Rant #2 - The Ron Francis Story

This is a story from my childhood about a certain douchebag player, Ron Francis. When the Penguins won their Stanley Cups, he played an integral role in bringing the Cup to the city of Pittsburgh. Picked up in a late season trade, without him, things probably wouldn't have turned out the same.

After the Pens won their 2nd Cup, the team held what I believe was their 2nd annual Fan Appreciation Day at the Civic Arena. They had some of the best players on the team sit down for autograph sessions with the fans. Basically you would get in line...stand there for 2 hours...get an autograph or two...then get in line again for the next set of players coming up after the ones you just got. Might seem a little much nowadays, but back then, it was a pretty big deal.

So here I am with my cousin Bob, a complete autograph hound. I mean he used to go to the baseball games 7 hours before the opening pitch to hound players for autographs as they pulled into the stadium. Every now and again I went with him for lack of better things to do...I once even saw Jay Bell come within an RCH of running over some stupid kid that jumped in front of his car...but I digress. Fan appreciation day was just a cool little event where you could buy stuff, have fun doing random team related activities, and get these damn players' autographs.

Because Ron Francis was one of the bigger names to sign anything, the line was PACKED to get him. So Cousin Bob and I hopped into line and began the long, boring process of just staring at each other until you finally got up to get your autographs. We had everything ready to go...prepped with our own Sharpies for him to use in case their pens were retarded from all the signing they had to do...and of course we brought one item to get signed as the rules specificially stipulated "ONLY ONE ITEM PER PLAYER." Bob and I both had a card for him to sign. My card was an 1991-1992 Upper Deck (see picture). This was a great card, not only because Upper Deck was one of the premier card makers at the time, but because there it was in all its glory...the Stanley Cup.

So Bob and I proceed to wait in line...and wait...and wait. Now my cousin was round about the young adult, late high school/early college age at this time and of course was preoccupied, as all men are for the rest of their lives, about finding young, nubile women. And while you might think that this being a hockey event, it would be lacking creatures of such qualities...but, seeing as this was Pittsburgh, a town known to idolize its sports heroes, there were plenty of young ladies about and in line. So my cousin used his time wisely, being good at the art of the gab, and talked up every pretty Miss Thang he laid his eyes on. If I'm not mistaken he actually scored a couple sets of digits that day...true story.

So after 2+ hours of waiting in line...the moment of truth arrives. I believe there were two players signing for each session...I want to say the first one before Mr. Assface Francis was Paul Stanton...but don't hold me to that. The first autograph, no problem..."Thanks for your support...are you having a good time?," signs my card and on I move down to Ron Francis. I nervously whip out my Upper Deck card...anxiously awaiting having this cockbreath's autograph on this fucking piece of paper. I hand him the card...he takes it, pen at the ready...and says to me those magic words "Oh, I don't sign this." He then grabs a piece-of-shit photocopied paper of his ugly ass face scribbles his name on it and hands it to me. I stand there in disbelief that I had just been duped like this. I'm sorry dickhead...I'm a kid that loves your fucking team...a kid that just waited two fucking hours in line to get your goddamn autograph...and the best you can come up with is "I don't sign this?!?!?!?!" EAT A DICK.

Well after the event was over, I went home. Ran upstairs to my bedroom...take that dickhead's card out of my bag...get up on my desk so that I could reach the Penguins Banner Clock that I had in my room for most of my life...and proceed to impale that son of a bitch on the clock. There he remained until my parents cleaned out my room while I was at college some 8 years later or so.

So the moral to the story? Ron Francis is a dickhead.