downtown eastside a group of BookThugs gathered to honour the great gods of poetry and fine publishing. Podcast: Play in new window | Download
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