I first got wind of the Minnesota Wild‘s Cal Clutterbuck in 2009 when he broke the NHL‘s record for hits in a season with 356. I read the blurb about him, acknowledged him as a goon, and then went back to the glass of Metamucil I was choking down.
Four years later I was sitting at the United Center, watching playoff hockey, and good old Cal Clutterbuck crept back into my life; he dumped a lazy wrist shot on net and caught Corey Crawford asleep at the wheel. The goal was the first of the series versus the Chicago Blackhawks and gave the Wild an early 1-0 lead.
To say I was stunned would be an understatement.
Mortified maybe? I mean have you looked at the picture above??
I refused to believe that a third rate enforcer named Cal Clutterbuck had just sucked the life right out of an entire arena. What if the goal held up? Was the headline the next morning going to read:
“Blackhawks get Clutterbucked; lose game one.”
What is a Clutterbuck? According to Urbandictionary.com, a Clutterbuck is: “One who has creepy and disturbing ‘most visited’ pages on his/her internet browser.” Perhaps it’s a wrestling move? A golf shirt? Maybe it’s a type of goose from Canada.
The Clutterbuck Goose.
I briefly considered shouting some obscenity at him as he made his way back to the bench and then realized there was no possible way to scream the word “Clutterbuck” and sound menacing. My girlfriend giggled when his name was announced over the PA and the guy behind me swore he bought a car up in Minnesota from a guy named Cal Clutterbuck.
I then spent most of the first intermission at the bar cursing his luck and praying for some offense to neutralize the Clutterbucking. Thankfully Marian Hossa tied the game in the second period on a power play goal and sent a wave of relief crashing all over me.
But Clutterbuck wasn’t finished. He continued to push people around and harass the Hawks wingers. His presence on the ice clearly upset the Chicago game plan, and his effect on my state of mind was even worse. My sister would make a comment about the game, but as she spoke her eyes spun like pinwheels and all I could hear was, “Clutterbuck, Clutterbuck, Clutterbuck!”
It was terrifying.
And so it has come to this: I’m begging the Hawks to put the wood to this guy. Send Brandon Bollig or Daniel Carcillo out onto the ice and clean his clock. I’ve come to terms with the fact that Chicago might not win the Stanley Cup despite their stellar regular season, however I cannot, and will not, have the season fall apart thanks to Cal Clutterbuck.
Now if you’ll excuse me I’m gonna make myself a peanut butter and Clutterbuck sandwich and settle in for game two.