Welcome to 201k.com - A Commonwealth Perspective.

Let's see if we understand this correctly:

If you say you've found the shroud in which a man was buried 2,000 years ago, it's completely plausible, and a matter of serious scientific debate.

But if you claim you've found the grave of that man, it's an impossibility and an outrage.

Do we have this right?

...vacation, if you couldn't tell. Back soon.

Pet Peeve time. Blame it on the season.

Memo to all singers of "The Star Spangled Banner": it's a SONG -- it's supposed to be sung in TIME.

Confession: 201k has season's tickets to the Bruins. We go to a lot of games, and watch the rest on TV. We watch a lot of sports in general. We hear the National anthem a lot.

A lot.

And we've noticed that nearly everyone has abandoned any attempt to sing the song in time, choosing instead to stuff it full of vocal calisthenics, running up and down the scale pointlessly at every opportunity, like, "the bombs bursting in air-ai-aaaaaa-ai--aiaiaiaiaia--aaaaa--aa--aa--aa--aaaaaaaair..." until you begin to wonder if they'll ever find their way back to the one (they usually don't.)

Not that this isn't entertaining -- it's hilarious. The problem is that before each pointless calisthenic they have to take a deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep breath (in that most of them aren't Patti Labelle) and eventually give up even pretending to sing the song in time, instead approaching each tricky part like a series of jumps to be hurdled, like in a steeplechase.

[Note: Mrs. 201k, a rider, says we mean "dressage". Whatever. "Steeplechase" is funnier.]

Enough is enough. Knock it off, all of you.

Here's the plan: from now on, all singers of "The Star-Spangled Banner" must, while singing, imagine in their heads a loud "CLICK, CLICK, CLICK", and try to stay remotely in its vicinity while stuffing too many notes between the beats. Tapping one's foot will also be accepted.

The alternative is for 201k to shout it out -- loudly -- for you. And believe me, we will. We may even bring pots and pans to bang, just so you'll hear.

So consider yourself warned.

It's cold and cough season here at 201k; posting has been light (but you knew that) and will likely continue to be for a while. We're thinking plenty of fluids, chicken soup, etc.

See you soon.

...let's review:

The Bruins traded their star and captain, Joe Thornton, for Wayne Primeau, Brad Stuart, and Marco Sturm. Their "Rookie of the Year" goaltender, Andrew Raycroft, has the temerity to hold out for more money, so the owner criticizes him in the papers, and when he has a bad start due to a knee injury they run him out of town on a rail, and get nothing in return.

They stumble onto Tim Thomas, who turns in the season of his life, giving them a goalie on the cheap, and giving the crowd one of only two reasons to cheer (the other being Patrice Bergeron).

But the next year, they make Thomas fight for the job against Hannu Toivenen, a youngster with a nervous stomach and a habit of going down too early and giving up high shots -- a lot -- even though Thomas is getting paid like a starting goalie and Toivenen is making chump change. So Thomas has to play an ungodly number of games, tiring him out -- but their goalie payroll is moderate.

Specifically, it's actually about $600,000 less than it would be if they'd platooned Thomas with Raycroft, who ended up as the starting goalie in Toronto, and who's been on fire lately. But they did save that $600,000.

Then they trade away a 6'4" 240 lb 23-year-old defenseman for "a fourth-round conditional draft pick" -- even though he'll be a restricted free agent next year, instead of trading Stuart, who makes much more money, is an UNrestricted agent next year, has been playing poorly, and whose wife wouldn't move to Boston.

THEN -- they trade Stuart and Primeau, leaving only Marco Sturm in return for having traded away Thornton -- at least until the end of the season, when he walks away as a free agent.

Meanwhile, they're well under the salary cap.

WTF?

Haggard now "completely heterosexual"
February 6, 2007

DENVER --One of four ministers who oversaw three weeks of intensive counseling for the Rev. Ted Haggard said the disgraced minister emerged convinced that he is "completely heterosexual."

Haggard also said his sexual contact with men was limited to the former male prostitute who came forward with sexual allegations, the Rev. Tim Ralph of Larkspur told The Denver Post for a story in Tuesday's edition.

"He is completely heterosexual," Ralph said. "That is something he discovered. It was the acting-out situations where things took place. It wasn't a constant thing."

Ralph said the board spoke with people close to Haggard while investigating his claim that his only extramarital sexual contact happened with Mike Jones. The board found no evidence to the contrary.

"If we're going to be proved wrong, somebody else is going to come forward, and that usually happens really quickly," he said. "We're into this thing over 90 days and it hasn't happened."

Haggard resigned as president of the National Association of Evangelicals last year after allegations of sexual misconduct surfaced. He was also forced out from the 14,000 New Life Church that he founded years ago in his basement after Jones alleged Haggard paid him for sex and sometimes used methamphetamine when they were together. Haggard, who is married, has publicly admitted to "sexual immorality."

Whew! He must be so relieved to discover that he's straight. Especially after all those visits to the male prostitute.

So now, presumably, the working definition of "hetrosexual" for the Christian Right will be "if your visits to a male hooker aren't a constant thing."

From the Boston Globe:

Bruins captain Zdeno Chara, his dietary discipline enough to make a Trappist monk scream, admits he occasionally breaks training in the offseason and allows himself a glass of wine. "Japanse plum wine," said Big Z. "Nice. Sweet, and light, a little pink."

Well there's your problem. Who the hell wants a sober hockey player?

Not team owner Jeremy Jacobs:

"I don't know what it is," said Jacobs. "It's this letdown, like something happens to their psyche. Maybe they're squeezing their sticks too hard, I don't know, but it's like they're not having any fun."

Maybe they need more plum wine. Or something a little stronger. They could take a page from the great Gump Worsley, who passed away last week:

An exasperated Phil Watson, once Worsley's coach in New York, one day moaned, "How can we win when our goalie has a beer belly?"

The unflappable Gumper, when apprised of his coach's remarks, said, "That just goes to show what a dope we have as a coach. Everyone knows I don't drink beer -- just whiskey."

Gump knew the score.

Look, if it's true that last week's NHL All-Star Game drew fewer viewers than "The Andy Griffith Show" on "TV Land", then it's time for the league to rethink the twenty years it's spent trying to turn ice hockey into badminton.

What, exactly, was so wrong with the way the Big, Bad, Bruins played hockey? It's simple: the plane pulls into the gate, they tumble out onto the tarmac drunk, go to the rink and beat the pants off the other team, then beat up the other team, go out to "dinner", get back on the plane and move on to the next town.

Where's the problem?

Our beloved Boston Bruins -- currently holding down 13th place in the NHL's eastern conference -- just traded a 6' 4", 245 lb. 23 year-old defenseman for a "conditional fourth-round draft pick."

The Bruins, according to our research, are currently sitting $2.34 million below the salary cap -- and that's before the deduction for Jurcina's $500,000, who would have been a restricted free agent next year.

Meanwhile, Brad Stuart is making $2.4 million, and will be an unrestricted free agent next year.

Wtf?