Leafs 4, Sens 3 (OT): I Am DONE With Jason Spezza

Take him. I don't give a rat's ass what the hell you offer us, just take him. I have had it.

Eight years...EIGHT...since you were drafted. Fifth year in the Bigs. Eight million a year. And you're still an idiotic, uncoachable, infuriating waste of ice time I wouldn't trust to look after my dog. Ever wonder why your name never comes up when people talk about the leaders on this team? Watch this tape. Then watch a tape from your rookie year. You remember that one, right? That was the year you bitched and whined because Jacques Martin said you were a boy playing in a man's league. What do you see? That's right. You see the same mistakes over and over and over again. EIGHT GODDAMN YEARS!!

So which is it, Princess? Do you just not care? Or is it because you're about as smart as a bag of fucking rocks? Are you lazy, or are you stupid? My money is on both.

We lost, and it's your fault. We lost to THE FUCKING LEAFS!! And it's all on you. Thanks for that. Not content with taking two lazy ass hooking penalties, the last of which cost us the tying goal, you have to go an put one IN OUR OWN FUCKING NET!! The HELL?!? We don't have enough problems, you have to go and score on your own guys??

Fuck you, Jason. Eat it. Eat it, and get the hell out. Bryan, trade this piece of crap for everything you can get. Time to lance this fucking boil.

Sharks 2, Sens 1: I'm Shocked. Shocked I Tell You!

Um...you didn't honestly think we would win, did you? Remember those halcyon days when the world was our oyster and the boys were ripping through the bottom feeders on the way to another Division/Conference/League regular season title? Remember how we would always seem to get the right bounce, the timely save or the big goal at exactly the right time, no matter how badly the team had played to that point? Welcome to the other shoe.

The Highs:

• Now witness the firepower of this fully armed and operational...second line??? What?: Comrie, Fish, Shannon. It's enough to bring a tear to this cynical bastard's eye, especially this year. I can't remember the Sens ever having this much speed on one line, nor a smoother skater than Runaway Ryan. And neither can the Sharks. So I'm just going to come right out and say it. Please Mike, convince Hillary that Ottawa is Hollywood North (do you really think she'll notice?) and sign a long term deal here. We need you. Even if the flapping tie-down and the over sized helmet make you look like a Timbit.
  

• We now reach out desperately for a stat that doesn't suck: A solid number fifteen on the Penalty Kill officially means that we aren't, at least in this category, in the bottom half of the League, right? Right. And if it weren't for The Captain's cold hands (they must be connected to his jaw somehow) and a Roto Ruutu post, we'd have had two shorties on top of that. Hey, you gotta take the gold where you can find it.
  

The Lows:

• A lesson needs to be taught here: Hi Brian. I guess you probably figured I'd be talking to you, eh? Look, I'm not going to go all "newspaper sportswriter on deadline desperate for a hook" and blame it all on you. Not when you still have considerable moisture behind those mammoth ears of yours. But seriously, and this is something you'll learn...yes the original "hooking" call was crap. But Paul Devorski and Greg Kimmerly are two of the thinnest skinned, most inconsistent pieces of navel gazing fluff ever to don the zebra stripes (Trust me, I watched Kim come up through junior...I know). You are a rookie. Unless you have a letter on the front of your sweater, or another ten years under your belt...ZIP IT!! And put on some weight, will ya??

• A special message to Filip Kuba: Are you still here? Go away.
  

The Creamy Middle:

With less than a minute left in the game, Beloved wandered into the Man Room to freshen up my drink (yet another reason she's the best that ever was) and asked "Are we winning?" "Nope", I answered. "Are we getting bitch slapped like you said we would this morning?", she asked again. "Actually...no. It hasn't been too bad", I said. "Well, that's something then" came the reply, and she left the room. In other words, Sens fans, it's all about the perspective. Thanks Beautiful.

Up Next:

Marvelous. Hey, look! It's the Laughs! Tomorrow night at The Bank. You may not have noticed but they are now a full five points ahead of us in the Division. Sucking the teats off a goat for a season...I can handle. Not making the playoffs for the first (and ONLY) time in twelve years...I can handle...ish. Finishing behind Burke's Army of The Insufferably Obnoxious Undead?? Unacceptable. (7:00pm, Cee-Bee-Cee)

Behind Enemy Lines:

Down Goes Brown. If he wasn't a Leaf fan, I'd totally let him date my daughter...if I had one. No, really, he's that good. The originator of one of the pee-your-pants-funniest Twitter parodies you'll ever read. Spark plug behind the rejuvenation of one of the best interweb feuds of all time. Ultimate exposer of Eklund as the absolute joke and total embarrassment to hockey that he really is (see "End Notes"). Not bad for a week's work.

Sens 4, Canes 2: Please Insert Demonic Laughter Here

It has come to this, friends. With no hope of our own salvation, we have little choice but to content ourselves in the hollow pleasures inherent in dragging our betters into the morass of irrelevance and futility in which we've wallowed since...well...forever, inflicting as much shame and self-loathing as we can along the way. Yes, that's right. The Ottawa Senators are the Catholic Church of the NHL. I for one, say...BRING IT ALTAR BOY!! Oooh! April 6th. Habs. That could be fun.

The Highs:

• We've switched his regular goaltender with Dominic Hasek. Let's see if he notices: Forty-three shots. Spectacular performance Alex. I have absolutely zero faith in your ability to replicate it, but bravo nonetheless. It was so good in fact, that I won't even mention that if not for your channelling the forsaken spirit of Swiss Pastry (remember him?) on the Eaves goal and yet one more Filip Fuck-up (the alliteration pleases me) on the second, you would have had the shut-out. Oh wait. I just did mention it, didn't I? Sorry. My bad.
  

• I had no idea you felt that way about us: Antoine, if your goal last night was to put on a rockin' audition for the panting meat inspectors scouts in attendance (who are no doubt pawing through your underwear drawer as we speak) in the hopes of getting traded off this shit hole, consider it met. Two assists, a short handed break, sprawling to block shots, a missed-by-the-width-of-a-pop-princess-pube almost tip in... Truly, a thing of beauty. But just out of curiosity, where was that five months ago?
  

