Even The Times Wants To Know Why We Sucked

As we settle in for an evening of Habby goodness (C'mon Carey. A debt needs to be collected, even if it is 19 years old. Go Hextall on somebody's ass. You know you want to.), I would like to draw your attention to a quaint little exercise in self-flagellation, courtesy of the Gray Lady and my inbox.

"Laments of the Vanquished", they called it. Nice. Lends a lovely gladiatorial tone don't you think? If you didn't know any better, you'd think the Sens actually played a hard-fought series. Shhhhh...Don't tell 'em.

On another, slightly more painful note, my season recap is on the way! I just have to herd my infinite number of monkeys back to the steno pool.

Go Hockey! (© FHF)

Habs Win! Ensuing Victory Riot Will Follow The Usual Route

There are abiding truths we Canuckistanians cling to, mythologies that burrow their way into our souls until they become part of the very fabric of our national identity. One of these is that the city of Montreal is the very embodiment of suave sophistication, the last bastion of Euro chic, where the prevailing mood is urbane and daring (for contrast, another of these is that Toronto is...um...well, Toronto). Never afraid to try new things, or risk ridicule from the rest of the nation, Montreal remains the symbol of brash self-confidence with a dash of snooty debonair.

So, we shouldn't be at all surprised over what happened last night following the Habs' win over Boston. After all, this is the town that took Edmonton's small foray into civil disobedience following its '84 Cup (a few smashed windows on Jasper Avenue...oh the horror!) and two years later showed those western hayseeds (amateurs!) how to do it up right! The '86 Cup "celebration" was an absolute bacchanal of destructive mayhem, an explosion of orgasmic smashing the likes of which had never been seen before. "Hah!", they seem to say to the rest of us. "Ve are Mont-ray-ale! Ve are betteur zan yu stodgy Heenglish!" Just to prove the point, they did it all over again seven years later, only bigger and better (incorporating the now de-rigeur drunken frat boy hanging from the power lines was a nice touch).

But then the rest of the world caught on. Now there were riots everywhere, for every major Championship! Cup wins, Cup losses (Hi Vancouver!), Super Bowls, World Series, NBA Finals (or as basketball fans prefer to call it: just another Saturday night). It had become so pedestrian, so predictably every-man, so...gauche.

But now...everything has changed. Again. We need no longer wait for an actual Title, but are free to set the world on fire following every playoff series win! My God! Who knew? (In loving tribute, Ottawa, I fully expect our first pre-season win next year to be met with wanton jaywalking and several strongly worded letters in the Op-Ed pages.)

So thank you Montreal! While some may frown upon your exuberance and youthful enthusiasm, don't ever change. We love you. We love you for once again reestablishing yourself, with the able assistance of a few inebriated pioneers, as the very essence of trend setting urban behaviour. While the rest of the world contents itself with the mundane, waiting as it does for actual "championships" before it unleashes it joyous destruction, the wondrous metropolis of Montreal, that beautiful, wretched, panting, heavily mascaraed, fantastic whore of a city, has shown us up for the unsophisticated, provincial sod pounders we really are, and we stand in awe of her.

Oh, Bloody Hell

It never fails. Whenever I've wanted to take a little break...take a breather...rest my weary bones as it were, Ray Emery goes and says something stupid to drag my once infuriated but now merely exasperated ass back to the keyboard.

Not content to let his season's body of work speak for him from under the wreckage of a destroyed dressing room, our Ray-Ray decided that he would avail himself of the media presence during Packing Day in order to ensure we fully understand why we think he's a petulant, self-absorbed man-child who should never, under any circumstances, be entrusted with so much as a lemonade stand, let alone the Title hopes of an expectant populace.

If goaltender Ray Emery has indeed played his last game with the Ottawa Senators, he's not leaving quietly...Queried on whether he was unfairly held responsible for the Senators' late-season slide and became a distraction because of his mediocre play and lax practice habits, he responded: "Well, I don't take responsibility for the team losing in the playoffs, I'll tell you that much."

Of course, technically speaking, he didn't. After all, he hasn't played a game since Teflon was canned.

But here's the thing Ray. Any Sens fan who has been paying even the slightest attention (and I count myself as one of them) knew our Championship season actually ended three months ago, the humiliation-by-sweep being merely the logical conclusion. And that's all on you, fuckstick. We know it, The Bryan knows it, and I have a feeling that someday in the not so distant future when you're sitting around sharing pints and dodging pool cues with your new ECHL buddies in some Biloxi biker bar, you'll figure it out too.

Other gems in today's Ray-Ray hit parade:

"I showed up late for practice twice this year and had an opportunity to come on the ice. I was just late coming to the rink and they told me to go home ...When some other guys are late coming to the rink, they're just fine or whatever happens."

That's probably because they didn't subsequently mail it in during that same practice.

"I think it's media coverage that, you know, there's not really a whole lot in Ottawa going on other than this hockey team."

Yep, nothing says "I absolutely see the error of my ways and would love the opportunity to come back and work harder than I ever have in my life so that I may redeem myself in the eyes of the organization and its fans" like calling the fan base a bunch of cud chewing hicks easily swayed by an obviously biased media.

It will cost the Sens roughly $1.7 million against the cap, spread over the next two years, to buy out this jackass's contract. Money well spent, I'd say.

I'll give The Bryan the sweet, sweet last words on this sad sack affair (as spoken at this afternoon's presser): "My plan is not to have him back."

Now go away asshole, and give me my break back.

Emery Lets Loose [Ottawa Citizen]
Murray Says Emery To Go; Spezza And Heatley To Stay [TSN.ca]

Pens 3, Sens 1 -- Time For A Little Downtime

I suppose posting a Creamy Middle about last night is rather pointless. If you're reading this (from either side of the fence) you already know what happened, and why (and if not, my interweb friends here, here and here will be happy to fill you in). Besides, it would be a litany of the same things I've been saying since December, and truth be told, I'm running out of funny ways to say "Here's why we suck".

I'll be taking a few days off now. When you think about it, I've been staring at this screen almost every night, pretty much since the season opened in October. It's a wonder I'm still married (um...I am still married, right Beloved? Hello? Anybody home?)

I'll be back with a final Totally Half-Assed Season Recap along with the requisite Keep 'Em/Trade 'Em/Stuff 'Em In A Steamer Trunk and Banish Them To The Outer Moons of Jupiter review of the roster, probably next week sometime.

In the meantime, I would encourage all of you to jump, with both feet, onto the Habs bandwagon (HF29 already said we could). Not only are they a fun team to watch, but anything that keeps the Four Habs Fans stripperific and lethally funny posts coming should be embraced and nurtured.

I'll give the last word to our new found Pens pal (BOOOO! LAME!), FrankD at PensBurgh.com. Classy guy. Too bad we couldn't give Pittsburgh enough of a series to see how he'd do under real pressure.

Dear Ottawa,

I could be a complete jerk and give you the "ha-ha" and "you suck" treatment, but I prefer to have more class than that. Besides, there's nothing more to say than what your media has already said since Game One.

Every morning I made it a point to read the Ottawa Sun (online). Your hockey coverage is exceptional, but the faith of the columnists and writers alike seem to be in disparity. That's not to say the media really has an influence on a team's performance, but could it hurt to just show a little support?

