The final series of the 2011 NHL playoffs will be remembered for several reasons. Perhaps for being the first professional sports event in which players tried to stuff their fingers in each other’s mouths. Maybe as the year when Vancouverites tried to burn their city to the ground because they lost a hockey game. Again. For me, the highlight of the playoffs came just after game seven finished and before the riots began. Vancouver fans gave Gary Bettman one of the best boo-ings I’ve ever heard. A boo-ing so loud that the league commisioner had to scream as loud as he could into the arena microphone system to be heard over the roar.

To the uninvolved hockey fan, it might seem strange that every time the commissioner of the NHL makes an appearance, the fans boo him with all their might. I’ve been asked a few times why they do this, and my response was the same as any true hockey fan’s: “because they should.”

To elaborate on this point, though, I composed a brief poem to Gary Bettman.

Gary Bettman, How do I hate thee? Let me count the ways.

I hate thee for not one, but two lockouts. ‘94, and ‘04 no more.

I hate thee for thy silly expansions: Phoenix, Tampa Bay, and Atlanta hath nary an ice rink, nor a hockey stick.

I hate thee for moving thy Jets and thy Nordiques from this Great White North to that Great Hot South.

I hate thee for the shootout, which shall occur only in an All-Star contest.

I hate thee for thy new penalty rules. Hockey art not soccer. Thou shalt not receive two minutes for love-bumps.

I hate thee for signing with Versus, the worst TV network of yore.

I hate thee for threatening Vancouver’s Green Men.

I hate thee for touch icing.

I hate thee for thy bloated salary, which thou hast neither earned, nor deserved.

I hate thee for thy smug demeanor. Thou dost not know best.

I shall hate thee until my death.