• Speaking of Hillary Duff: Welcome back Mister Comrie! And a hearty welcome to that wily and elusive concept known as "secondary scoring". I think we can all agree to simply forget your brief exile to the decrepit ruin that is Wang Island and pretend you never left. Of course, if that were true, we wouldn't be where we are...but no matter, to more important issues! So...um...when is Hil coming to a game? And has she ever met Carrie? What?? Just askin'...
  

The Lows:

• Oh, Captain, My Captain!: Um...Alfie? You do realize that when I call you Superman, I'm speaking allegorically, right? Five days after knee surgery, you're back. Three days after suffering a fractured jaw...you're back. Please...and I mean this in the kindest possible way...please go away. Go away to heal. You haven't had a real "Alfie" game in weeks. Your speed through the neutral zone is, to put it mildly, pedestrian. Rather than dart in off the half-boards as usual, you dump it into the corner because you can't make the cut to the middle. I saw you bail on a play twice last night, rather than take a chance on a hit further busting the jaw. And I understand completely. So take some time off. It's not like we're going to need you for a playoff run. And I'd hate to see your number go to the rafters five years before it should because you blew yourself up for a worthless season.

• The Meszaros trade is now officially a draw: Hello, Filip. Rumour has it you LOVE IT in Ottawa. Rumour has it you would like nothing more than to sign a deal here and be as snug as a pair of fluffy bunny slippers. Gosh. That's nice. Oh...but rumour also has it that you're refusing to waive your NMC in a misguided attempt to make that happen. Okay then...here's the deal. Stop taking dumb-ass penalties because you're constantly caught out of position. Stop costing us goals because you always take the wrong guy on an odd man rush or fall for the cross over at the blue line. Stop getting muscled off the puck like a twelve year old girl along the boards or by an opposing forechecker. Stop playing like a stereotypical soft fucking Euro. Stop doing that, and you can stay. Don't stop doing that, and I will make it my mission in life to run you out of town on a rail.
  

Pithy Observations of Questionable Importance*:

If, like me, you never thought they could top "Nice try, Nogoalov!", I defy you not to shout out "From Russia with GLOVE SIDE!!" at your next meeting. But first a word of caution...it may not be as well received as you'd think. Trust me.

*I am not a corporate whore! Well, other than for monster corporations who put out funny commercials.

Up Next:

Oh sweet Jeebus. San Jose, tomorrow night, at The Bank. A local Ottawa radio station has been pimping this game with the tag line "Come see your Senators take a bite out of the Sharks!". Somebody should tell them that "taking a bite" out of a shark will only make it very, very angry. We're gonna need a bigger boat (7:30pm, SportsNet East with the local coverage).

Behind Enemy Lines:

Fear The Fin. Yep. That about covers it.

Sens 2, Preds 0: I Wish To Register A Complaint!

Excuse me, miss?? Not sure if you're aware of this, but you have been declared dead. Ya hear me? DEAD! Dead and buried! Passed on! This team is no more! You have ceased to be! You've expired and gone to meet The Bryan! This is a late hockey club! It's a stiff! Bereft of life, it rests in peace! If we hadn't nailed you to the ice, you would be pushing up the daisies! Your metabolic processes are of interest only to historians! You've hopped the twig! You've shuffled off this mortal coil! You've run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisible! This.... is an EX-PLAYOFF TEAM! And now...NOW...you run off five in a row?!?! Bloody hell.

The Highs:

• No no, h-he's not dead, he's, he's restin'!: You finally got your shut out, Alex! Bravo! And for your just reward, you get the start tonight in Denver. I'm happy for you, really. But...um...you know how you tend to be a little...how to put this gently..."streaky"? A tad inconsistent? Yeah, sure you do. So, with that in mind...any chance you can give us a heads up before your next trip to the Suck Barn? Could ya? That would be great.
  

• Remarkable bird, the Canadian Fisher, isn't it, eh? Beautiful plumage!: Fantastic game, Mike. No goals (natch), but your sweet pass to Furbligno (tm TUC), and the stupid speed that generated the (missed...natch) breakaway, coupled with your usual tentiness (tm...ME) inducing crash and bang more than made up for it. Pity you didn't have anyone special with whom to share it, eh? What? Why is everybody looking at me??
  

The Lows:

• Well, he's... he's, ah... probably pining for the fjords!: Sorry Alfie, but nobody gets a free pass around these here parts, no matter how close he may be to a Living God. When you look out onto the ice and see SheanDon skating on a line with Heater and Giggles, you know you're having a bad night. And you were.
  

• And now for something completely...the same: Note to the starched shirts at TSN: Please have P-Mag tested for a bi-polar disorder. Last week, the only thing that kept him from burying the Sens completely was his preoccupation with the genitalia of a certain Boston Bruin defenceman. Last night, we were the greatest thing ever to don the blades. Either he's very, very ill, or a complete fucking idiot. Your call. Oh...and one more thing. The next time Torts holds himself up as a paragon of communication and people management should be taken as a sign of the impending Apocalypse. Feast on the goo inside each other's skulls accordingly.
  

The Creamy Middle:

Okay, now your just being a bunch of cock teases. I'll let you in on a little secret. A buddy of mine (FFS-lurker-under-suitably-obscure-user-name and fellow cube dweller) came to me today to expound on his theory that you will in fact make the playoffs. When I opined that that was rather unlikely considering the (now) 22-5 streak it would take to get you there, he ponied up a crisp green Queen to prove me wrong (for the benefit of any American readers, that's a twenty dollar bill and not a seasick Ryan Seacrest...just so we're clear). I took the bet.

Pithy Observation Of Questionable Importance:

OMG!! hes cute! U thnk so 2?? Hes SO cute! ONO!! BRB!!1



LOL!!! 2 close!! C U aftr! KTHXBY!!

Up Next:

Puck drop in Denver in about twenty-five minutes. Not sure if Darcy Fucking Tucker will be playing as he took last night off for "personal reasons". I actually hope he does. It'll be nice to see Fish smash that shit eating mug against a stanchion once and for all. Just for old time sake, you understand (9:00pm, SportNet East).