Case and point: we all know a healthy Ottawa team would've been downright scary. I don't know what the contract situation is with Gerber but you guys better hold onto him. He's not the reason Ottawa lost; your lack of offensive production is to blame for that. Even still, Gerber is only one man (and closer to a machine at that).

It's been fun sharing the postage-free letters with SLC, and we've already talked of continuing the new found tradition into next season.

Rest up Senators, you'll have your chance for redemption. Pittsburgh and Ottawa have a date in Sweden at the end of September.

And one more thing. Please don't bring along the half-naked Spartan Warrior guy - we wouldn't want to get your trusty editor SLC too excited.

It's been fun.

See ya next season,
FrankD
Pensburgh.com

Stick that in our Stockholm and smoke it.

It's Not The Fall That Hurts. It's The Sudden Stop At The End

Anyone who didn’t realize by the end of December that this was exactly how this season was going to end was either blindly optimistic or hopelessly naïve. One thing is certain, those folks haven’t been watching very closely.

We never got it back. This team lost everything, its confidence, its swagger, its resilience just before Christmas and we never got it back. It’s as simple as that. And everything The Bryan tried turned to shite. Fire the coach? Nope. Trade for Commodore and Stillman? Nope. Finally send Rayzor into the dark hole of obscurity he so richly deserved. Nope and nope.

We can try and use Paddock, or injuries to key players or any number of bad breaks as ready made excuses, but that’s all they are. Excuses. The truth is they weren’t good enough. They didn’t skate hard enough. They didn't hit hard enough. They couldn't score, and they couldn't stop the other team from scoring. Despite all of the platitudes repeated over and over all season long, the same mistakes were made by the same people over and over again. And they were our supposed “stars”. Redden, Meszaros, Gerber, Emery…

There will be time enough in the next few days to pick at the scab and come to grips with the question of how exactly a season that started so strong could come to this. But for now, we’ll have to settle for the obvious. A group of incredibly talented athletes started to play badly, and none of them thought to work hard enough to fix it. Worse, they didn’t seem to care enough to try.

I, For One, Welcome Our New Avian Overlords

I will mention it here, and only once. We will be paying for that opening "act" for a long, long time. It wasn't bad enough that we are ridiculed league wide as a soft team who hides behind their mother's skirt at the first sign of a playoff belch (and then proceed to prove the peanut gallery right by playing in just that way...but more on that in a bit), but now...well consider the following exchange:

"Hey, Bob! The wife and I are spending some time in Ottawa!"

"Really? Do me a favour will ya? Find out what the deal is with that Pillsbury dough-boy with the leather diaper and the Bissel mop on his head. You know, the one with the stutter."

So as you read the taunting words contained in this, our last (if the Gods are kind to us) missive from our new friend FrankD of PensBurgh.com, keep in mind that, while his strangely homo erotic closings are a bit awkward (yet strangely flattering) we deserve every single searing word. Our egregious sin in the eyes of Man, God and a vast majority of the world's stage directors demands it.

Dear Ottawa's Finest

Please do me a favor - don't kick off Wednesday night's festivities with that scantly clad dropout actor from the movie 300. That was by far one of the cheesiest thing I've ever seen, and I've seen some big cheese. The least you could've done was make sure his audio worked properly.

But I will say - you guys sure can sing. Nice work on the anthem. I'll always admire the dual anthem introduction.

It really looked like you guys wanted to play hockey on Monday night. I mean, you came flying out of the gate like Rosie O'Donnell at a buffet line - for the first third of the game at least. To see the second period start at a scoreless tie really irked me. But I knew the Pens would come around soon enough.

Ottawa, as you may have noticed, score first. Some guy I never heard of. Was that one of your B-Sens call-ups? I'm just curious. In the grand scheme of things it doesn't matter much. Especially since the game's hype was focused around Spezza and Alfreddson playing injured/returning from injury, respectively. Funny thing is, I don't recall their presence on the ice.

I saw Hossa though. Remember when you guys had him? I also saw Crosby and Malone and Talbot. All of these guys hit the board with a point or more. I didn't see your stars do much.

Oh yeah - Spezza got a pity assist.

I could continue rambling, but really what's the point? This debacle and sad excuse for a playoff series ends Wednesday night. Perhaps if you're nice Pitt will hand you one out of pity and shake hands at center ice in Pittsburgh. That'd be a nice playoff image.

Polish off those golf clubs.

One love,
FrankD
Pensburgh.com

Be sure to check in on his site from time to time. I'll be sending him my witty retort shortly. Just as soon as I figure out how to apologize grovel surrender maintain a semblance of dignity.

Peacefully at home, following a long illness. Cherished son of Bryan and Roy (nee, Mlakar), beloved father of Hope, Destiny and Desirée. Sadly missed by 18 of 23 brothers.

Born October 3rd 2007 amidst great expectations, falling victim to a debilitating and chronic ennui in mid-December, finally succumbing after a brave and ultimately futile effort at recovery through late winter and early spring.

Friends and family may call with their condolences Wednesday, April 16th, 7:00pm to 10:00pm at 1000 Palladium Drive, Ottawa. Funeral services Thursday, April 17th, 12:00pm. Family only please.

In lieu of gifts, donations to the Canadian Cancer Society and University of Ottawa Heart Institute would be appreciated.

And Now A Word From The Other Side Of The Fence. Well, The Literate Side Anyway

In his continuing effort to at once make us like him and feel absolutely crappy about ourselves, FrankD, editor of PensBurgh.com sent me the following:

Dearest and Lovable Ottawa Fans,

You almost had us there. I mean, really stellar work. I attribute the chance for Ottawa's comeback entirely on Gerber's shoulders. Granted he didn't score any of the goals that tied the game (although that would be amazing), but he sure as hell did his part to keep at least three decent ones out of the mesh in efforts to support a rally. As I said in my recap following the game, if you save 50+ shots a game you expect the win. Not a two goal deficit as the final outcome (empty net goal or not). Had this been a regular season game I'd have said, "That sucks for him." But since it's the playoffs and the last thing I wanted was a tied series heading into Ottawa, I'll say "Good for us."

Now I'm not gonna lie - my heartburn started acting up around the third period. There was a numbness and tingling in my left arm/hand area that I haven't felt in quite some time. When I thought it couldn't possibly get worse, Saint Malone paid a visit and reminded me that all was well in the world. I have since burnt an Ottawa Senators hat on the alter of sacrifice.

Speaking of death, pain and sacrifice; what's the deal with Alfie? Is he coming back, is he sitting out? I mean, injury or not, this is the opportunity for your captain to come flying off the bench and reclaim his position as a leader. That's not to say I'm looking forward to his return. Take your time Alf, take your time.

On the bright side of things, should (when) the Senators fall 3-0, all Ottawa fans can look forward to opening the season against the Pens in Sweden next year. It's weird; two straight playoff series and an opening season together. I'm really feeling a connection with you guys.

Love always and forever,
FrankD
Pensburgh.com

I can't decide which is worse. The monosyllabic, homophobic rantings of my numerous Anonymous "contributing commenters", or the gentle notes of pity and condescension from those Pen Heads who can actually form complete sentences.

