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."The Lonely High Without Which The Result Would Have Been Much Much Worse:
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]
- 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?
- 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?
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.
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.