Cindy Crosby

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Sidney Crosby (moar liek CINDY amirite?)

21 year old Stanley Cup Champion.

You ... well, you almost matter.

If Gretzky and Barnaby had a baby it would be Cindy Crosby.


—Some fag on

Sidney Crosby Cindy Crosby, originally a Canadian hockey player for the Pittsburgh Penguins (moar like Shitsburgh, amirite?), is a meme on 4chan's /sp/ board. Loved by fairweather faggots CapitalistBastard only, who considers him the the greatest hockey player who ever lived, and pretty much hated by everyone else (especially Philly fags). Also, Cindy is incapable of growing a proper Playoff Beard, instead growing a prepubescent patch-beard not unlike a 13 year old boy.

While known by the media faggots on ESPN and TSN as the next Wayne Gretzky, most /sp/artans call out Cindy for his love of diving to embellish a penalty on the opposing team, therefore cementing his reputation on /sp/ as a perpetually butthurt crybaby. He always cries to the refs because the opposing defense wouldn't let him score a goal. Cindy feels he is entitled to a high point total, therefore whenever a real hockey player gives him a little love tap, he cries. If he gets too butthurt, he morphs into his final form and starts a fight. But rather than punching like a real man, he usually just grabs their shirt and shakes them like a pissed off little 10 year old.

Cindy and his merry band of faggots made it to the Stanley Cup Finals in 2008, facing the Detroit Red Wings. However, they were soundly defeated. Many in /sp/ see this as Epic Fail (although not as Epic Fail as 18-1).

The Pittsburgh Penguins miraculously managed to defeat the Detroit Red Wings in the 2009 Stanley Cup Finals. Cindy however, dove in the second period of game 7 and miraculously returned at the very end of the game to claim all the glory for himself. This is seen as Epic Fail on the Red Wings' part, as they blew a 2-0 lead to lose in game seven. Marian Hossa cried like a 16 year old girl, and the Red Wings felt extreme butthurt as they watched Cindy and Mario Lemieux engage in unspeakable acts.

Sidney is often debated to be the best player in the NHL along with Alexander Ovechkin, as Ovechkin is statistically the number one player in the league. However, it is worth noting that, although most consider Obitchkin to be the better of the two, Crosby has won a Cup and a Gold Medal whereas Ovechkin has accomplished two league MVPs, an outstanding player award, and was captain of the Capitals as they became the number one team in the NHL. The Hockey watching public seldom care about fancy post season awards, so without any solid public recognition these critical feats mean absolutely nothing; it is also worth noting that Crosby and company defeated Ovechkin on his way to both victories.

Facts About Cindy Crosby

  • Cindy is the NHL's only open homosexual.
  • Cindy has an overdeveloped wrist shot.
  • Is currently the secret gay lover of Mario Lemieux.
  • Is cheating on Mario with Marc-Andre Fleury.
  • Hobbies include diving, snorkeling, spelunking, and buttsex.
  • Believes the goatse is "a good start."
  • Got paid over 9000 million dollars to be the official fag for Reebok.
  • Is always the bottom.
  • Despite being a butthurt crybaby diving faggot, he surely makes more money will suck more cock than you'll ever hope to see in your lifetime. And that's fucking sad if you like it in the poop chute.
  • Is known to wear Crocs on a daily basis.