Enjoy the STREAK everybody!

Sens 5, Flyers 2: War, Famine, Pestilence And A Three Game Win Streak Walk Into A Bar...

I don't know if I should be elated...or very, very afraid.

See you tomorrow.

Sens 3, Slugs 1: Kerry Fraser Can Suck It

Thirteen Buffalo power plays. Roughly five of which were deserved. Until tonight, I had no idea a triple minor was even possible.

So what does that tell us? First: Since they made him put on a helmet, Kerry Fraser has decided to use his whistle to maintain his centre-of-the-universe status. Second? Next time Gator should just say "Fuck it" and break Koleta in half.

No time for a full recap as we're right back at it tomorrow night against the Flyers and I really have to go to bed. After all, this is a school night and Her Majesty demands my full attention come morning. Look for a special, combined Creamy Middle on Friday, chalk full of ranty goodness.

In the meantime Sens fans, just for fun, look back on the last four games and ask yourselves "What if?"

Sens 3, Slugs 2 (SO): From The Top Everybody!

Happy days are here again
The skies above are clear again
So lets sing a song of cheer again
Happy days are here again

Altogether shout it now
There's no one
Who can doubt it now
So lets tell the world about it now
Happy days are here again

The Highs:

• Time to give the Grasshopper some love! Or at least a better nickname: We've had The Sieve (Lalime), The Dominator, Rayzor, Darth Gerber/Swiss Pastry. Now, after committing grand larceny on a suddenly-all-alone Dan Ellis in the opening minutes and standing on his head in the shootout, Brian Elliot needs a nickname befitting of his status as "Saviour from The Suck". Thankfully for us, neither his first nor last name lends well to just tacking on a "y" and calling it a day. Although..."I'm feeling very Elliot-y. In the pants." Yeah, that could work.
  

• Haven't you heard? It's the new black: One of the more heartening things to come about as a result of The Bryan's bloodless purge, is the new regime's insistence that its a hell of a lot easier putting a three inch wide rubber disk into a twenty-four square foot space if said disk is somewhere within the vicinity of said space. The boys fired forty-two (42!) shots on goal last night, from everywhere and anywhere. They're not booing...they're saying SHOOOOOT!!
  

• We now pause for a special tribute to Jarkko's face: Gotta hand it to you Roto, you certainly took...um...several for the team. If it weren't for your ability to slam your mouth into various bits of Adam Mair's equipment (stick, glove), Little Nicky never would have had an opportunity to open the scoring on the powerplay. And leaving the blood from the previous (uncalled) high-stick in hopes of convincing the referee that it should have been a double minor? Why, that's just gold. By the way, did Adam want to talk to you in hallway again? Just wondering.
  

The Low:

• They're thawing Andrew Peters out as we speak: Tough break for Neiler. A nothing hit at the second period buzzer, quite possibly the softest he has ever thrown in a Senators uniform, results in a yelp, much grimacing and a painful hop, skip and a limp into the dressing room. Although everyone who saw it knows it's the same knee that caused him to miss six games earlier this year, thanks to the league's charmingly opaque injury reports, we are told he is suffering from a "lower body injury". Just once I'd love to see an honest report: "Tucker, Darcy -- Syphilis/Gangrene. Status: Karmic". Now that's not too much to ask, is it?
  

Pithy Observation of Questionable Importance:

In the pre-game intros, Eliot Friedman gave a shout-out to Greg "the excellent Puck Daddy" Wyshynski for this piece on Chris Pronger's possible new destinations, come the Deadline (Boston? Really? God help us). Why do I bring this up? Well, let's play Six Degrees for a moment, shall we?

A few days after I wrote this, Greg was kind enough to roll it into his Deadspin NHL Closer (he also has a comment somewhere on this site, but I'll be damned if I can find it). Greg gets the love from Eliot Friedman. Eliot Friedman works for the CBC. The CBC once employed a fine play-by-play man in the form of Chris Cuthbert. Chris Cuthbert's daughter is a celebrity hockey fan of some repute. So you obviously know what this means. Restraining orders be damned; I am this close to engaging in sexual congress with Elisha Cuthbert.

The Creamy Middle:

We finally won in a shootout! That's good! We blew a two goal lead. That's bad. The new coach seems to have lit a fire under the complacent asses of most of the team! That's good! There seems to be one notable exception and he wears #19. That's bad. We're starting to hit again! That's good! We lost our best hitter and only bona fide fighter. That's bad. We don't know if he'll be in the line up for Roto's first game in Buffalo since...the incident. If you're Roto, that's really, really bad. And the boys are finally starting to play the way we've always wanted them to and have always known they could, but either refused or were too uptight/confused/lazy to do so under Coach Craig. That's good! There's still no chance in hell we're making the playoffs. That's...Meh.

Up Next:

As mentioned, Wednesday night in that monument to what the Artsy Classes refer to as "Post Industrial Armageddon", Buffalo. And the boys had better buckle up. As we're enjoying Roto's first game in The Queen City since the Nibble in New York, remember the maxim "Ruff at home, Lindy on the road." Last night was the "Lindy" part. We're about to get a front row seat for the other one.

Behind Enemy Lines:

We're going back to the well on this, and reacquainting you with Sabre Kallisions. Why? Not only is Dani one of the funniest and well written young ladies on these here tubes but also because she's too nice to gloat too much after Peters pounds Roto into a puddle of ground Finn, come Wednesday night. That's why.

Update: It would appear that Neiler's injury was a bit more serious than "just the knee" as a lacerated right calf will keep him out indefinitely. So...yeah. You're on your own Roto. Good luck with that.

Glove tap to The 6th Sens for raising the question: Is this the last of Neiler?

Bruins 4, Sens 3 (SO): It's ALIVE!!

So! I am ready for you meine liebe. Are you ready for me? Ready for Fuchsmachen?? Oooh, I love it when you're excited! Come then, my little Apfelstrudel! Come into my arms and let me hold you!

