I realized late last night that Marty McSorley is the reason for any unhappiness in my life. Now I can blame him anytime I don't feel super happy.

Finding someone or something to blame for all your happiness does not present the kind of challenge you might think. All you really have to do is find that one thing you have always wanted to have or have happened that has never come to fruition and identify the reason why this thing has not come to pass. Once you have this pegged down, you simply blame that person or thing for all the unhappiness in your life. Then, the next time you don't get that job you really wanted or your best friend runs off with your girl, you simply say to yourself "that cocksucker Marty McSorley is at it again" and you will start to feel better immediately, because you will realize that you don't carry any of the fault for these problems.

Finding that initial locus of fault can pose a bit of a problem, however, if you're the type of person whose wants and wishes change with great regularity. I wanted to be a garbageman, then a railroad engineer, then a professional baseball player, then the president, then a rock star, then a doctor, then a fighter pilot, then a writer, then an FBI agent, then a Navy lawyer, and now I just want to have a good job, a nice house, a cool car and the opportunity to go diving at least three times a year. I wanted certain toys, and then I wanted certain abilities, then I wanted certain women, then I wanted to go to certain concerts... the things that make me want to get out of bed every day seem in a constant state of flux. Trying to identify, therefore, the ONE thing I have always wanted, seemed a relative impossibility, and I would sadly have to carry all the blame for my misfortunes.

But then, watching the Minnesota Wild improbably eliminate the Vancouver Canucks last night, it hit me: as far back as I can remember, I have always wanted to see the captain of the Los Angeles Kings hoist the Stanley Cup over his head one some fine June evening. I've wanted to see a Stanley Cup championship banner hung from the rafters of the Staples Center. I wanted the Sports Illustrated commercial saying "Attention Kings fans: your team has done it" and I've wanted to blow a lot of stupid money getting the special hard-bound championship edition of SI complete with the mini-hockey stick all for subscribing to Sports Illustrated for over 50% off the cover price.

But in their 32 year history, the Kings have never won a championship. And it's Marty McSorley's fault.

The 1993 Stanley Cup playoffs saw an improbable run by a Kings team mostly of journeyman players built around Wayne Gretzky, who had just started to slip into the twilight years of his career. But during that run, Gretz showed why no one has ever played the game better, at times carrying to Kings to 3rd period victories, including netting the winning overtime goal in Game 6 to stave off elimination and following it up with Game 7 hat trick to advance his team to the Cup Finals. Against a Montreal Canadiens team with more talent and infinitely superior goaltending, Gretz set up the only goal of Game 1 in Montreal.

In Game 2, the Kings appeared ready to effectively ice the series early on, leading by a goal with only two mintues to play in the third period. Now, teams do come back from early deficits (see: The Minnesota Wild), but I cannot for the life of me think of any team that has come back from a 2-0 situation when they have lost the first two games on their home ice. I don't care if Patrick Roy did play a stellar series; the Canadiens would not have come back to win the series after dropping the first two games at the beloved old Montreal Forum. It simply would not have happened.

But alas, the Kings had Marty McSorley on the roster, one of the dumbest guys to ever lace up a pair of skates. With just over two minutes to play, the coach of the Canadiens (Jacques Lemair? I cannot remember exactly who, but someone famous in the annals of hockey) asked the referee to measure the curve of McSorley's stick, a big time gamble, for the rule was that if the coach asked for a measurement and the measurement proved the stick illegal, the offending player received a minor penalty. However, should the stick fall within the legal limits, the requesting coach received a bench minor for delay of game.

Yes, that could have been a huge gamble if everyone in the world didn't already know that McSorley, who clearly needed it for his goal scoring abilities (har har) had a virtual U at the bottom of his stick. The result is history: Montreal tied it up on the power play and won the game in overtime, and then took the next three straight from a Kings team that never recovered, winning two of those three in overtime as well.

I firmly believe Marty McSorley is the reason the Kings do not have their name etched on the Stanley Cup today, why the one thing I can always remember wanting has never happened. Therefore, Marty McSorley is the source of all bad things in my life.

In later years, McSorley would distinguish himself as the goon effectively drummed out of hockey for deliberately slashing Donald Brashear in the head and knocking him out cold, provoking criminal charges against McSorley. And Brashear is one of the tough guys in the league. Yup, Marty McSorley is a real gift to the game of hockey.

But anyway, enough rambling. I have a final this afternoon and I'm trying to work through a headache at the moment, so I'm not really very happy right now. Thanks McSorley.