Tonight is Oscar night, and you know what means, America. It means a bunch of actors and entertainers get to say mean stuff about the Child President.
(Which, frankly, is OK with the Blob. The Child President is only getting back what he's so abundantly dished out, after all. But I'd rather not hear actors do it, because, well, they're actors. I'd rather hear some Congress critters get up on their hind legs and do it -- although I recognize that, being Congress critters, most of them lack the anatomical requirements.)
At any rate, it's Oscar night, and we'll get to see if the Other Affleck, Casey, wins for bumming out moviegoers in "Manchester By The Sea." We'll get to see if the Academy has truly rediscovered the musical ("Hey, look! A musical!") and hand "La-La Land" all the other Oscars. And we'll get to see if history most of America didn't know about, but should, gets properly honored thanks to the excellent "Hidden Figures."
I know one thing: Reg Dunlop will not be there.
Neither will the Hanson brothers. Neither will Ned Braden, Denis Lemieux, Joe McGrath, Dicky Dunn and -- oh, my God -- Ogie Ogilthorpe.
If you don't recognize any of these names, well, then go back to watching Emma Stone sing. And accept the pity of the rest of us, who consider you culturally deprived.
That's because all of the above are characters from "Slapshot," released 40 years ago this weekend. It's the greatest hockey movie ever made, an admittedly dubious honor. Needless to say, it will be nowhere to be found on Oscar night. That's probably because the Academy fears the Hanson brothers would drop the gloves and start something with the Afflecks, and that Ogie Ogilthorpe would perform an obscene act with one of the statuettes.
I mean, he's Ogie Ogilthorpe. It would be just like him.
Reg Dunlop -- played by Paul Newman in the film -- would probably just trash-talk everyone, because he was good at that. Joe McGrath, the team owner played by Strother Martin, would shout "Oh, (bleep) Eddie Shore," thoroughly confusing everyone. And Denis Lemieux, the French-Canadian goalie, would warn any Oscar loser tempted to make a scene about the soul-crushing (if temporary) properties of the penalty box.
"Two minutes, by yourself, you know," is how Lemieux put it in the film. "And you feel shame, you know. And then you get free."
Of course, the Blob realizes none of the above makes any sense to anyone not familiar with the film. The Blob does not apologize for this. If you are one of the aforementioned culturally deprived, that's on you. You could have been watching "Slapshot" instead of "Manchester By The Sea."
But suffice it so say "Slapshot" was sort of "Animal House" on skates, a completely ridiculous and obscene farce. And more fun than human beings should be allowed to have with their clothes on.
(Although not having clothes on sort of figures into "Slapshot," too. At least where Ned Braden is concerned.)
There were those immortal Hanson brothers, brought in to goon it up for captain Reg Dunlop's Charlestown Chiefs. There was Ogilthorpe, the quintessential goon. And of course there was Dicky Dunn, the sportswriter with the unimpeachable reputation.
It was glorious. And still as hilarious now as it was 40 years ago.
Of course, it's also one of those you-just-had-to-be-there deals. And so, while the rest of you settle in to watch the Oscars tonight, I know what I'll be doing.
I'll be puttin' on the foil, like the Hanson brothers. And waiting eagerly for Dicky Dunn's scrupulously accurate account of the proceedings.
Because, as everyone knows, if Dicky Dunn says it, it must be true.