On the off chance that anyone noticed, Five For Smiting took yesterday off. Rest assured, my first thoughts upon waking were of you, gentle reader! (Well…okay, second thoughts. My first one was “Holy crap my head hurts!” Then I thought of you. Honest.) I went to sleep fairly delirious with the posting possibilities offered by the confluence of Game 3, its yummy, yummy controversies, and an entire Sunday stretching before me, limitless in its promise of leisure time. Pronger’s cheap shot! The Alfie/Pele goal! The annual hand wringing that goes with the announcement of the bottomless crater that is the American television audience! I wanted it all!
Funny thing though. As I emerged from the house yesterday morning to get the paper, clutching my cup of coffee, bleary eyed after the previous night’s consumption of beer and bile, I immediately noticed three things: 1) there was a giant ball of fire hovering in the sky which I haven’t seen since the playoffs started; 2) Neighbours were setting up a grid search in the jungle that had once been my backyard, muttering something about missing livestock, and most alarming, 3) my Beloved threatened to call the police if the bedraggled stranger using our bathroom didn’t get out of our house right this minute. Eventually she recognized me, and smiling sweetly, handed me a scythe. And here we are.
Now, that’s not to say that I have no opinions on what transpired on Saturday. I most certainly do.
Following the Flying Elbow of Death, I believe my post on the Battle of Ontario game thread was achingly brilliant in both accuracy and sentiment: SHUNbiTch ProNg…what aN ahhshh..ole…pwngzeeees!!! (Note to self: Bob Cole drinking games are a very bad idea).
Not only is the suspension completely justified, but I think he should sit until McAmmond is cleared to play again, which at this point may not be until October (2nd suspension in as many weeks? Damn straight). Some folks seem to disagree. Now this is where I could go into a frothing rant about ignorant “fans” and how anyone (Daniel) who actually saw the play couldn’t possibly argue otherwise, but I won’t. We, denizens of the blogosphere, have a duty to respect all viewpoints, no matter how, um, “misguided”… they may be. And before everyone (Daniel) goes daffy on me, the refs blew it on the Neil hit on McDonald too. There. Better?
Alfie’s goal was…well…a goal. The VCR Gang in Toronto got it right. End of (non)story. I did, however, thoroughly enjoy the following exchange between Damian Cox and Dave Feschuk on The Sports Reporters Sunday morning (bearing in mind that Feschuk is a very occasional panellist, covers basketball, not hockey…and looks to be roughly 12 years old):
Feschuk: No way that was a goal! He cleary moved his skate!
Cox: You’re allowed to do that.
Feschuk: Well, they should change the rules to make it clearer!
Cox: They did, after the lockout.
Feschuk: It shouldn’t be allowed!
Cox: * blink *…
So there we have it. I would have done this up right proper (as me pappy used to say), had I had the chance yesterday. But, alas, after my landscaping efforts, there just wasn’t enough time/energy/functional brain matter. And now, the moment has passed.
On the upside three pigs, eight chickens and a disoriented wombat have been reunited with their owners. So that’s something.
Pitter Patter They Got One [Ducks Blog]
Finals Ratings Down 22 Percent [SI.com]
McAmmond Still Game Time Decision [SLAM Sports.ca]
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