The Highs:

• Oh Nicky, you so fine, you so fine you blow my mind. Hey NICKY!: At the risk of furthering an already alarmingly homoerotic theme (not that there's anything wrong with that), there may yet be hope for that dark time which will henceforth be known as A.A. No...not that one. After Alfie. One highlight reel goal, one ridiculous pass for the assist on Giggles' short lived go-ahead...Yep. I'd hit that. Wait, what?
  

• My little runaway, run, run, run, run, runaway: Ryan, dude. Holy crap, I had no idea you had the wheels. Any chance you can get Fish to chase you around the rink a few times? He's been a little sluggish of late (personally, I blame Carrie), and I'm told he doesn't respond unless he has some serious competition. You know, like Seabiscuit.
  

• Sweep the leg!: Brian Grasshopper, you grow stronger with each passing sun. Man who catch Phil Kessel wrist shot out of thin air, accomplish anything. Listen not to those who would doubt. No, really. Don't . Please? You're all we have.

The Lows:

• You do realize, we could have taken Marc Staal, right?: Not your best game, was it Master Lee? But, I have to say that I'm happy you're getting your sophomore jinx out of the way during this, the most wasted of seasons. I look forward to seeing you come back to camp next year with roughly fifty pounds extra muscle on that skinny frame of yours. And the ability to complete a forward pass. That would be cool too.

• You are dangerously close to being dead to me: In a game where everybody else finally got the message and flew around the ice, you were...you. I'm done defending you, Jason. Your goal was a gift from heaven, and entirely undeserved. Not sure you've noticed, but the Deadline fast approacheth. But deep down, you probably know that, don't you?

• You can't spell "Fellatio" without "Pierre McGuire": Note to comedy club owners everywhere, your newest ventriloquist sensation is here! Not only can P-Mag (tm DHS) tell you that the Ottawa Senators Hockey Club has done everything the wrong way since expansion, but he can do it with Zdeno Chara's dick in his mouth! Reserve now! Seating is limited.

Creamy Middle:

A little tidbit relayed by the TSN crew during a stop in play caught my attention (no, really!). Apparently, the Floating Giggle Meister himself opined that the practices run by Coach Cory were light years quicker than those Coach Craig imposed on our little wall flowers. "Game speed", was the term used. If the resulting effort we saw last night is anything to go by, then maybe we (and by "we" I mean "I") may have given Coach Craig a little too much slack. Maybe that was it all along. Not that we'd have been a serious contender by any means, but...I'll leave you to ponder that as we cast a disinterested eye on the playoffs come April.

Pithy Observation of Questionable Importance:

Early in the first, Coach Cory glared at referee Dan Marouelli, after a typical Dan Marouelli fuck up, and I thought to myself, "By God, I've seen that face before! But where?" Then it hit me. This:


Led me to this:


Which led me to this:


Which means...Welcome to Ottawa, Coach Chucky.

Up Next:

The suddenly, and alarmingly resurgent Buffalo Sabres come a courtin' tomorrow night, the first of a home-and-home, and the last home game before we bury our playoff chances for good with five straight on the road. I hope, for the sake of the Buffaslugs, that they've studied last night's game tape. God willing, this ain't Hartsburg's Senators. (7:00pm, CBC)

Behind Enemy Lines:

Welcome D.O. and SBNation's Die By The Blade. Once a humble Blogspotter, just like myself, he's gone on to bigger and better things and we congratulate him. Let this be a lesson to all interweb scribblers everywhere...Who knows what circumstances await any of us in this murky future of craziness?

Kings 1, Sens 0: Welcome To The Suck

So how's that "interim" thing working out for you so far, Cory? After watching this, are you gettin' that lovin' feelin'? Future so bright, ya gotta wear shades? Gettin' jiggy wit it? Other assorted, cliched pop references denoting "happy" but which are really just code for the bitter taste of regret? No? Huh. If it's any consolation, your new charges played the best game I've seen out of them in weeks, so there's that. Wait. That's not much of a consolation at all.

The Highs:

• Oh sure. NOW he gets emotional: Coach Craig may have been many things, but never let it be said that classy wasn't one of them. Finally free of The Emperor's Message Monkeys, does he avail himself of one last opportunity to hang The Bryan in front of the national media for handing him a sac of crap and expecting gold? Does he rail against the collection of pudding pops he was asked to mould into a pro hockey team? Does he rage against the dying of the light? No, he does not. Not sure I could have done the same.

• Dost mine eyes deceive me?: Because I couldn't remember having seen it before, I had to check the rule book to make sure it was legal. Yep, there it is, Rule 67.1: A player is allowed the ice he is standing on (body position) and is not required to move in order to let an opponent proceed. A player may "block" the path of an opponent provided he is in front of his opponent and moving in the same direction. Also known as a "Body Check". And it's perfectly acceptable. Who knew?
  

The Lows:

• Someone didn't get the memo: Jeez, Giggles. I really do hate to keep calling you out, but really, you aren't giving me a lot of choice here. If it wasn't for your usual one-on-four dipsy-doodles (with the usual results) or the fact that I may have heard Dean Brown say your name without an accompanying "fans on the pass/shot/clear/actual skating" all of twice (maybe), you and I would get along just fine. And a wee bit of advice. When speaking to the press, referring to your brand new, fresh-out-of-the-box Head Coach by his first name doesn't exactly convey an appropriate level of respect for said coach, nor does it signal an appreciation of how deep the shit hole this team has become really is. Just sayin'.
  

• I've always wondered what the bastard love child of Kafka and Midas would look like: He'd still have the magic hands, but instead of gold, everything he touched would turn into a molten pile of donkey dung. Two breakaways...one weak shot and one palsy stricken dribbler into the corner. Heater (HEATER!) all alone four feet from the net...off the post. Eleventeen billion shots, from anywhere and everywhere...twelve feet wide or right into that big purple crown on Quick's chest. But don't worry boys, a little CLR and a brillo pad and that rust will come right off. I hope.
  

