Wednesday, February 27, 2008

And Lo, It Came To Pass That The Bryan Ate His Minstrels. And There Was Much Rejoicing


I need to start this with an apology. *Ahem*...sorry PPP, but you aren't going to get the rage filled re-cap of Monday's unpleasantness you were so hoping for. I know I promised one (and actually had it half written. It was just taking far longer than usual, what with having to mop the spittle from the keyboard every now and then. But...) And for the rest of my Gentle Readers, I offer the same apology. To those of you who came here tonight, expecting a froth and profanity filled tirade following last night's Boston Massacre, I'm sorry. I can't. I just don't have it in me. I'm just too freakin' happy!

Sure, I could give it the old college try, singling out Mesz for his execrable play in those two games. I could go on about how he was directly responsible for, at the very least, five of the opposition's nine goals.

I could also excoriate Swiss Pastry for publicly humiliating the only shot blocking defenceman he has. I could, if I were of a mind, point out to him, in no uncertain terms, that the guy he was screaming at after Chara's goal, was the very same player who has, in all probability, been most instrumental in keeping his already obscene GAA from ballooning even further. Every puck Anton blocks, after all, is one less that won't get through that gaping maw you call a five hole.

It might also behoove me to call out the team as a whole, and point out that our opponents would probably find it much more difficult to score if you all weren't just standing around the crease, but instead endeavouring to put those same opponents' asses on the ice, where they belong.

Yes, I could try all that. But I'd do it with a shit eating grin on my face, and you would probably see right through it. And that wouldn't do. I don't have many principles here, but the one I hold above the other two, above everything really, states that the words you see on the screen are as genuine and real as I can possibly make them. So sorry, gang. No rants. I'm just too fucking ecstatic!

As I told a colleague today, I can pinpoint the exact game where the wheels started falling off. The very moment our now former coach (oh my goodness, but I do believe I've become aroused just typing that) started reading his own press clippings and let his ego run away with his common sense. It was the 21st of November, the 4-2 loss to the Sabres that kicked off our first eight game losing streak. The first game that Teflon (not anymore! Whee!) started playing with the Line Blender. I didn't mention it then, because I still had faith in the man. I still thought he knew what he was doing. But then, it just kept getting worse. And worse.

Then came his "handling" of Rayzor and Pastry. Other bloggers (Sherry and Jeremy in particular) began to mention that things may not be all that rosy in Bytown by the Rideau. And like any support group, we were mutually reassured by each other that, no, weren't imagining things. This guy really is unfit to be a Head Coach. By Christmas the cry had gone up all over the blogosphere (Ottawa sector) that we couldn't win like this. And still nothing came of it. Then finally, mercifully, the MSM woke up and took the long ignored pulse of the fans and, as one cried "Holy shit! We gotta get out in front of this!" All of a sudden, a lot of the same things we'd been saying for two months started popping up in Wayne Scanlan's columns, or being spouted on That's Hockey (for a brilliant take on this theme, please see Jeremy's post at Black Aces). And all it cost us was, what...10, maybe 12 more losses?

But all that "I told ya so!" crap is in the past now, isn't it? Yep. Water under the bridge. I merely mention it here to illustrate that WE TOLD YOU SO DAMMIT! But now, it's all different.

So to our players, I offer this: While a good number of you have been rightfully splattered with the shit we've been dishing, all is forgiven, for now. You are largely the same group that tore a gaping hole through the Eastern Conference on the way to the Final last year, and there is absolutely no reason you can't do it again. You'll get the coaching consistency you need. You no longer need to worry about being thrown under a bus at your Coach's daily press conferences for minor offences. You'll finally know, well in advance, what is expected of you and what the consequences will be should you not meet those expectations. But you only get this one last chance. Kindergarten is over. The Bryan is back.

Update: I would be remiss if I didn't point out the take from my new Timesian Overlords on the Teflon torching. C'mon, they need the traffic.

5 comments:

WufPirate said...

Easily the best blogpost title I've read in a long time.

Butter Chicken said...

The Sens' success is directly proportional to the severity of their coach's speech impediment. It's science -- look it up.

PPP said...

Stupid Murray robbed me of your anger!

18 games to see if they've figured it out and whether they can arrest the slide! I hope not...

Loser Domi said...

Mmmm...minstrels...I'll take mine deep-fried, if ya please

Clenbuterol said...

Are you think about writing a book?