Becca, Japers' Rink:
Dear, sweet, adorable men of the world... why is it that you can never just ask for directions?
No, really. Explain it to us, because there appears to be something wrong with your species that you can't simply admit you've taken a wrong turn and that you need help. And darlings, this NHL lockout is one giant wrong turn leading to nothing more than a dead end street and an empty gas tank.
If you'd only listen to us - the women in your lives, the females sitting in the passenger seat rolling her eyes as you attempt yet another "shortcut" - we'd be back on the highway in no time.
Because that's what we're here for.
The problem with so many of you XY chromosome-bearing beings is that you have this need to be right...even when you're so, so wrong. And then it's up to us to come in and clean up whatever mess you've made. The lockout is no different; it has brought out the worst of the stereotypical male testosterone-laced uber-competitiveness, made worse by the intense glare of the media microscope. A giant pissing contest that can only be solved by people who have no interest in such a disgusting pursuit - namely us, the women.
So many of us have the ability to compromise without worrying about the stigma of backing down or wimping out or whatever overly masculine phrasing you want to associate with said compromise. We may hold grudges but rarely do they manifest themselves in the form of cutting off the nose to spite the face. We can help. Because what this lockout needs, what it's severely lacking right now, is a woman's touch.
This may come across as a bitter male-hating diatribe; it's not meant as one. We love you menfolk and all your little quirks. But the longer this lockout goes on, the more bitter we become, and with only the men (and these men, specifically) running the show, there's nowhere else for our vitriol to go. We want this to end, and it seems like the only way for that to happen is for someone new to step in and fix it... and if that someone happens to have breasts, so be it.