I was going to post about this a couple of weeks back when I first dug it up, but I didn't, because, well, fuck you. It's Monday, though, and we're all in a funk about the Bruins' recent woes. So let's hop in our time machines and take a quick trip down memory lane courtesy of the superfantastic newly-archived and fully searchable LIFE photo archive, the newest way in which Google is conspiring to keep you from getting anything done at work, ever.
I discovered this online treasure trove of beautiful, historical photography (dating back to the 1860s! They had motherfucking slaves back then!) the first day it was released and fell instantly in love. As someone with rampant ADHD, I like nothing better than pretty, pretty pictures. It shouldn't surprise you at all what my first search was:
I'll admit I was a tad disappointed that only a handful of images came up... but lordy me, were they ever worth it. Ladies and gentlemen: you remember Derek Sanderson, right?
Since I know we've got several readers who aren't as slavishly devoted to the Bruins as I am, here's a primer. Sanderson was a pivotal force on the last great incarnation of the Bruins in the late 60s and early 70's; it was he who sent the puck to Bobby Orr for the goal that clinched the 1970 Stanley Cup against St. Louis and gave us the greatest hockey picture of all time, ever. Sanderson won the Calder trophy going away in 1968, becoming the second consecutive Bruin to do so (the year prior, of course, the trophy had gone to His Bobbiness. Sigh). He was a brilliant defensive player as well as an offensive threat, and had a totally sweet mustache.
The Sanderson memorialized in the LIFE photos, though, is his off-the-ice persona -- and I'm not talking Fred Cusick's lovable sidekick on NESN. No, this is the Derek Sanderson who famously quipped to a reporter that his preferred pre-game refreshments were "a steak and a blonde"; who wore mink coats just because he could; who started an ill-fated Manhattan nightclub with the equally flamboyant Joe Namath. Behold! (Click the pictures for glorious full-size goodness.)
Somehow, I feel like we're not going to see a photo shoot of Grady Sizemore lounging on a couch while lustfully caressing a barely-legal hottie in an issue of ESPN Magazine anytime soon.
Or Chris Paul in bed (look at that BED! The red velvet curved headboard! The leopard-print sheets! The faux fur blankets! It's like the Cruella deVille honeymoon suite... and yes, that's a pack of cigarettes and an ashtray next to them) with a woman, bathrobe hiked almost all the way up to his junk, in next month's Sports Illustrated. (Please note the thoughtful expression on Sanderson's face. "Yes, baby, that's very interesting. Now shut the fuck up and give me a blowjob.")
I think this one is my favorite. Look at those giant phallic swords about Sanderson and his anonymous, bare-thighed consort. This picture SCREAMS "penetration."
As it turned out, it also screams "impending career meltdown in the face of persistent injury, reckless lifestyle, and long-term substance abuse." But hey. You write your history book, I'll write mine, buddy.