Flyers 6, Sens 1: Creamy Middle, Gutless Wonder Edition (Some Language May Be Unsuitable For Younger Audiences)

"We didn't have a lot of good players," he said. "I was disappointed a lot in different individuals I thought would really take advantage and step up. I don't even mean the forwards with (Heatley and Alfredsson) out, just individually within team play. They're not being responsible and doing the right things.

"I don't think disheartening's the word. You're upset or pissed off, but not disheartened. you've got to play the game right. That's what we preach all the time -- just play the game right." -- John Paddock

Overheard in the Senators dressing room following last night's game*

*That this is the product of author's fervent wishes and disgusted imaginings also highly possible.

Coach Paddock:

"Well, congratulations ladies. After tonight's performance you have collectively set the reputation of the Ottawa Senators back ten fucking years. Yep. That's how long it took us to convince the rest of the league that we weren't a self serving bunch of pansies, pushovers and pussies. We finally threw all of our soft hearted weak kneed Euro trash off the bus. Good, tough, Canadian kids to take their place."

"We started to fucking HIT. We started to fucking FIGHT! And we finally got us some fucking respect!! Got us all the way to last year's Finals too. When we got our --HEY, NEIL! STOP SMILING! YOU THINK THIS IS FUCKING FUNNY?!? For all the goddamned help you gave us tonight...Christ. When we got our asses handed to us in Anaheim, everybody in this room swore to me and to Mr. Murray that we wouldn't let it happen again! And people believed us! And YOU guys...you guys...FUCKED IT ALL UP!!" *throws garbage can across room*

"Seriously. Did it hurt? Did it hurt to skate around with your dicks tucked between your legs? Did it hurt when you all tore off your ball sacks and gave them to the Flyers for lunch? Sure as shit looked like it. "Oh...don't hurt me Mr. Big Bad Flyer. Please??" And now that little Downie shit thinks he's some kind of fucking hero!! SON OF A BITCH!" *turns over stick rack*

"What was that Jason? You want to know about the highs?? The HIGHS?? There are no fucking highs! EVERYBODY IN THIS ROOM ABSOLUTELY SUCKED!! Everybody! But we have lows. That we have in spades!"

"Let's start with you Gratz. Oh you talked big, didn't you? Oh yeah, got Bettman's Underroos right fucking twisted didn't you? "Oh, he'll get what's coming to him"..."I hope he's in the line up the next time we..." blahty blah fucking blah. So what do you do when I put you out against the gutless puke who nearly killed your teamate? You blow out your shoulder picking a fight with...wait for it...RILEY COTE! Riley fucking Cote! The fuck?? So now, it's your turn Chris. You were out against him on the opening fucking faceoff, and what do you do? Answer me Chris! WHAT DID YOU DO?? That's right. NOTHING! SWEET...FUCK...ALL!!!" *overturns Gatorade table*

"And as for you two...Okay...Ray, you get a bit of a pass here for coming in cold and not screwing up an already lost cause too badly.

But you, Martin. You...How do I say this...how do I get my point across just right...without any ambiguity at all...ah yes. Let's try this: YOU PLAY GOAL LIKE A 16 YEAR OLD BOY FUCKS!! Floppin' around all over the place, no fucking clue what you're doing and always aiming for the wrong fucking hole until all of a sudden it's over, the girl is laughing at you, and you're standing there with your limp dick in your hand, junk all over the ceiling and no clue about what the fuck just happened!! Four goals on ten fucking shots!! Jesus jumped-up Christ! And I swear to God, you little Swiss candy ass, if I so much as get a hint that you were bitching to the press about getting pulled after the second, I will sodomize you with the fucking zamboni! Got it??"

*sighs heavily, sits down. After five minutes of staring, takes wallet out of suit coat*

"You know what? Fuck you guys. First Tampa kills us, now this. Here's $1000. I think I saw a whorehouse down the street. Here. Better take it. Because, by the looks of it, until Alfie and Heater come back, it's the only way the rest of you gutless wonders are going to score. I'm going to Atlanta." *slams locker room door on way out*

If this speech, or something like it was not made following last night's abomination before the eyes of man and God, replete with wanton destruction of inanimate objects, then we have bigger problems than we thought, Sens fans.

Creamy Middle: The Creamy Middle will be suspended until further notice pending author's ability to find anything good to say about anything.

Up Next: Tomorrow night, against Jacques Martin's man-eating kittens in Miami. Ordinarily, the Panthers are the cure to what ails everybody, but the way we're lurching to the All Star Break that is very much up in the air at the moment. One thing I will guarantee, if Alfie isn't playing tomorrow, I may have more fun shoving sharpened spoons up my pee hole while impaled on a meat hook than I will watching this game.

Behind enemy lines: Panthers Daily Puck, brings it’s “Just the facts, ma’am” philosophy to our little corner of madness. Hopefully, they won’t be too embarrassed to be linked, however tenuously, to our current edition of the Ottawa Senators.