Bertuzzi 3:16

Todd Bertuzzi has seen better days. Steve Moore is preparing to drag him back into court, he was a colossal flop at the Olympics, there are reports of a fractured dressing room in Vancouver, and his scoring touch has deserted him. But other than that...

Bertuzzi, once the most feared power forward in the NHL, has been a marginal player at best in 2005-06, managing a mere 21 goals and 55 points in 64 games, all while skating at an embarrassing minus-11. And things are only getting worse. Over his last 14 contests, with the Canucks in a mad scramble for playoff positioning, Big Bert has all but disappeared, netting just four goals and seven points.

Two lives were changed forever on March 8, 2004. That was the night Bertuzzi sucker-punched Steve Moore, breaking the former Colorado Avalanche center's neck and ending his professional career. Moore will never compete in the NHL again. One has to wonder if Bertuzzi will ever compete again, either.

Sure, Bertuzzi can still dominate. Anyone who witnessed his singlehanded destruction of the Detroit Red Wings on November 13, when he steamrolled the puny humans for three goals in a decisive 4-1 win, will never question Bertuzzi's unfathomable talent. He's King Kong on skates. But too often this season he's played like Curious George.

Bertuzzi and his adoring fans

Bertuzzi's gone soft. Whether he's scared to maim again or he's just turned yellow, Bertuzzi is a shadow of his former self, and a pathetic, sniveling shadow at that. Fans around the league vilify him, greeting him like some evil sideshow attraction, lining up in droves to taunt and ridicule the untamed beast. So what's a boy to do?

I say Bertuzzi should embrace his inner-monster. He should play it for all it's worth, becoming the biggest, baddest bully he can be. He should be a limousine-riding, jet-flying, kiss-stealing, wheeling-dealing son of a gun. It's time Bertuzzi becomes the heel. It's time for a new era in hockey. It's time for Bertuzzi 3:16.

For those of you who missed out on the professional wrestling boom of the late 1990s, perhaps a brief history lesson would help. On June 23, 1996, one Mr. Stone Cold Steve Austin became the WWF's King of the Ring, defeating the legendary Jake "The Snake" Roberts, who at the time was wrestling as a Bible-quoting Christian man of God. During his victory celebration, Austin mocked Roberts, delivering the following memorable address:

Stone Cold Wisdom

"You sit there and you thump your Bible, and say your prayers, and it didn't get you anywhere! Talk about your Psalms, talk about John 3:16... Austin 3:16 says I just whipped your ass!"

A little over a year later, in the summer of 1997, Austin severely injured his neck in a match with Owen Hart when an attempted piledriver went horribly wrong. Hart would eventually work the real-life accident into the storyline, emerging with a T-shirt that read "Owen 3:16... I just broke your neck." That's comedy.

And I don't know about you, but when I'm confronted with a problem in life, I often ask myself, "What would Stone Cold Steve Austin do?" Answer: he'd whip some ass. C'mon, Bert! Wake up! If people want to hate you, give them something to hate! Play to the crowd. Be the villain. Make it fun. Before every game, cut promos proclaiming your greatness and threaten to do bodily harm to anyone who gets in your way. Give Markus Naslund a tennis racket or megaphone and let him be your annoying little Swedish manager. Keep some brass knuckles hidden in your hockey pants. Carry a steel chair on the ice. Do what you gotta do, but bring the pain. Leave the world trembling in your wake. Bertuzzi 3:16. I just broke your neck.

Make way for the bad guy.

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