Crosby Bel Air

I went to my first NHL game of the season last night to watch the Rangers roger the Penguins 3-2 in a shoot-out at the Garden. A co-worker of mine named Dutch, who is a big Penguins fan, had two tickets to the game and offered one to me for free when his wife and some other people he offered it to first weren’t interested. (Dutch is originally from a city in Pennsylvania called “Reading” that is familiar to a lot of us for having a railroad named after it that is on the Monopoly board.) After the game, we headed over to Blaggard’s Pub on West 35th Street. We were sitting at the bar when in walks this sharp dressed guy with a real macho air about him, looking like a young Charlton Heston, but with much fuller lips. The guy had two of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever seen on his arms: a blonde in the Ursula Andress mold and a light-skinned East-Indian woman who reminded me of a young Lynda “Wonder Woman” Carter, only with dark eyes-and a body that would make Ms. Carter green with envy. They were both wearing skin-tight, leopard-skin outfits that went down to the middle of their thighs. When they walked in, the whole bar went dead silent until some vulgar lout grunted lasciviously and, realizing who it was, I shrank back on my barstool hoping that as few people as possible had overheard me. Then Dutch whispered, “It’s Sidney Crosby.” I was sort of shocked because I would have never expected Crosby to have such a super-masculine presence. (I would have expected Crosby to have more of a Charles Nelson Reilly-like presence.) As some of you may know, in the past, I have made jokes suggesting that Crosby may “swing the other way”. No more! There were three empty barstools to my left and Crosby and his lady-friends sat down on them, with the Asian right beside me, the blonde at the far end, and Crosby in between. Crosby ordered San Franciscos for the ladies and a Buffalo Sweat (Bourbon and Tabasco) for himself. He spoke in a deep, gravelly voice – much deeper than it sounds when he’s interviewed on television. Dutch is one of those out-going people who can strike-up a conversation with just about anyone and, in a few minutes, he and Crosby were talking like they were old friends. Crosby told us that, in his spare time, he likes to go to hardware or auto supply stores: “I can spend hours walking around a hardware store, just picking things up, putting ‘em down. I don’t have to buy nuthin’.” He also told us that he likes to go on wild boar hunts in Tennessee with some of his Penguin teammates. “I only kill what I eat,” he said. At one point, Crosby went over to the juke-box, put in a couple of bills and soon it was playing Van Halen’s “And the Cradle Will Rock”, which would be followed by Ted Nuget’s “Cat Scratch Fever”, and then a cool song I hadn’t heard in decades, Accept’s “Balls to the Wall”. When he came back to the bar, he told us that he likes to listen to 70s and 80s hard rock/heavy metal before games to get pumped. I kept losing track of the conversation with Crosby, however, because his girlfriends were very distracting. The blonde was carrying a small Victoria’s Secret shopping bag and I couldn’t help but imagine what she had in it – and what she’d look like wearing it. And the Indian lady had a very attractive habit of slowly licking her lips every couple of minutes or so. But while Crosby was super-friendly and down-to-earth, the females were cold and aloof, with the same snobbish look that seemed ingrained on the face of Borje Salming when he skated around the ice for the Maple Leafs. They even, at times, actually stuck their noses up in the air just like Salming. The East-Indian lady hadn’t even so much as looked our way, and the blonde looked at us (me, actually) for only a few seconds, rudely mouthing off, “Would you please stop staring at me.” What nerve she had to talk to me that way! I decided to be a gentleman and try to break the invisible barrier that seemed to separate Crosby’s girlfriends from Dutch and myself. I gave the East-Indian woman’s thigh a friendly, firm but totally innocent squeeze and, for the first time, she actually looked at me – like I was a serial killer or something! If looks could kill, my corpse would have been at her feet. She even started to act like she was going to vomit. I was about to tell her that she was starting to make me feel a little self-conscious when she leaned over to Crosby and whispered in his ear. Up ‘till then, Crosby had been the coolest, friendliest guy you could ever meet, but, it was as if he turned into Mr. Hyde. He stood up, glaring at me, full of rage. He said, “Whoever identifies your body is going to puke at what’s left of you!” I fell to my knees and begged for mercy. “You wouldn’t hit a fifty-year old man, would you?”, I said, adding five years for effect. But Crosby replied, “I’d beat the stuffing out of your great-granddad if he touched one of my ladies!” In a vain attempt to gain some sympathy, I made up sob stories that are too embarrassing to share with you. Lying through your teeth with a ring of sincerity sometimes works, but it didn’t here. Begging and blustering hadn’t helped me, and a look at Crosby’s enraged face told me that whining wouldn’t either. Robbed of the three cards which I normally play in a crisis, I was momentarily lost. As Crosby clenched his fist and pulled up one of his sleeves, revealing a tattoo of an anchor, I suddenly saw that there was only one way to avoid a brutal beating: Jamie’s gambit, “When in doubt, RUN!” And I ran for it, leaving Dutch behind. I ran down 35th Street, turning right on 7th Avenue, and didn’t stop until I whistled for a cab and when it came near the license plate said fresh and there were dice in the mirror. If anything I could say that this cab was rare but I thought "nah forget it, YO HOMES, TO BEL AIR!" I pulled up to the house around 7 or 8 and I yelled to the cabbie "Yo homes, smell you later!" Looked at my kingdom, I was finally there, to sit on my throne, as the prince of Bel Air.