I've sent him my two cents about Game 2, so be sure to check out his site. If nothing else, my irrational bravado in the face of all evidence to the contrary means I can never be accused of jumping off the bandwagon. Or of being sane.

Pens 5, Sens 3 -- Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows

Hi everybody! After taking a wee break and putting the internet away for a day, I am feeling much better! Yessiree, everything is right as rain. In fact, things are SO peachy keen that I'm going to do all of you thoughtful, thoughtful Pens fans who went through all of that trouble to drop me a line ("Toolbag"...you're just so damned cute!), a small favour.

Some of you have made the observation that I'm too...what was it again...oh yeah: "fond of complaining". Too negative. Too much of a downer, man. I can't tell you how touched I was by all of you who cared enough about my mental well being to tear yourselves away from your favourite web sites, featuring as they do random gay bashings and mockingly cruel PhotoShops of personal tragedies, in order to offer your unsolicited advice. So nice.

So in response, and without further ado, allow me to introduce your guest author for this very special edition of The Creamy Middle, MISTER SUPER HAPPY FUN GUY!! Take it away...um...SUPER!

Thanks SLC. And let me start by saying that I just LOVE EVERYBODY! Even Jeffrey! Now, let's get on with it, shall we?

The Awesomely Fantastical Wonderful Highs That May Never Be Topped Ever:

• Pittsburgh, Torino, TomAYto, TomAHto: Oh, Martin, I could just hug you. 52 shots against and you only let four in! That was GREAT! It was like the 2006 Olympics all over again. Well, except for the four goals. But, remember that one? You shut out Team Canada 2-0 and everyone in the country said as if with one voice "WOW! Who the hell is Martin Gerber??" Any chance you can do that again? Like, say, Monday??

• Don't worry son. Everybody gets a trophy. Even the...um..."non winners": So close. You scratched, clawed and chewed your way back from three goals down, only to lose in the end. I want all of you to know that we still love you and that there is absolutely no truth to the rumour that losing this game with sixteen seconds to go sent your humble scribe into his (thankfully very rural) front yard in the dead of night to scream obscenities at the Canada geese nesting in the corn field across the road. Nope. Didn't happen at all.

• However did you escape?: Cody! FANTASTIC GAME! And thank god you're still here! As one of the few prospects to have survived the storied tenure of one John Muckler, you are fast becoming the very symbol of hope for our beleaguered fan base that we indeed have, between you, Master Lee and Spawn of Mike, a solid foundation upon which to build our mediocrity for years to come.

• Awww...isn't that cute. He's trying to share: You're such a generous soul Jason. Even with all of those meanies in black and yellow trying to hurt you, you managed to stay true to your nature and made sure to include them too. It was particularly nice of you to give them the puck when you thought maybe we'd hogged it too long. And look at this! You get a Super Happy Fun Guy Bonus Gold Star by allowing them to knock you off the puck inside our blueline, and thus setting up their third goal! Your parents must be very proud.

• Yeeesss...you were a very good boy too: Don't worry Wade, I haven't forgotten you. If it hadn't been for Jason's unselfishness, YOU would have received the Gold Star. No, really! It was SO nice to see you letting the Penguins entertain their home crowd by not doing anything that might prevent them from scoring. And I'm absolutely sure that Messrs. Gonchar or Whitney will be happy to return the favour when the games are in Ottawa. They double-dog promised!

• Oh, you poor poor dears. Have some brownies: It's such a hard job isn't it? Having to skate up and down the ice, a million things going on at once, everything a blur of speed and bodies. No, I don't envy the referees at all. So who am I to criticize if they need a little help deciding what's right and what's wrong? And if that help comes in the guise of an ever so slight embellishment by a known provocateur who was kind enough to launch himself in the air in agony as if pole-axed by a two-by-four after feeling a stick blade on his shoulder...well, the lad was only being helpful, wasn't he?
  

The Lovely, Luxuriant, Snug-As-A-Bug-In-A-Rug Creamy Middle:

Now this is the part where SLC would usually give a quick recap of a game, trying very much to give an honest assessment of what he saw and talk openly about how he felt about it. But we're not going to do that today, are we? Absolutely not! That would be far, far too...negative. So let me say in his stead that we LOVED this game. Adored it. The fact that we could help the Penguins keep their fans happy, even just a little, just warms the cockles of my heart. Of course, if they don't feel the need to return the favour in our two home games, well that's okay too! We're all about the love and respect here at Five For Smiting. And the best news of all? If we keep this up, I will be able to get to all of those slips of paper Missus Super Happy Fun Gal has been putting in the job jar that much sooner! See? Win-win! Back to you, SLC, you super wonderful guy, you!

Thanks, SHFG! One last loose end to tie up and we can all get back to our big group hug. And The Masters...

Up Next:

You know who. You know when, and you know where. I'm going out to get my prescription refilled. TTFN!

And Cooler Heads May Yet Prevail

For those of you who've already seen my post immediately following tonight's game, and even commented on it (Hi Jared!), I have to apologize. It's gone. I deleted it. I read it three or four times and decided that I had let my emotion run away with my good sense. I didn't want to leave the equivalent of a vulgar piece of infuriated graffiti sitting on the interwebs forever. No, the best way to express my utter fury at the outcome is to actually calm down and address it after a good night's sleep.

That said, my assertion that Jarko Ruutu is a diving chicken shit bastard who lives beneath the rancid piece of meat caught between the pincers of the tick that once embedded itself in my dog's asshole still stands.

More tomorrow.

Seriously Pittsburgh. Cocky Doesn't Become You. Irrationally Angry Maybe. But Not Cocky

In lieu of a period-by-period post tonight, I thought I'd do something different. Truth be told, I found writing pithy little observations during the game too distracting. And besides, after reading my posts from Game 1, even I was bored. So...while I know this will be terribly disappointing to Jeffery, I'm sure he'll calm down after he gets his bottle.

Instead, I need to (finally) hold up my end of a deal. FrankD, editor of the SB Nation's PensBurgh.com, came to me with an idea that would serve as a cultural bridge between two warring camps, a frank and respectful exchange of ideas if you will, meant to foster good will and understanding. Being the fair and open minded renaissance man that I am, I immediately said "NO WAY!!" I much prefer fora where two groups can feel free to poke each other in the eye and laugh at the discomfort so inflicted.

He was gracious enough to give me the first shot. Here it is. The passionate responses from his readership, both on his site and my own certainly made for an interesting, if somewhat monosyllabic read. And now, I give you the rejoinder:

Dear Ottawa,

Hi. Did you see game one? Pretty nice, eh? Well get used to it. Pittsburgh is going to walk all over you in no more than five games (I'll give room for one with respects to last season). Might I suggest you forfeit game 4? You guys can't afford another injury and frankly it wouldn't look very nice with injured Senators limping along the greater golf courses that Canada has to offer. I will admit though, and this is in total honesty and sympathy, I felt pretty bad for Volchenkov. That shot is not going to sit well, and hope the damage was not too severe. Last I heard it was lacerations. I don't know how bad they are, but if he's anything like Malkin (who took 10 stitches to the face from a Dubinsky skate) he'll be back next game.

But he's not like Malkin - sorry, I couldn't resist.

