Crack open a case of Sapporo and let’s get crunked.

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Last night the Carolina Hurricanes won the Stanley Cup.

What a production.

The media circus, weeping families gathered on the ice, blinding flash bulbs, red carpet and, of course, the white-gloved—black-tied Stanley Cup escorts.

Is there any reason for the gloves, especially when sweaty, Grizzly Adams-type lumberjacks are about to slobber all over it?

Pointless.

One of the perks of being an NHL champion is the opportunity to spend some intimate time alone with the trophy during the summer. From Sweden to Czechoslavakia to Canada, the whirlwind victory tour visits more than 30 locations spread over many nations and three continents.

Watching the celebration on his daughter’s Dora the Explorer mini yellow couch, Blogging Boner wondered what he would do with the cup if he ever won it.

He couldn’t come up with anything. That’s because all he could think about was what he would do to entertain those dorky Stanley Cup guards. (He’d also never be caught dead on ice skates.)

By the way, it doesn’t look very difficult to overpower these schleps. One of them, in fact, is an elementary school teacher. Not an intimidating security detail in this post-9/11 world for such a prized artifact.

But who knows, maybe they are bad-asses in disguise.

At any rate, is part of the deal that players have to hang out with these herbs and involve them in their special day? If so, that takes the fun out of the whole experience.

Even if Blogging Boner had a great idea — something that was wild and crazy — he’d have to have it approved by Walt.

That’s just one more huge reason the NHL sucks so bad right now.

Blogging Boner has been MIA for several weeks now. And, judging by the lack of concern — only Jersey Jack — it doesn’t seem to be a big deal.

Rest assured, though, everything is okay.

Blogging Boner has just been a little preoccupied getting married to Mrs. Blogging Boner.

Now that it’s over — Blogging Boner’s life, not the wedding — he’ll have some more time to share with you.

Isn’t that special.