• You only get one chance to make a first impression...Jarkko: So...yeah. Any plans on showing up and letting your new Cloustonian Overlord know he has a first class shit disturber at his disposal should he decide to use one? Hmmm? Any plans? Any at all? Is this thing on?
  

Creamy Middle:

Naturally, because of the New Guy, I expected a big jump in enthusiasm and level of play, and by and large, that's what I got. The boys came out hard, played hard (mostly), took a ton of shots, actually hit a few guys in different coloured jerseys...all of the things that makes my pants happy. Of course, the fact that none of it made a damn bit of difference leaves me saddened to the depths of my soul. Bring on the lottery!!

Pithy Observation of Questionable Importance:

• Yogi Berra is alive and well and living in Nepean: Gary Galley, former NHL defenceman/galumphing glacier and current Dean Brown analyst-y sidekick on both SportsNet and HNIC, uttered the following in reference to Kings rookie (and former Canadian World Junior erection inducer) Drew Doughty: "He's unpredictable, but he's consistent." Next, he'll be telling us that ninety percent of this game is half mental.
  

Up Next:

The imminent curbstomp at the hands of Big Zed and the Big Bad Broons marks the first of three straight Division games. That should be fun, in a repeatedly-slam-your-skull-on-a-cinder-block kind of way. On the upside, we're that much closer to the 11th of April. Why is that significant? Look it up. (7:00pm, TSN)

Behind Enemy Lines:

Say hello to Caveman Strong. Choice quote: "Randy Jones can lick my balls and if i ever see the fucker, I'm pulling a Marty McSorley on his ankle-bending ass." Now that's my kind of analysis.

Enjoy (HAR!) the game, everybody.

Kings 1, Sens 0: Um...Yeah. About All That Stuff I Said

See, here's the thing. I forgot the wee fact that we have no talent.

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

See you tomorrow.

Jackets 1, Sens 0: It Is Becoming Increasingly Difficult To Have Faith In This Hartsburg Fellow

There's a scene in just about every sappy, inspirational, "Young Billy Bob overcomes his humble beginnings/debilitating mommy issues/history of inappropriate touching to become The Hero" sports movie where the coach tries to inspire his underachieving team by flying into a rage and getting himself kicked out of a game. Or maybe that was just Hoosiers.

In any case, as I watched, it struck me that this game would have been the perfect opportunity for Coach Craig to do just that. Consider: The boys were playing the second of back-to-back road games. We suck on the road. The game was in yet another non-hockey-market rink where the twin concepts of "energy" and "crowds" go to die. We really suck on the road. They didn't get into Columbus until two in the morning. Oh, and we really, really suck on the road. In other words, the three hours of crap we witnessed last night was damn near inevitable.

So did Coach seize the opportunity to fly into an inspirational, spittle doused rage when Gator was hit from behind by Derek Dorsett? No. Was he consumed by righteous fire after Neiler was kicked out for a non-existent instigator penalty for coming to Gator's defence? No. Did he scream or yell or jump up and down on a Gary Bettman bobblehead after the officials realized ten minutes later that you can't instigate a fight without actually, you know...fighting and announced that Chris' true crime was being "the third man in"? No. Was he frothing at the mouth and throwing sticks on the ice after watching aforementioned goat-fucker-in-training Derek Dorsett repeatedly cross check Heater in the chops as the officials searched their respective navels for any sign of competence? No.

And what of his own team? Did he abrade Young Master Lee for backing out of the offensive zone for no reason while we were on the powerplay early in the first? No. Did he throw a perfectly justified door punching, garbage can kicking, snack-table-overturning dressing room fit of pique after the second, in which his fearless warriors managed to register all of ONE shot on goal? I don't know, but judging by how they came out to start the third, the answer is...no. Did he take a timeout with a minute and a half to go in a one goal game and the faceoff in the offensive zone, thereby giving his big guns a rest and maybe a chance to pull this pile of shit out of the fire? No. Did he cave Filip Kuba's skull in with a towel rack for being Filip Kuba? No, no and no.

Last year, calling for the head of Teflon John was the easiest thing in the world. We all saw what his "philosophy" was, namely ride 11-19-15 into the ice on triple shifts, then, following the inevitable loss, throw some poor 4th liner under the bus at the post-game presser.

But Craig, I gotta tell ya, I'm having a lot of trouble keep the "Fire The Coach" tag in the closet of late. There are way, way, WAY too many things going wrong on this team for me to lay it at the feet of any one guy. That said, I'd very much like to see new things going wrong than a litany of the same mistakes, the same crap night after night after night. Sooner or later, I'm going to have to blame it on you.

Up Next:

Gird your Super Bowl loins by watching the Washington Capitals make us their bitches tomorrow afternoon. What fun!! Did I mention they beat Detroit today? So that bodes well. Luckily I will be too busy mainlining chicken wings to care (12:30pm, SportsNet East).

Enjoy the (football) game everyone. Go Steelers!

Brutal, Putrid, Nauseating, Useless Piles Of Pus Filled Scrotums...Pick One

Jackets 1, Sens...Sweet. Fuck. All.

Dear Bryan,

With the trade deadline approaching and all hope of anything remotely pleasant happening this season, please banish the following wastes of ice time/oxygen to any place where their weak, incompetent, gutless, stick checking asses will suffer the greatest levels of pain and suffering. Like Long Island:

Alexandre Picard
Filip Kuba
Christoph Schubert
Filip Kuba
Either of tonight's officials
Preferably both
Filip Kuba
Alexandre Picard
Carrie Underwood (sorry honey, but you're obviously a distraction)
Whoever you have coaching the power play
Filip Kuba

Creamy middle to follow tomorrow. For now, Sens fans, feel free to drink heavily, refine the list, and, if you're anything like me, go and punch a few nuns.

Jesus Christ...Doesn't anybody know how to play this fucking game???

Sens 3, Caps 2: YES WE DID! AGAIN!

Dear Mister President,

On behalf of all three Canadians who read this site, I'd like to congratulate you on the great occasion of your inauguration and the successful fumigation of your new home. I had no idea Raid manufactured Marine helicopters.

