Please forgive me for indulging my inner geek here, but I feel the need, in light of our regaining the Conference lead for the next...oh...three hours or so, to call down a little Dark Side voodoo on the derrieres of our rivals.
The Emotional Highs:
- Man alive! There are...men ALIVE in here!: Now that's what we're talkin' 'bout gentlemen! They hit! They banged! They hit 'em again! They finally found, trapped and skinned that wily and elusive animal called a "forecheck", long rumoured to exist but rarely seen. And Verms! When Vermette drops the gloves you know everybody is amped up. As for the fight itself? Well...um...nice haircut Antoine.
- My name is Senators Lost Cojones, and I approved this message: Everyone knows, there are good penalties. A hook to disrupt a breakaway. The trip to clear out the crease during a goal mouth scramble. Then there's the "fuck THIS shit" penalty. Mr. Phillips, please step forward. For teaching Mr. Malkin that a two minute boarding call is not the worse thing that can happen after hitting someone from behind (sure, it cost us the power play but I don't care), I hereby award you with...um...let me look around here...AHA! I award you the The Golden Beer, symbolic of hard work and short tempers. I know...you're speechless. It'll pass.
- Does that #28 jersey come in prison stripes?: Congratulations Marty. Three straight penalties (only two of which you actually deserved, both of which the Pens cashed in for goals), one goal scored and being a general pain in the ass. You've instantly become the most memorable deadline acquisition in franchise history. Granted, if you look back on our record at the Trade Deadline that's not saying much...but still. Just keep on keeping on, and we'll get along just fine.
- Somebody missed the memo: Playing the part of an airplane seat cushion, ladies and gentleman, Mr. Jason Spezza! Yes, whether it was ignoring the back check, lazy passes through the neutral zone or getting knocked off the puck quicker than an eight year old polio victim, our boy certainly puts the "Float" back in "Flotation Device".
- Oh...so THAT's a hook. Gotcha: If ever you've questioned my rants about the decline in the quality of officiating this season (Hi Dad!), please consider the following sequence: Staal skates into the corner after a loose puck, Spezza (shockingly) close behind. Staal literally picks up Jason's stick by the blade and tucks it under his arm, before flopping to the ice like a wounded trout. Dive? Not in Gary's brave new League. Nope. Penalty to number 19, two minutes for hooking. And referees wonder why they're held in such high regard by the paying public.
- You're a hard habit to break: A small vestige of Teflon's tenure reared it's misshapen head in this one. After two periods of hockey, played at a tempo to make a Sens fan's special places all moist and excited, we came out flat for the third. For now, we'll cut you some slack guys. We know that there are far to many things to fix before the stench of the previous administration is finally eradicated from the room, but if you could put this one somewhere on the "to do" list, it would be appreciated. Remember, the gallows haven't been completely put away yet.
At one point in the second, The Captain disappeared for about five minutes, a fact noted several times by an increasingly alarmed booth. When they finally threw it down to Eliot Friedman to find out what the hell was going on, Eliot informed a breathless and rather worried fan base about the state of the entire franchise with one word: "Maintenance" Okay then. I'll be sure to issue a press release before I take my car in for its next oil change.
Picking up where we left off on Thursday, the light at the end of the tunnel just got a little brighter. If anybody had any doubts whether axing Teflon was a mistake, they should be gone after today. And while we're still a long...LONG way from regaining the form that got us to the Final, we can at least take comfort in the fact that The Bryan won't let us go down without a fight.
Up Next and Behind Enemy Lines:
On the road, Anaheim, San Jose and Los Annng-ga-lese. Here there be monsters! As the Sens take off on their annual odyssey to the edge of the known world, I am reminded by Her Majesty that my five a.m. wake up call means that for all intents and purposes, this team doesn't exist for the next week. But be sure to check out Mike Chen, Battle of California, and Purple Crushed Velvet for all of your update-y goodness. I'll be around from time to time, if only to keep my page hits up.
Update: Just fixing some typos and cleaning up the dead link. Nothing to see here. Move along.