Thursday, November 29, 2007

Game 23: Isles 3, Sens 2 (SO) – The Creamy Middle, Drive For Five Edition

Yes…well…*cough*…That should just about take care of those pesky 76-77 Hab comparisons. And now that that’s out of the way, any chance we can get back to playing hockey now boys? Any at all? That would be great, thanks.

The Highs:

  • Waddya say now, Miss Don’t-Find-Me-Sexually-Attractive-Anymore??: Andrej Meszaros launches his reign of terror against league goalies by doubling his productivity! And he was one OT swing-and-a-miss into an empty net away from being declared a living god and having numerous barber shops erected in his honour.
  • SPEZZOR SMASH!: Quick question for you Ray. When you saw the Isles break out on a 2-on-1 late in the 3rd period of a tie game and then noticed that Golden Groin was the last guy back on D, did you pee yourself just a little bit? Really? Yeah, me too.
  • SwissAir Flight 29, now boarding at Gate 1: A solid performance, with occasional flashes of brilliance by Master Emery, means that the title of “Senator Goalie Most Likely To Be Traded (and the commemorative albatross figurine that goes along with it) is firmly back in the trembling hands of Swiss Pastry. This, of course, is subject to review. Daily.


  • I too have been violated by the cold, cold finger of injustice: I don’t think I’m overstating things when I say that Mick McGeough is the absolute epitome of the worst sports official in the history of everything ever. First, the “goaltender interference” call that waived off Randy’s goal was shite of the highest magnitude. Replays clearly show Vermette being shoved into DePietro from behind (and, while I’m at it Healy, just shut the fuck up with the “he didn’t get out of the way fast enough” bullshit. We all know you’re auditioning to be Peddie’s new lap dog. TSN should really just fire your ass. If not for conflict of interest, then how about for being galactically stupid.) Then, phantom hooks and holds that were called in the first, suddenly disappeared for a period and a half until the game had degenerated to one of those pre-lockout rodeos we all remember so fondly. And finally, just as suddenly he couldn’t keep the damn whistle out of his mouth. 4-on-3s in overtime! What fun! At least we were granted the small solace of seeing him almost fall on his ass on the way to the scorer’s table.
  • C-O-R-V-O! C-O-R-V-O! And CORVO was his NAME-O!: I’ll say this for you Joe. You seemed to be all over the ice last night. Yes, I have to say, we certainly noticed you. Mostly because you were usually in the wrong goddamned place. Bad breakout passes. Whiffed shots. Dumb giveaways. Numerous rather ill-advised pinches. In other words, exactly what we want from our two million dollar defencemen. Look, we already told you, your cab for the airport will be here on February 26th. Um…until then, do me a small favour will you? Can you go stand over in that corner like a good boy? Thanks. Oh, and one more thing. Don’t. Touch. Anything.
Creamy Middle:

While certainly not the result we were looking for, all-in-all, not a bad effort. At least there were some signs of life this time, ahem, as opposed to a game not so long ago against a certain dysfunctional expansion team from Southern Ontario. This too shall pass Sens fans. Hold on to that thought. By June, we will be looking back on this little rough patch and laugh at the depths of our own panic. Right? Right?!?! OH DEAR GOD, TELL ME I’M RIGHT!!!

Up Next:

Er...Nashville. A which ended about an hour ago. Thanks to the magic of brutal traffic and an immediate dinner engagement a la familgia, I got home just in time to watch Swiss Pastry give up the winning goal to the Preds 27 seconds after we tied it with the extra man, but before posting this little missive (written earlier this afternoon). Five in a row. Lost. Believe me when I tell you, my mind has already written half of my next post. Just a hint, but goaltending, and why Gerber Baby should be shipped out of town on the next express train to Palukaville might figure rather prominently. Then again, it may just be the seething cauldron of disgust talking.

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