Roberts vs Schubert. Could it be the forsaken prophecy? As long as the refs don't get in the way this time, you best make your bets that Roberts will rock him. [ED.--Um...not sure the refs "got in the way" so much as "tried desperately to get out of the way but Gary kept ducking behind them"...but that's just me]

You might as well bet on something with a guaranteed win.

Love,
FrankD
Pensburgh.com

Now I ask you, are we to stand for such blatant disrespect no matter how well written it is? NAY, says I!

We're five minutes away from puck drop for Game 2. Keep FrankD's searing words close to your hearts as we hope and pray for Gary Fucking Roberts' imminent destruction. And who knows. Frank keeps lipping off like this, I may have to turn Jeffrey on him. After all, he keeps telling us he's a Devils' fan.

GO SENS GO!!

Pens 4, Sens 0 -- Position Stake. Apply Mallet. Repeat As Necessary

Usually when the Un-Dead sleep at home," as he spoke he made a comprehensive sweep of his arm to designate what to a vampire was `home', "their face show what they are, but this so sweet that was when he not Un-Dead he go back to the nothings of the common dead. There is no malign there, see, and so it make hard that I must kill him in his sleep."

This turned my blood cold, and it began to dawn upon me that I was accepting Van Helsing's theories. But if he were really dead, what was there of terror in the idea of killing him?

He looked up at me, and evidently saw the change in my face, for he said almost joyously, "Ah, you believe now?"

I answered, "Do not press me too hard all at once. I am willing to accept. How will you do this bloody work?"

"I shall cut off his head and fill his mouth with garlic, and I shall drive a stake through his body." --Dracula, Bram Stoker [slightly redacted]

The Lonely High Without Which The Result Would Have Been Much Much Worse:

• Screw Obi-Wan! Help me Lord Vader, you are our only hope: Okay, the first goal was a little weak. Aaaand I was getting a little peeved that he spent most of the first spitting in the eye of Sir Isaac Newton (see file: Inertia, 1st law thereof). But he managed to turn it around and by the end, there were fleeting glimpses of the The Dark Lord we had come to know and love last fall. And it's a damn good thing, otherwise we'd all be hip deep in gloating Pens fans. And it's the only thing we can pin any kind of confidence to, going into game 2. If a goalie redeems himself in the forest, does anybody hear?

The Truly Shitty Lows That Stood Out From The Merely Craptacular:

• Let's go to the replay Bob!: "If Reds and Mesz can finally put their inexplicable and really fucking maddening regular season habits behind them and start playing the way they can and have in the past, we have a chance." I wrote that more than six hours before game time, and it took Wade Redden 1:08 to destroy any and all hope of it actually happening. Next time Bryan, make sure the plane takes off without him.

• Juuuust a bit outside!: I have no idea how, but the final Senator shot count was 26. Just think. If even half of the 21 OTHER shots we took had come anywhere near the Penguins goal, Fleury may have actually broken out into a sweat! Wouldn't that have been cool?

• Hello Charlottetown, you're on the air: Two two-man advantages. Yep, the boys were two men up for a full minute...twice. Surly, I thought, we'll get back into it now! Goals? Zip. Scoring chances? Two. As our favourite shout-out artist from the land of potatoes and Green Gables, PEISenators commented, "Maybe if they get a 5 on 2 they could generate something." Personally, I'm still holding out for a way to decline penalties.

• I'm sorry, perhaps you didn't get the memo: Neiler, buddy, you've always been one of my favourites. It pains me to call you out. Really, it does. But...um...JUST WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU?!? Of all the games I've seen you play, playoff, regular season, hell, even exhibition, that was the single most pathetic, non-contact, zero impact piece of crap I have ever seen from you. Christ man! If you're not willing to pay the price, than just why in the name of sweet Jesus am I wasting my fucking time holding out even the slimmest of hopes of winning this series?

We Now Pause For A Special Rant:

In all the many years that Gary Fucking Roberts has tormented us, I have accused him of many things, most of which involved sexual congress with livestock, but I have never accused him of being a coward. Until now.

You're a coward Gary. You want to hit a rookie from behind with less than 90 seconds left in a game you've already won? Fine. But you'd damned well better be ready for the instant retribution that will bring. Instead, you skated away from the scrum and waited until you were surrounded by officials before making a grand show of dropping your gloves, and elbow pads and helmet knowing full well no Senator, depleted the team already is, was going to risk a suspension by going through a linesman to get at your shit eating mug. That was bush league Roberts, and you know it. And when A-Train or Neiler (or...Gratz?) breaks your fucking back with a cross check to the kidneys at some point in this series, I will gladly put aside my natural disgust at such cheap shots and drink to the end of your career. Bank on it.

Creamy Middle:

I stopped into one of my favourite pubs yesterday afternoon, and naturally the talk amidst the bar regulars turned to this game. I said "There is no way on God's green earth we win tonight." Took a lot of grief for that. But I was both right and wrong. Sure, we lost. But I figured we'd lose because the Penguins would be out-of-their-minds pumped about playing the first game of the series at home in front of a crazy loud home crowd and that there'd be no way we'd be able to withstand the sheer adrenaline the Kiddie Korps would be running on. But that didn't happen. If I hadn't had the yammering vocals of Jim Hughson constantly reminding me that this was "game one of the Eastern Conference Quarter Finals", I wouldn't have noticed the difference from any other regular season game we sucked moose balls in this season. The Pens came out tentative, the crowd nervous. And we didn't take advantage. If the same thing happens tomorrow, I'm starting my yard work way earlier than I wanted to.

Of course, if we win Game 2 and get the split...well, that means all is sunshine and light, and that we still own your asses! As long as Gary Fucking Roberts leaves the ice on a stretcher.

East Quarter -- Period 3: Wow. We Lose. I'm SHOCKED! SHOCKED, I Tell You!

-- How many times does a team get two 5-on3's in one game? Not very often. How often does a team not score on either one? Almost. Fucking. Never.

-- Missed The Net Count now stands at 18 according to the increasingly irritating CBC stat crew.

-- A-TRAIN UPDATE: Out for the game. "Head Laceration". Are you dead? You're dead, right Anton? No? Just stitches? THEN GETCHER FOOKIN' ASS ON THE ICE!

-- If Jarko Ruutu is making me wish he'd been aborted as a freshly conceived zygote, then he's doing his job. But still. I want him dead. I want his whole family, dead. Excuse me whilst I pummel something with this baseball bat.

-- And Fucknuts #1's magical mystery tour continues with a trip on Malkin after being caught (again) flat footed (again) at the blue line (again).

-- 6:00 to go. Malkin for the Pens 3rd. Aaaaand we're done. I'm going to go get drunk now. I'll try to put some lipstick on this pig tomorrow. If anyone has any suggestions, I'm all ears.

East Quarter, Game 1 -- Period 2: Man Down! Let Us Pray...A-Train, Who Art In Stitches...

-- Now that Jim Hughson and Gary Galley have mentioned it four times in fifteen seconds, we can now rest assured that we have it on good authority that Spezz and Heater will be playing "A LOT!" Those of us who hadn't noticed that they've been double shifted since minute two of the first period thank you.

-- Other helpful information from the CBC...we've missed the net with 11 shots. 11! Eleven times we can't zero in on a target 24 square feet in size!