As I'm sure you'll recall, on the night of your election the Ottawa Senators defeated the Washington Capitals in overtime, one of the very few rays of light in this season of darkness. As it happens, we did it again last night, on the day of your inaugural. This can only lead to one inescapable conclusion Mister President. You are obviously an Ottawa Senators fan.

As I'm sure you haven't yet had the chance to look at the schedule, what with the endless balls and galas and not-at-all-awkward-looking-dancing, I'd like to bring to your attention that the Senators fourth and final game against the Capitals this season is slated for the afternoon of February 1st. You may notice that that is also Super Bowl Sunday. Given the confluence of a Sens/Caps game with yet another Great American Patriotic Event I ask that you, once again, harness the awesome power of your office to ensure a Senators victory.

Please rest assured, Mister President, I do not ask this of you for my own sake, for that would be selfish and petty. No, I ask this for the sake of those most innocent and trusting of souls, those whose very faith in all they hold true and dear and just in this world has been rocked to its very foundation. I ask for the sake of those who long for things to be not as they are today, but as they once were. I ask for the sake of those who can no longer go on in a world where up is down, black is white and where the Ottawa Senators are below them in the standings.

I ask for the sake of Leaf Nation.

Thank you, and may God bless America,
Five For Smiting

p.s.: I would also ask that you not include Aretha Franklin this time. That was, without a doubt, the weirdest version of God Save The Queen I have ever heard.

Habs 5, Sens 4 (SO): Well, So Much For That

Due to certain dinner commitments, I was only able to see the first and third periods (as much as I begged, Beloved wouldn't allow me to wheel our hosts' television into their formal dining room. Something about "rude" and "idiot"), but judging from the excellent game recap supplied by The Artist Formally Known As Sherry, 'tis probably better that way. Alex Picard has already cost me five stress balls, two remotes and one neighbour so far this season.

The Highs I actually saw:

• Stop that! Stop that! You're not going to do a song while I'm 'ere: Time was that Hab fans would wait until the game was well and truly in hand before breaking into song, and then, only in their own building. It is a sad commentary on the state of the New Habiness that they see no problem a) doing it in an opponent's building and b) doing it with more than eight and a half minutes to go in the third. On behalf of non-Hab hockey fans the world over, I'd like to thank Heater and Fish for delivering a giant Shut The FUCK Up!
  

• Man who catch fly with chopstick accomplish anything: You do very well Brian Grasshopper. But remember...Okay to lose to opponent. Not okay to lose to fear. You fear. You lose. Now I go find chocolate bar with almonds.
  

The Lows I wish I hadn't:

• Are you sure your name isn't Marouelli?: Lord knows we cause enough of our own problems so I try not to single out the officials no matter how incompetent they may be. Hey, it's a tough job, I know. But sometimes... Setting aside the absolute bullshit pair of calls on Giggles and The Captain that set up a Montreal 5-on-3 and the inevitable first goal, I would like it noted for both the record and the attention of Mr. Dennis Larue: Jason Spezza hasn't hit anyone since Little Suzy Brockmeier stole his Spiderman lunch box in the fourth grade. So...um...charging? Really?
  

• Next time, try the hot dog vendor: 1-4 in shootouts this year, 8-21 all time. They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result. You have 22 guys on your bench, Coach, and I'd hazard a guess that 80% of them have had a least one breakaway at some point in their hockey lives. How about trying somebody other than 19, 11, 15 or even 20? Seriously, what the hell do you have to lose?
  

Creamy Middle:

Meh. Heater The boys did well to battle back for the point, but did we really expect anything different? As good as Grasshopper has been (brutal, seeing-eye-from-behind-the-red-line Kotstopoulos goal notwithstanding), it's a bit much to ask of a 23 year old rookie with all of four NHL starts under his jockeys to win a shootout for a team going nowhere. But on the upside, while the Sens are still the only team in the League yet to win three straight games, we get to spend the next two days listening to the deluded crow about our "unbeaten streak". That'll be fun, right?
Pithy Observations of Questionable importance:

• He's a real nowhere man, living in his nowhere land: Speaking of Grasshopper, I'd be giving my agent a call if I were him. Four games into his Big League career and he has yet to appear on the Senators official website. And yet, a quick perusal of Bingo's roster leads one to assume that he is now dead to them. The way I see it, there are only two explanations. 1) The Ottawa webmaster has decided, in his or her alcohol induced depression, that it just doesn't fush *hic* fushing matter anymore YOUZE BASHTARDS!! *sob* or 2) Brian is actually asleep on the bus to Peoria and this is all just a dream.
  

• Fetch...the COMFY CHAIR!: Back in days of yore, those crazy fun loving kids who ran the Spanish Inquisition had developed a rather effective way of interrogating heretics, witches, Episcopalians, Republicans and other undesirables. They would make their victims lie in a shallow pit with a board over their chest and pile heavy stones on the board until the cumulative weight either caused the poor bastard to confess his heinous sins or explode (either result was acceptable). What does this have to do with last night? If you were one of the thousands of heretical pigs wearing a Habs jersey at SBP, but had once proudly displayed so much as a pair of socks with The Condom Logo on it...I'd like to speak to you.
  

Up Next:

Tuesday night, at home against Alexander The Great, his sidekick Semin Stain and the ridiculously talented Washington Capitals (7:30, TSN). Here's a fun new game. Drink every time either Gord or Pierre utter the words "secondary scoring". If the Atlanta game is any indication, you won't see the third period.

Behind Enemy Lines:

Greetings to On Frozen Blog. Their subtitle is "A Haven for the Hockey Malnourished". I'll just let that delicious irony wash over you for a little while.

Sens 3, Thrashers 2: I'm Feeling SO...Um...Very... What's The Opposite Of Shame?

Two wins in a row for the first time in six weeks! And better yet, two solid efforts in a row in...oh...thirteen months?

Unfortunately as my Live Bloggy duties/witticisms (HAR!) kept me from taking my usual copious notes, or even paying enough attention to what was going on on the ice (and also because I'm in a hurry) I'm pulling it all out of my ass* and rockin' the Creamy Middle Simpsons style. Go!