Hi. I am sitting in the stands watching the Pittsburgh Penguins. I was cheering my hardest. Sidney had a breakaway with 5 SECONDS TO GO. 5, 4, 3, 2, ON THE LAST SECOND HE SHOT, HE SCORES! "PITTSBURGH PENGUIN WIN!" "There going to the championships." Then Sidney came up to the microphone and said,. "I WOULD LIKE TO THANK SEAN FOR CHEERING SO HARD AND HELPING ME SCORE THAT WINNING GOAL." "What?" "How did you notice?" I questioned I WAS WALKING DOWN THE STAIRS . EVERYBODY WAS CHEERING ME ON. now I know how it feels to be cheered on. I walked up to him and hollered, "hi." "Do you like to play paintball." I asked. Sidney said, "sure," sidney asked, "you want to go play." I said, "sure." Then I learned how to play paintball much better

As told by a 13 year old girl

After Sid left me in our parking lot, he reappeared at my door three long freaking days later. "I'm sorry I'm an ass. I shouldn't have pressured you like that. You tell me whatever you want when you're ready, when you're want to. In the meantime, my feelings haven't changed. I love that I can say it. It's kind of a relief. I love you Anna."

He was playing again and I was about to head home for Easter. We were out to dinner one night way out of town and were on our way home. We'd had a really nice time but I had something I had to tell him. It was taking over my head and I needed to let it out.

"Sid. Stop the car." "What?" He said, looking over at me.

"Stop the car. Please." I was being utterly ridiculous, I knew that. He drove a little further and pulled into our parking lot. I got out and paced. "Anna? Are you sick? What the hell?"

"No." I stomped over to him, and linked his fingers in mine. "Sick in the head, maybe. But I just - have to tell you right now or I'll explode. Sid, I'm in love with you. I'm sorry it's taken more than a month to realize it but I was just scared. Of the immeasurable depths of what I feel for you. I've never felt like this for a guy before and it scared the shit out of me. I love you." I don't know why I repeated it. I really do believe I'm going crazy.\

He grinned down at me, taking my breath away in the process, and swept me into his arms, lifting me off my feet.

"You sweep me off my feet," I said, giggling. I don't care how lame it sounds, I've never felt so happy in my entire life.

He kissed me fervently. "I love you," he said, "But you are so damn dramatic." He slapped my butt playfully.

I laughed, "I don't plan this you know."

He shook his head at me and carried me back to his silver Range Rover. He laid me down on the backseat and pushed up against me as he tore at my clothes. He unbuttoned my blouse, kissing each plot of skin that he was freeing, as he did so. I ran my hands through those dark curls and once my blouse fell open, he crushed his mouth to mine as I fell over on top of him, throwing off my blouse onto the floor. His mouth moved downwards, downwards,downwards as he unsnapped my pants and hooked his thumbs through my thong, pulling it down. I undressed him then, and right there in our parking lot, in the backseat of his Range Rover, Sid and I made the most beautiful, sweaty, loud poetry together.

Sorry Shakespeare.

Great Feats of Leadership and Bravery

Crosby vs Ovechkin

Captain Junk Puncher Keeps It Classy

Its Only Fitting

See also

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Cindy Crosby
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