-- Paging Mr. Neil. Mr. Neil, please report to the ice surface. Paging Mr. Neil. Mr. Neil, please report to...

-- Talbot, Roberts, Laracque. Throw in Pestilence and I'm building a bomb shelter.

-- OH DEAR GOD, NOT A-TRAIN!!

-- I sense a disturbance in The Force. Too soon to tell who it might be.

-- Anton? Buddy? You okay??

-- Oh my heavens! I do believe I've just seen a forecheck! By a rookie! To draw a penalty! Good job Spawn. Good job indeed.

-- Marty Lapointe. Two minutes for being sexually molested by both MAF and Talbot. Okay then. But I'll take the 5-on-3.

-- On which we couldn't score. FUCK! Missed the net nicely though. Twice.

-- Somebody better tell me what's going on with A-Train, like RIGHT FUCKING NOW!

-- I hereby dub the defensive pairing of Wade Redden and Andrej Meszaros, Fucknuts 1 and Fucknuts 1A respectively. Please make them go away!!

-- End of the 2nd, still 2-0 Pens, and we're lucky to have it. SOG? Haven't a clue. I think they stopped telling me to save me the embarrassment. True to form over the last four months, we stopped skating in the second and gave up any good mojo we built up in the first.

-- Sens Player of the Period: Marty Gerber. Do I see a shit-scary black mask peeking out behind that flaky crust? I think I do. At least I hope so.

-- A-Train? Anybody? News? Seriously, if you need an eye, I'll be on the next flight to Pittsburgh. PLEASE COME BACK!

East Quarter, Game 1 -- Period 1: A Stake Through The Black Heart Of Gary Roberts!

-- Why is it that every team in every league in the world has the same fan? Namely, the bottle blonde 60 year old woman of...um..."generous"...proportions with blue eyeshadow to the temples, usually sitting in the first three rows, wearing the home town hero's jersey festooned with over sized buttons and pins? Weird. The Clone Wars have begun people!

-- This is not an auspicious beginning Wade. Care to explain how you let GARY FUCKING ROBERTS knock you off the puck JUST LIKE EVERYBODY'S FUCKING LITTLE SISTER HAS BEEN DOING ALL FUCKING YEAR...ahem...sorry, sorry. But, um, Wade? Here's a hint to make you a better player. GET OFF YOUR FUCKING ASS!

-- First Spezza Dumb Ass Pass (DAP) through the middle to nobody: 2:57 in. Yep. Right on time.

-- Big stop on Robitaille (wait? what??). Somebody PLEASE tell MAF the playoffs have started.

-- Swiss Pastry IN. DA. HOUSE! You can't tell, but I'm actually weeping.

-- Cody Bass on the PK. I'm not sure if that speaks more to the confidence The Bryan has in the rookie, or the general suckiness of our penalty kill. Discuss amongst yourselves.

-- Second Spezza Dumb Ass Pass (DAP) through the middle to nobody: 18:30 in. Cool! Bookends!

-- End of the 1st, 2-0 Pens, SOG -- 10-8 Pittsburgh. Solid if unspectacular performance despite the score. Two (HUGE) mistakes, two Pens goals. It's that easy. A little more hitting would be nice. A lot less Wade Redden would be even better.

-- Sens Player of the Period: Shean Donovon

-- Oh. And FUCK Gary Roberts. Fuck Gary Roberts right in the ear.

Now for the REAL Preview -- Screw The Regular Season. It's GO Time!

There's a couple-three reasons I posted the "preview" you see below, rather than something more informed. 1) I was dead tired. Unlike some of our Anonymous Friends, I have a day job that's actually rather demanding. 2) As always, my first goal is to amuse. Now granted, probably due to reason 1, I probably failed in that. But while it may not have been that funny, or as good as Sherry's (which is true, I should add), I did take slight umbrage to Quasi-Anonymous Penguins Fan's (um...still kinda anonymous there, Sport) outright dismissal of it without actually reading it. Then again, nothing about that should surprise me. Which leads me to the main reason for waiting until today.

I took a gander at The Pensblog last night and I saw this: "Tomorrow, we'll link every playoff preview we can find". Crap. With visions of a second wave of grammatically challenged, caps-locking, spell-check deprived knuckle draggers invading my comment section overnight, I decided that I'd wait until Game Day to actually put one up. I figured this way, at the very least, by the time the more...um..."passionate" Penguins fans noticed it and re-discovered their opposable thumbs, we would have gotten Game 1 out of the way, and with it, a better feel for how this series is going to go. That said, I cringe at the thought of what will happen if we lose, and lose badly tonight. But that's a worry for another day. For now, here's your real preview folks. Do with it what you will:

Forwards:

On paper, we have no chance. We're short Alfie, Fish and our best defensive forward, Chris Kelly. We have two raw rookies in Cody Bass and Spawn of Mike in the lineup. Conventional wisdom holds that Crosby, Malkin, Hossa, Malone and especially Gary Fucking Roberts will mop the floor with us. But that's on paper. I've told anyone who's asked me (and a few who haven't) that nothing has changed from our meeting last year. Hit them. Hard. Then hit them again. Instead of fearing the fact that two rookies are starting for us, use it. Bass is a big boy who likes him some contact. Spawn of Mike has some good hands and a knack for finding the quiet spots in the zone. How amped do you think they'll be? Use that. Sure, the margin of error is razor thin, but it's not the end of the world folks.

Edge: Penguins, but it's not as big as they think it is.

Defence:

This is where the "on paper" equation gets turned on its head. On paper, we should have an enormous edge here. To stay with my earlier theme, Phillips is the rock and A-Train is the hard place between which the Crosby-Malkin-Hossa line will find themselves. That's a given. But whether we keep our "paper" edge here, depends on the other four. If Reds and Mesz can finally put their inexplicable and really fucking maddening regular season habits behind them and start playing the way they can and have in the past, we have a chance. Lee, a rookie in name only, has looked fantastic in the few games he's played for us. Let's see how he handles the playoff pressure. Really, what do we have to lose? And Commodore, aside from finally (hopefully) starting to feel more comfortable in the system we're playing, should be able to use his considerable hitting skills to greater advantage than he did in the regular season. After all, playoff games aren't officiated quite the same, are they (King Gary's clueless protestations to the contrary notwithstanding).

Edge: Ottawa...but only if NOs 6 and 14 pull their heads out of their asses.

Goaltending:

It always comes down to these flaky bastards, doesn't it? MAF has the better regular season numbers, no question. But again, the Playoffs are an entirely different animal, and historically, he hasn't done all that well. Whether we win or lose this series will depend, in its entirety, on which Gerber shows up, starting tonight. If it's the constantly out of position, rebound loving Swiss Pastry, we might as well just pack it in now. If Darth Gerber, he of the flawless positioning and the cool head that ran off a 13 game win streak in the first two months of the season, well...I like them odds. And if all else fails (and it pains me to say this...really), there's always Razor. He should have a big enough chip on his shoulder by now to give us at least two or three quality games.