• And I, for one, welcome our new goaltending overlord. I'd like to remind him that as a trusted member of the OBC, I can be helpful in rounding up Leaf fans to toil in his underground gummy caves.

• Because sometimes the only way you can feel good about yourself is by making someone else look bad. And I'm tired of making other people feel good about themselves!

• Can't sleep. Clown will eat me.

• Please, old people don't need companionship. They need to be isolated and studied so it can be determined what nutrients they have that might be extracted for our personal use.

• Dear Baby: Welcome to Dumpsville. Population: You

*It's a figure of speech! C'mon. Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life, son!**
**Bonus reference, just because I'm in that good a mood.

Up Next:

Oh crap. Here's where we find out if the new found commitment to, you know, playing actual hockey is for real. Saturday night, HNIC, the Habs. They're like the Bruins, only less hurty. (7:00pm, Cee-Bee-Cee)

Behind Enemy Lines:

Where else?

Sens 5, Canes 1: A Win Of Heartbreaking Magnificence

God that was beautiful. And also incredibly sad.

When this miserable excuse for a season finally reaches its merciful end on April 10th, we'll look back on this game and ask why. Why couldn't they play like that all the time? Why did it take 41 games to finally show us how good they could be? Why didn't they want to?

Will I see a repeat of that team, my team, tomorrow night in Atlanta? I haven't a clue. And if you held a gun to his head, I'll bet Coach Craig would admit he doesn't have one either. The smart money is on no.

But for one glorious game I could close my eyes and all of a sudden it was November 2007. All four lines were rolling, Giggles was flying, Alfie was dancing, Heater, Verms and Fish were scoring, the D was shutting 'em down, birds were singing, the Earth turned on its axis and all was right and good.

Considering how this year has gone, I'm happy to settle for that.

Slugs 4, Sens 2: You Want Fries With That?

Hey, why is that man jumping up and down like that? And swearing? A lot? Oh...Oh, no. No, no, no! Oh, no! Bad, bad Ruut! Oh, wicked, wicked Ruut! Oh, wicked, bad, naughty, evil Ruut! You are a bad person and must pay the penalty! Naughty, evil, bad Ruut! Lucky for us (but especially for you), you didn't have to pay it last night.

The Highs:

• Is it Giggles Finally Shows Up Night already?: Fantastic job, Jason. You played hard, kept your asshat turnovers (just) below your maximum allowable quota of three, potted a couple of goals and I do believe I even saw a back check or two. Well played. So, looking at the schedule...let's see here. Boston...no, too soon. Rangers? Hmm...doubt it. Carolina? Maybe. Ah! Here it is. Atlanta. See you again on the 14th!
  

• The Bell tolls for thee: Holy crap, Brendan. I didn't know you had the wheels! Everytime I looked up, there you were, jumping up into the rush or banging down low on the cycle. Looks like your little stint in yonder press box has served you well. If you would kindly tell me where the hell THAT Brendan Bell has been for the last three months and promise to bring him back, I'll overlook the fact that the Buffaslugs first goal (15 seconds in) was the direct result of you pissing your pants and coughing up the puck in our own zone rather than take the hit to make the play.
  

The Lows:

• Remember kids, speed kills!: Now, I don't mean to alarm anyone, but our defence is rather, shall we say, disadvantaged in the velocity department. A tad pedantic, if you will (not that this should come as a shock to either of you...*ahem*). But not until I saw the Slugs' speedy little rat fink forwards (hello, Mr. Roy) torch our D to the outside time and time again, or watched GATOR, of all people, get eaten alive by Drew Stafford on Buffalo's second goal, did I come to the full realization of how utterly, brutally, excerably slow we really are. Coincidentally, it was at this point that I also came to the full realization that I'll have to drink more if I'm to survive this season. A lot more.
  

• Nice idea. Execution? Not so much: Mister Neil, front and centre if you please. Here is your pencil. Here is your empty pad of lined paper. You will write this down precisely 1000 times. "I will not kill my own team's 3-on-1 by attempting to goad Andrew Peters into a fight one hundred feet away". Now, into the hallway with you.
  

• Okay, for realz this time: If that great sage and eminent psychopath Mike Tyson has taught us anything, it's that it really isn't sporting to gnaw on an opponent's extremities. In other words, Roto, biting another player is about as chicken shit a move as can be imagined (YA HEARD ME SWEDEN!). By your own admission, there is a line. You crossed it. It is only by the grace of the officials' natural incompetence that you weren't thrown out of the game right then and there. And it is only by the grace of God and Jason's two ensuing goals that you weren't mashed into a bloody pulp by the end of the second. I would invite you to ponder, over the next two games, why exactly I, Senator die hard that I am, wouldn't have minded in the least had that actually happened.
  

The Creamy Middle:

If you ever needed an infuriating example of how unfair it would be to make Coach Craig the fall guy for this pile-of-shit season, this game was it. The boys proved to me what I already knew. We can play with anybody, anyway they want, anytime. But, as has been the case for the last three coaches and twelve freaking months, that only lasted for about ten minutes. With few exceptions, the rest of the game was the same litany of disorganization, bad passes, lazy defensive zone coverage and the general "I look like I'm skating hard but I really can't be bothered to give a rat's ass" we've all become accustomed to. That's not a coaching problem, folks.

Pithy Observations of Questionable Importance:

• Now go away, or I shall taunt you a second time!: Someday, if I can ever sneak past security, I'd like to ask the fans who pay two hundred bucks a ticket to sit in the first row why, exactly, they feel compelled to pound on the glass whenever the players are mucking it up along the boards within their vicinity. Seriously. Do they just want attention, or do they honestly think that by so doing the resulting cacophony will cause visiting forwards to get so distracted that they abandon the puck to the home team? "AAAAH!! He's banging on plexiglass!! And he has...POPCORN!!! AAAAH!"
  

