Game 2: Sens 3 Laffs 2 -- The Highs, The Lows, The Creamy Middle

The Highs:

Another two points, and perhaps more important, another day closer to MLSE exiling John Ferguson Jr. to a nunnery. Preferably one involving a very hot, naked strict Mother Superior and her favourite paddle, or as she calls it "Biblical Knowledge". Wait. That was my buddy's bachelor party. Sorry. Moving on...

Antoine Vermette. The boy put on some serious man-flesh over the off season (visual evidence here, ladies) and it showed. Now, if only the League could devise some sort of punitive sanction in order to prevent prostrate defencemen from impeding your progress with flailing sticks to the skates, and perhaps appoint an impartial third party arbiter to judge these kinds of infractions, that would be great! Sanctions? Gary? Anybody?

Martin Gerber. 41 shots turned aside. Not bad for a guy a year removed from being the most expensive gate opener in League history.

The Lows:

• Martin Gerber's rebounds. Maybe it was the absence of Pierre "CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?" McGuire telling Martin how confident he should feel, but the poise he showed on Wednesday night was nowhere to be found. Seriously. I've thrown things (small animals and toddlers mostly) at trampolines that didn't bounce that much, or in that many different directions.


• Where was the hate? Sure, there was the odd slap and tickle after whistles, and my man Fish indicating that he'd had just about enough of Alex Steen's shit by way of a flying suplex warmed all of my cockles, but other than that... C'mon guys. If I'm going to bother donning full body paint, my co-workers would appreciate it if you could justify their trauma with a little intestinal fortitude.


• Greg Millen. Greg, you've obviously spent way too much time at the CBC kool-aid fountain. I expect Bob Cole to fly into apoplectic fits every time a Leaf trips over the blueline, but the extent to which you enabled his delusions was downright embarrassing. Remember, the Senators gave you your shot when they named you the colour guy on the very first local broadcasts back in '93. For penance, you will call Don Chevrier and simultaneously apologize and lick his boots.

The Creamy Middle:

We flat out stole one. This one could easily have been 6 or 7-3 Leafs if not for a combination of Gerber being good when he had to be, the D's ability to clean up the rebounds, and Toronto's natural ability to screw everything up. But I'm okay with that. This is, after all, October, and serving up the odd stinker is to be expected. In October. I can't stress that enough.

Up next:

The refugee camp for the perennially pampered and over privileged that is the New York Rangers comes to the Bank tonight. If Sean Avery leaves the building with the same number of teeth he came in with, I will be sorely disappointed. And twenty bucks says that somewhere in Drury's big fat contract there lies a clause stipulating that he has to help Jagr moisturize after every shower.

Enjoy the game everybody! We'll sift through the carnage tomorrow.