Edge: Ottawa

Coaching:

Silly gamesmanship notwithstanding, Bryan Murray is the better coach. No, really! By the time he got back behind the bench, the damage from Teflon's Reign of Error was too much to fix with so little time left in the regular season, and I'd argue that had it not been for The Bryan, we would have missed the playoffs entirely, given the injuries and absolute lack of confidence the players had in themselves. A master manipulator, he should have no problems convincing the boys that they should probably start listening to him, now that everything is on the line. There's a reason he has 600 plus victories to his record. As for Michel Therrien...um...I'm sure he's a nice guy, but how hard can it be tapping Crosby, Malkin and Hossa on the back every third shift?

Edge: Ottawa

Creamy Middle:

The longer this series goes, the better the odds. Chris Kelly is close to coming back (rumour has it by Saturday) and as for Alfie and Fish...well late season "decimating injuries" that will take "weeks!" to heal sometimes find themselves miraculously cured when the puck drops for real. Now, I'm not fooling myself into thinking that this is going to be the cake walk it was last year. Our D and goaltending is way too shaky for that. But holy shit, listening to the talking heads and reading the MSM, you'd think we might as well just give up now. Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm certainly not going to immediately prostrate myself at the feet of the Pittsburgh Penguins and worship them as some sort of invincible gods. They're human. They're still kids. And they're eminently beatable. That's why we play the games.

Slightly revised pick: Sens in 7.

Bring it bitches. Let's do this thing

Sens and Pens Preview: Why, Yes. I Would Love Some Kool-Aid, Now That You Mention It!

Gawd, I'm in agony. I've started this thing, deleted it and started again four times already. My fingers keep typing the wrong words and I can't make them stop!

So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to let my brain decide. I don't mean that in a "I'll think about this in a calm and rational manner and logic will eventually prevail" kind of way either, but my actual two pound jelly sack of neurons, axons, myelin sheaths and other medicine-y goodness.

The human brain is divided into two hemispheres, the left, embodying as it does the analytical mind, and the right, purveyor of passion, and emotion (some people, whom some may call "scientists" will dispute this theory, but as listening to them would serve me no purpose here, we will refer to them as "godless heathens". Besides, the booze is running out, so I gotta get this done) . I'll let them decide. Gentlemen, you have the floor...

Right: So, uh, who do you like?

Left: Well, I'm not really sure. Looking at the records, I'd have to say that --

Right: What? What the hell does the record have to do with it? This is the playoffs man!

Left: Yeah, but I'm just sayin'...they finished ahead of us by quite a bit and--

Right: Ah, that's crap man. WE were the Beasts of the East for three quarters of the season, not these little punks. Seriously, look at 'em. Brittney Spears has more pubic hair than their top two lines combined. Trust me, I've seen the pictures. Well, of her anyway. GUH! Besides, you heard the boys today. Clean slate! New season! Anything can happen!

Left: Um...okay. Then let's look at it by position. Start with the goalies. Gerber hasn't exactly been--

Right: Oh, here we go. Slights against the Swiss.

Left: Please don't interrupt me again. It's very ru--

Right: "Euros can't win when it counts". Is that it? You know what you are? You're racist. How does that feel? Racist.

Left: Seriously. Stop it. I've told you before, that really pisses me off.

Right: Sorry. I'll stop. Racist.

Left: Anyway, Gerber hasn't stopped a beach ball since January. Always out of position on the rebound, and other than absolutely sucking in his first and only two playoff starts with Carolina, which he blamed on a "cold", he hasn't faced the kind of pressure that goes with a playoff series in a Canadian market.

Right: What, and Fleury has some wonderful, magical edge because he's Canadian? When I look at his history, it's not exactly a glitter with post season success either. Remember last year? We got in his kitchen and he fell apart. So screw you. Racist.

Left: *sigh*... Alright, let's talk defence. Remember our old football coach? "Defence wins championships son!" Well, we--

Right: Did he say that before or after he tried to touch us?

Left: WHAT?? He never...what the hell, dude? Jesus Christ. Seriously. Where did that come from?

Right: Just seeing if you were paying attention.

Left: Yes. Well. Back to the point at hand, which was...um...defence! Right. My point is, we don't have any. Other than Phillichenkov, we got squat. Commodore is too slow and doesn't know where he's supposed to be half the time, Lee is too young, Luke is too old, and Reds and Mesz are pathetic excuses for "professionals" who will be shipped out of town the very second the clock strikes 12:01 a.m. on July 1st.

Right: Oh, very nice. Look at you, and your fancy logic. Who have they got that we should be afraid of, eh? Gonchar? Sydor? You wanna talk about old. Hell, they were so desperate for blue line help that they went out and traded for Hal Gill. Hal Gill!! A LEAF! You have to be pretty pathetic when you look to Toronto as the cure to what ails ya.

Left: Then let's talk forwards. Crosby, Malkin, Hossa...*shudder*...Roberts? And what about us? Alfie, Fish, Kelly...all out. You have to admit--

Right: I don't have to admit nothin'! Screw you with your admitting, brain! Crosby and Malkin will fold just like--

Left: They've got another year under their belts. They're not the same as--

Right: So now your interrupting me?? SHUT UP! They're kids! They're not ready yet! And Roberts is 112 years old! Sooner or later he'll realize that and just fall apart, right there on the ice! Poof, gone, in a cloud of dust and dentures. As for Hossa...Mother Mario will rue the day he gave up the only Sens killer he had in Colby Armstrong for Hossa's Gor-Tex groin. And we gave him up, remember? And why? Because he vanished when it counted! Just like all the other foreigners we've ever had!

Left: Who's being racist now?

Right: Oh, shut the hell up. I don't want to listen to you anymore.

Left: Fine. Screw you!

Right: What happened to "stoic, unemotional one", eh? You look pretty emotional to me.

Left: You know what? You're an idiot! There, I said it! You won't do the dishes, your room is a fucking pig sty, I'm pretty sure we have mice living in our couch because of all the food you leave lying around...and you have no fucking clue how this is going to play out! You're just going with knee jerk reactions and blind loyalty! So here's my final pick. The winner is--

Right: Yeah, well at least I'm not bailing on my team! Traitor! Racist traitor! You don't know shit about playoff hockey because you don't know how big "heart" and "will" and "grit" are! All you care about are the cold hard numbers that don't give you any measure of the man inside!

Left: Are you done? Have you gotten off the pipe yet? Good. The winner of this series is--

Right: Racist traitor.

Left: STOP INTERRUPTING ME!! FUCK! The winner of this series will be Pittsburgh in fi-OOF!

Right: SHUT UP! SHUT THE HELL UP! That's it! This...ugh...ball gag is going...argh...on and *oof* ...staying on until you start talking sense!

Left: Mph! Mphfft! MMPPFFFTMPEPHHFFT!

Right: You heard it here first folks. Sens in six. Thank you for joining us. Now back to you, Bob.

And So It Begins. Pens Fans Love Them Some Anonymity

I was afraid this might happen. As soon as the playoff match ups were set, I said to myself "Uh-oh, here they come." And they didn't disappoint.

For the three of you unaware of the fact, The Pens Blog is one of the top rated hockey blogs on these here interwebs. They are ruthless in their pejoratives (which makes them funny as shit 98% of the time...that 2% being when their guns are pointed at your team) and Masters of the PhotoShop. And their readership is rather...enthusiastic.