• Be careful. Music leads to dancing. And dancing leads to touching: I'm happy for you, Mike. I really am (you let her wear your pin and varsity jacket?!? Swell!!). But, um...at the risk of being indellicate, I gotta tell ya...considering your performance since you hooked up last March, her abilities as a slumpbuster are in some doubt. Then again, as she is impossibly hot, all is forgiven. And besides, thanks to you, I get to Google pictures like this:

Up Next:

Sweet merciful crap. Our ever so successful road odyssey continues tomorrow night against the Bruins. Not since the days of Orr, Esposito, Cheevers and Park have the Boston bears been this scary good. I'll leave you to ponder the inevitable massacre as I silently curse John Muckler, Zdeno Chara and Peter Chiarelli.

Behind Enemy Lines:

Do you like hockey? Do you like...er...seafood?? If the answer to either of those questions is "YES!" (and why wouldn't it be), then make your way to Stanley Cup of Chowder! Ah...I remember what it was like blogging about a good hockey team. Yeah. Good times.

Laffs 3, Sens 1: Our Long National Nightmare Continues

Hey, on the upside, we're that much closer to having to do this.

The High:

• Futility has rarely looked so beautiful: Damn, Fish. You were everywhere. You were banging. You were shooting. You were hitting posts. When all those about you were losing their heads, you kept yours about you, said "Fuck that shit" and smeared somebody in blue. In other words you did everything humanly possible to win this game short of...um...scoring. Natch. I am really, really going to miss you Mike.
  

The Lows:

• Dearest Alexandre, how do I loathe thee? Let us count the ways: Aside from the usual brainfarts, crap passes, weak ass stick checks and being caught hopelessly out of position... 1) Perhaps the best strategy for a 5-on-3 advantage is to NOT shoot the puck in such a way as to miss the net by twelve feet, banking it off the back boards at roughly Mach 4, thus causing it to careen wildly back into our own end, killing the powerplay. Just sayin'. 2) Hey, Alex...you may want to...um, look out for...Blake's coming...just keep an eye on...he's trying the wrap...WHERE THE HOLY SHITFUCK ARE YOU????
  

• 1 billion Chinese, and the entire coaching staff, can't be wrong: Hey Schube, remember how you spent most of training camp and the first six weeks of the season pouting like a twelve year old girl because you wanted to play on the D instead of being a fourth line forward? Yeah, sure you do. So here's what you do. Watch this game tape, oh...a couple of dozen times. Pay particular attention to the third period, wherein the final two Leaf goals were a direct result of you shitting the bed. Issue apologies as necessary.
  

• Can't anybody play this game?: Sticking with the general defensive theme, it is a rare thing indeed for three defencemen to record a -1 on the same goal. And yet, just when we Sens fans had thought we had seen everything that could possibly go disastrously, putridly wrong this season, we were treated to the sight of just that. Kuba coughs up the puck on the half boards (as is his wont), squirting it toward the Ottawa net at roughly three miles per hour as both Gator and A-Train flail helplessly. One Dominic Moore goal later, the trifecta is complete, the game is tied and I'm pining for Steve Duschesne and Karl Rachunek.
  

The Creamy Middle:

THIS FEATURE IS DISCONTINUED PENDING THE AUTHOR'S ABILITY TO FIND NEW WAYS TO APPLY COSMETICS TO PORCINE LIPS.

Pithy Observations of Questionable Importance:

• Ron Jeremy remains unimpressed: It only makes sense that Ryan Hollweg would be sporting that ridiculous porn 'stache. He is, after all, best known for inarticulate grunting and slamming less than willing co-stars opponents from behind.
  

• God, I'm such a hopeless sap: It started in Edmonton during their Cup run, and it was awesome. Hell, we even did it in the Finals. And it happened again tonight in Toronto (and Ottawa...SUCK IT RUSSKIES!!). No matter how hokey or how contrived it may be, hearing 20,000 hockey fans sing Oh Canada acapella chokes me up every freaking time. Even if it's Leaf fans doing the singing.
  

• On the flip side of that...: You would be hard pressed to find anybody who supports our troops more than I do (it's why Her Majesty pays me, after all) but at the risk of being branded a pinko commie terrorist lover who eats kittens in his spare time, I have to ask. Am I the only one getting a little unnerved with Don Cherry trotting out our latest Afghan casualties for some special Coach's Corner love? Tonight's episode featured the usual guttural "I'm trying really hard not to cry" noises from His Grapeness, but with the added bonus of some wedding pictures featuring the unfortunate widow. Don, your "I don't usually do this" disclaimer aside, you're getting a little further away from "honour" and much closer to "schtick" than I'm comfortable with.
  

Up Next:

Our road trip from hell continues tomorrow night in the leafy, totally bucolic and absolutely crime free heart of Newark, New Jersey. At least Fish will have an excuse for wearing his Thug Toque to the rink. He's just trying to blend in with the locals. (5:00pm, TSN)

Behind Enemy Lines:

Say hello to Interchangeable Parts, knowledgeable to the extreme, a fantastic source of all things Devils AND stupidly entertaining. Hockey loving women who can write. Now that is several varieties of hot.

Devils 5, Sens 1: Seriously. What Do We Have To Lose?

Screw "tinkering" with the line up.

Bryan, listen to me. I want you to hit the airwaves tomorrow and declare that the entire roster has been sent down to Bingo. Then I want you to announce that the entire Bingo roster has been called up to play against the Stars.

Sure, we'll get creamed. But at least we'll get to watch a bunch of kids who actually care about the game.

If we're going to suck moose balls for the next four months, I demand that I be entertained in the process.

Thrashers 4, Sens 1: Time To Blow It The Fuck Up

What happens when the fourth best PK lets the worst power play in the League beat you for two goals? What happens when your three best players, including the guy wearing the "C" and holding the express pass to the rafters can't seem to give a shit and are your biggest defensive liability? What happens when you can't beat a bottom feeding franchise that shouldn't even exist? What happens when a certain blogger has totally given up hope of anything good happening this season? You curse, you drink a lot, punch a few nuns, accept the inevitable and hang out the "For Sale" sign, that's what. Come back tomorrow for the fire sale. And believe me, everything must go.

There ain't no 2007-esque Miracle Turnaround coming for this team. Not this year. Blow it up Bryan.

Fuck, I hate this game.