Sean Avery: Sloppy Comment, Sloppy Handling, Sloppy Excuses

At the risk of inciting the wrath of Gary Bettman, Yukon Cornelius, Mister Freeze (the Otto Preminger version, not the one played so ham-handedly by the Governator), Glenn Close still holding that ice pick in "Fatal Attraction", and any other PC brainwashed yahoos who inhabit frozen climes...

Allow me to seek the least offensive words in describing my reaction to the chill directed at Sean Avery and his dining choices.

I honestly don't know whether to have a personal moment of relief or wind my watch. And that's after several bouts of uproarious laughter at all the hand-wringing over what he said and how it will affect civilization as we know it.

Fitting it comes near the close of a week that has provided more visual and choreographed entertainment than anything Hollywood could visualize. And that's if they were armed with a special-effects budget to rival the ransom being paid to the bloated internal combustion clowns in Detroit.

For the appetizer, six guys are busted after chowing down on diet pills at the table of "No one told me they were banned substances".

The main course consisting of one guy busted after feasting at the buffet line of "I need to protect myself because I'm a famous jock in public and I didn't know a loaded concealed weapon was illegal in New York State, Officer".

And for the dessert course, a heaping helping of sloppy seconds, dished out with loving care to a media feeding frenzy that would chow down on "breaking news sawdust" if it meant not having to dig into what was said, how it was said, and what the impact really is.

Sit down. Pull in your chair. Tuck in your napkin. Let's make sure you get some meat this time instead of gristle.

What Sean Avery said is not surprising. Nor is it shocking, incendiary, misguided, accidental, bone headed, disdainful, threatening, life-altering, bone chilling, or even worthy of a mild raising of the eyebrow.

It's completely expected. Matter of fact, look how well it was delivered by Avery himself. Making sure the media all gathered around to hear every heart warming syllable, every ounce of that loving cup aimed at his former paramour.

The guy is an athlete. A professional athlete. A cocky, veteran, well-paid and celebrated professional athlete. What were you expecting? Bon Mots for the fair and former squeeze?

The roaring thunder of sound bites heard across the depth and breadth of North America is by now standard operating procedure. The blubbering indignant and shocked tone of bad actors still thinking they're real news journalists is all too familiar. Look into the camera. Wave your hands a few times. Puff up the chest, (unless it needs no additional puffing), be sure to appear righteous and PC in pandering to your audience.

But if you filter out all the background noise, you can dig into this meat-substitute meal of alarm and find one honest issue to be discussed. Not that you'll hear much about it, because it's not explosively sexy enough for the rooftop screamers and posers who never look below the surface because it might interfere with their face time.

Noting the blatant sexual nature of Avery's comment and how offensive it rightfully is to women everywhere, a friend said to me, "that certainly isn't something I would want my daughter to hear".

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