What follows are the comments I received from Penguins fans following my rather (at least I thought) innocuous post below.

Anonymous said...

Penguins may be exclusive to the Southern Hemisphere, but I don't see what Australia has to do with anything.

And not nearly as much as you miss
-Alfie
-Fisher
-Spezza
-Heatley
-half a defense corps
-and something resembling an actual NHL goaltender
being able to play hockey!

It seems the life terms of the Senators will be rather short.

Anonymous said...

The picture you posted is of Malkin. Way to go JACKASS! Remember last year. It's revenge time. You MAPLE SUCKING MOOSE FUCKING CHILD TOUCHERS ARE DONE. THIS IS GOING TO BE MORE FUN THAN TAKING YOUR WIFE OUT TO A NICE SEAFOOD DINNER AND NEVER CALLING HER AGAIN.

Anonymous said...

Roberts is back bitches. Ottawa is done. At least Staal and Sidney can get a few cups if Tim Horton's before hitting round 2.

Jeffrey Passwick said...

senators suck. why r u talking trash on the penguins when "ur senators" are going into the playoffs limper than gordie howe's dong?

Anonymous said...

Sidney...spell check before trash talking.

Anonymous said...

Senators suck. You suck. Your mom's gay.

Wow, I go away for a 24hrs, and somebody gives the Special Ed kids a day pass...

Okay, let's try this in order. I'll type slow for those who can't read very quickly:

• Anonymous number...um...2: Yes, I know it's Malkin. I used the same picture after we thumped you in Game 1 last year. I was unaware that text and picture had to match. I'll try not to do it again, seeing as it seems to confuse you. Oh, and your Caps Lock is on.

• Jeffrey: I'd like to congratulate you for manning up and being the only Penguins commenter to use an actual name. Bravo. While I have no first hand knowledge as to the potency of Gordie Howe's reproductive organs, I'd be grateful if you could point out under what circumstances you acquired yours.

• Anons 1 & 3: Solid hockey related points raised by both of you, which I plan on addressing as soon as I can herd your friends back into their cages. Bonus points for using actual grammar and correct punctuation.

• Anon 4: Sorry, and thanks for the tip. I'll get it right next time. "Sidney was much more whiny then he normally is..." Better?
  

• Anon 5: Thank you for your contribution. I look forward to more of your well thought out counter arguments as the series progresses. Oh, and my mom asks just what is your point, exactly?

If this is the reaction I get after putting up a one sentence post accompanied by a rather run of the mill picture before the series even starts, I can't WAIT to see what happens after we win a game...or, heavens, the series. But either way, in the spirit of sportsmanship and good manners, I'd like to add...thanks for the page hits!

Flightless Bird Season Is Now Officially Open

Flyers 2, Penguins 0. Welcome back Sydney. Did you miss us?

OK Brain. I Don't Like You And You Don't Like Me. Let's Just Do This And I Can Go Back To Killing You With Beer

A quick perusal of the standings, along with a helpful and not-at-all gleeful comment from Jaredoflondon (he of Die Hard Blue And White fame. Trust a Leaf fan to point out my foibles) puts the lie to my previous statement that "Since there is no way we can finish higher than seventh, at least we won't have our asses handed to us by the Caps", when in fact, both of those outcomes are very much possible. A Pittsburgh win over Philly this afternoon would mean we finish sixth and thus become the first item on the menu for Alex the Great and his band of merry men. I see no way in which that could possibly end badly for us. Absolutely none at all.

Never thought I'd say this, but...GO FLYERS!

Bruins 2, Sens 1: Who Cares? We're In And Momentum Is Overrated Anyway

So here's the deal. We are either the most dangerous 7th or 8th seed to ever qualify for the playoffs, or we are right where we deserve to be and will be an easy first round hors d'oeuvre for (pick one) the Penguins or Habs. There is no in between. Either the Hockey Gods have finally been appeased by our many many sacrifices over the last four months (although, in hindsight, I really think we needed more blood), or They are simply toying with us in order to inflict even greater pain and suffering. I'm not sure what grievous sin we may have committed in Their eyes to deserve such cruelty, but I'm pretty sure it involves one of Rayzor's suits.

The Slightly More Elevated Lows:

• He would prefer we called it "fashionably late": Hi Jason! Nice of you to show up! I'd like to congratulate you on your first (intentional) body contact of the year. Yep, nice little crunch on the B's forward at our blue line there. And the way you chased down the puck to try and negate an icing in the first period? Fantastic. Didn't know you had that kind of speed. After all, we hadn't seen it before. There is still the little issue of the jackass turnovers...but, "HA-HA!! that's just our Jason!", right? And, sure, it was Game 82, and three of our top forwards were out...but hey! Glad you and your emotions could finally make it. Will you be staying a while? Can I take your coat?

• WHO DISTURBS MY SLUMBER?!?!?: Not sure if it was intentional or not, but way to go Sens fans! For most of the first period, you made enough noise to make me look up from the depths of my despair to make sure we weren't playing the Leafs. Of course, all of that cheering must have really tuckered you out, so I completely understand why you all took naps in the second period. And your boisterous reaction to the announcement that we had made the playoffs in the most pathetic way possible was also quite nice. So go ahead. Bust loose! Give yourselves a tepid one-handed ovation!

• Hey Rocky! Watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat: Shean Donovan must not know his own terrifying strength. How else to explain the first period holding penalty he incurred by reaching up, waaaay up and placing his weak hand on the shoulder pad of 6' 9" Zedno Chara thus exerting enough force to cause one of the strongest players ever to lace up the skates to violently fall over backwards in an explosion of flailing arms and tossed equipment. Wow. I mean strength of truly superhuman proportions can be the only possible explanation for that, can't it? Gosh, golly that was impressive. I know Dan Marouelli was impressed. You remember Dan, don't you?

The Really Really Low. Really:

• Insanity (n): The act of repeatedly doing the same thing, while hoping for a different result: Our top shut down defensive pairing have garnered themselves the combined name of Christon Phillichenkov (TM-Scarlett Ice), so inspiring has their work been together. I would propose a second tandem be thusly honoured: Andrade Meszedden. Never, in the annals of the sport, have two season-long train wrecks of defensive incompetence been so inexplicably intertwined. When they are teamed together, as they almost always are, their refusal to take the man, or initiate any body contact whatsoever along with their utter disregard for sound positioning, their laughably weak puck protection and their constant inattention to where their forwards are on the ice, truly is a sight to behold. Every fucking time.

• If only there were some way to get this little black object into that big net like thingy: All day, you heard it. This was the most important game of the year. "Game 7" I believe you called it, Jason. We had to win. Our playoff lives depended on it. "There's no tomorrow!" "We can't leave anything on the ice!" "We'll need everybody at 110%!" Ottawa shots on goal after the second period? Twelve.
  

Creamy Middle:

This might just be the booze talking, but I can't remember ever feeling so underwhelmed and scared shitless going into the first round of the playoffs. I searched in desperation last night for a glimpse, a sign, anything at all that the boys actually felt that sense of urgency that a successful playoff run requires and upon which I could hang some hope. Nothing. Not a goddamned thing. Maybe I'll feel better before they start next week, but for now, I'm booking some tee-offs before all of the good spots are taken.

Up Next:

Either Pittsburgh or Montreal, starting, in all probability, Wednesday. There is one thing for which we should be eternally grateful, however. Since there is no way we can finish higher than seventh, at least we won't have our asses handed to us by the Caps (sorry Hartolina, you had your chance last night).

BACK(ing) IN(to) THE PLAYOFFS! Do YOU Know What Time It Is??

We lose to the Broons, but Florida beats the Whaleicanes! WE'RE IN THE PLAYOFFS BABY!! Thanks Jacques! More in the next couple of days, but for now...WE'RE IN!! And there's absolutely nothing wrong with our team that five solid days of practice can't fix. Nope. Nothing at all.

Clinching with a home loss on the last day of the regular season? Exactly as I predicted back in October! Except for all the sucking. WHEEE!

Sens 8, Bubba's Bitches 2 -- Now Shut The Hell Up

We're about fifteen minutes away from puck drop against the Bruins, so I'll save The Creamy Middle of last night's game until I have more time. Besides, I'm going to need a little help deciphering my notes in order to produce something semi coherent. Who knew smashing a pen against the wall would be so messy?

But first, let's get The Hit out of the way. If you read my comments on the BoO game thread, I was as incensed as any of you. I called for all manner of plagues upon Bell's head and house. I wanted him flayed alive with a dull spoon. I wanted his genitals to rot off and be stuffed in his ears. And I still do.

But...sorry Sens fans. Upon further review, it was clean. At least as "clean" as Neil on Drury last year. If we cheered that one then (and we did...but unlike those classy classy folks in T.O., we stopped cheering when we saw he was seriously hurt. At least I did) and condemn this one now, why, that would make us hypocrites, now wouldn't it? Or worse...Leaf fans!

Now that said, Mark Bell is a gutless punk. Always has been, going back to his days in junior. His head shot to The Captain, his slew foot on Reds on an icing call and his general cheap shot fuckery (nice face cage, there tough guy!) surprised me not in the least. He's also a felon, who will be going to jail sometime in the next month or so, so that's cool. Lots of nasty things can happen in jail, Mark. All it will cost me is a carton of smokes. And if Queen Bubba and his Buick-sized penis don't get you in the showers, well...keep your fucking head up next season, no matter what pathetically desperate team signs your worthless carcass.

Habs 3, Sens 0 -- The Beatings Will Continue Until Morale Improves

Let us step into the Way Back Machine for a moment, shall we? Let us revisit those heady days of November, where all was sweetness and light, sunshine and lollipops.

Now there's been some crazy talk around these here interwebs that this year's Sens team may equal, or even surpass the all time win record set by the 1976 Montreal Canadiens...

...allow me to state the following with neither qualm nor reservation: IT AIN'T GONNA HAPPEN SO EVERYBODY SHOULD JUST CALM THE FUCK DOWN! Thank you. As you were.

We were 13-2 when I wrote that. Two games later, our (four month) long national nightmare began, and now we find ourselves two points out of...GUH!...Leaf land. Coincidence? I'll let A&E's sad descent into low-brow programming decide. But one thing is clear. The Forum ghosts do not take kindly to heirs presumptive stealing their thunder, no matter how helpful you've been to them in the past. And they will punish you. Severely.

I, for one, welcome our new Northeast Division Overlords.

The Highs:

• I'm sorry. You must be new around here: We've lost three in a row, the last two by shut-out, when the pressure to win is higher than it's been at any point this season. We're holding onto a playoff spot by the equivalent of Brian Lee's newly developed pubic hair. Our goaltending sucks moose balls, and our defence is even worse. In short, not a single fucking one.

The Lows! Brought to you by FEMA. At FEMA, we're always ready to say "Ahhh, Screw It! It's Just Too Hard!":

• Well, this is probably as good a place to start as any: We gave one of, if not the, most scary ass power plays in the league six chances, FOUR in the first ten minutes of the game, including one 5-on-3. They scored on two of them (including the aforementioned two man advantage). Now, I'm no rocket surgeon, but glancing at the final score, this would seem to me to be a rather foolish way to go about trying to win a hockey game. But then, I'm just a fan, right? I don't know anything.

• What is this "Homo Erectus" of which you speak?: The net is six feet wide. The cross-bar is four feet off the ice. That's twenty-four square feet (see Ma?!? Can too do the maths!) of empty space a pro goalie has to cover. And if we had a pro goalie, I'm sure that wouldn't be that big a problem. But we don't. We have Zippy the Wonder Ego and Swiss Pastry. I'll cut Pastry (very little) slack on flopping around like a wounded bass on the first goal (it was 5-on-3 after all), but as I so eloquently stated in the FHF game thread following Dandenault's goal over his shoulder to put the Habs up 2-0...STAND UP, FUCKSTICK!

• Get me Kevin Lowe on the phone!: What do you get if you mate a retarded mule with a dead jelly fish? You get the defensive stylings of Wade Redden and Andrej Meszaros. Put them together on the same line, as The Bryan inexplicably kept doing? Worlds collide. While their little contest for Biggest Fuck Up of the Night was cute (in a chew-through-drywall-in-a-boiling-rage kind of way), July 1st can't get here soon enough.

• I could have sworn the schedule said this was a home game: Look, Sens fans. We all know that when either the Habs or Leafs are in town, we can expect a little noise from the visitor's fans. But seriously, would it kill you to at least attempt to drown them out, at least for the benefit of those of us who can't afford the mortgage payment it would take to buy tickets? Everyone who allowed that fucking "OLE!" song to reverberate around SBP (three minutes into the game!) without any kind of retort, should at the very least, hang your heads in shame. Or give your tickets to REAL fans. After all, think of how easy your dash to the parking lot half way through the third period would be if you never actually left the house. Assholes.

Creamy Middle:

This picture was taken in OUR house, and it perfectly summarizes how we played this game. It also serves as a fitting epitaph to this nightmare of a season, don't you think?

Shamelessly pilfered without permission from Four Habs Fans.

Pithy Observation of Absolutely No Importance Whatever:

Just as the third period began, the piercing klaxon of an air horn echoed briefly through the building. I can guarantee that didn't come from a Sens fan. I know our home crowd. And they know the SBP "security" teams. There is no way, on God's green earth, that their usual grossly inflated sense of self-importance would have allowed them to ignore such a brazen violation of the "No Fun" policy. In fact, I'd be surprised if Air Horn Boy made it out of the building alive.

Up Next:

Wouldn't you know it? Our entire season comes down to a late season game against the Laffs. It's as if every single nightmare I've had over the last 16 years has coalesced into one game, a kind of karmic stew from the pits of Hell, with Pat Quinn, Gary Roberts and Darcy Fucking Tucker stirring the pot with empty souls and maniacal laughter (Jesus, I gotta lay off the booze!). Does this mean it'll stop me from shelling out the $10.95 (plus tax) for the Pay Per Screwed feed to watch them putting the shiv in our backs? Not a goddamned chance.

Behind Enemy Lines:

The Battle of Ontario open thread is the only place to be for this one. If we're going to go down in flames, we may as well do our damnedest to take a few Leaf fans with us. Or meet them on the way down. Either one works for me.