Sens 4, Flyers 1: Only Then Will You Be A Man, My Son

There's nothing like the first time, is there? The years spent dreaming about it. Those sleepless sweaty nights all alone imagining what that moment will be like. The mounting excitement of the chase, the end goal so close you can almost taste it, and then, finally, everything falls together perfectly and you experience that climactic bliss for the first time. And it is magnificent! Nope, there is nothing like the first time. ...*sigh* Hmm? Wazzat?

I'm talking about scoring your first NHL goal. What the hell did you think I was talking about? Perv.

The Highs:

• But wait, Jesse! There's more!: So here's what you do, Coach. Write down the numbers 11, 12 and 18 on a piece of paper. In ink. Then have that piece of paper laminated. Next, take it down to the corner of Rideau and Dalhousie. Finally, enter one of the many fine (and totally hygenic) boutiques along that stretch of street and hand that piece of laminated paper to the large, colourful man behind the counter and ask him to tattoo that fucker on your forehead. Backwards. That way, everytime you look in the mirror, you'll be able to fight the temptation to take Jesse off this line. The boy has earned it.
  

• In which A-Train unveils The Testes of Steel Defence to a grateful nation: Not content with simply doubling his career high for goals scored in a season, or shooting hard, high and often enough to make Antero Niittymaki dribble a few superfluous "i"'s from his peehole, our intrepid hero revealed the newest arrow in his shot-blocking quiver early in the third period: facing the shooter, flat on his ass...legs spread wide open. Picked up the block too. Ladies and gentlemen, I can only sit uncomfortably in awe of that kind of courage...while making a funny hissing noise between my teeth.
  

• Of leopards, spots and Spezzas: Fine, Jason. Have it your way. We give up. Three times (by my count) you made passes through the middle of the offensive zone, that by rights, should have have ended up 200 feet away in our own net. Three times you connected with an open man. And three times Dean Brown exposed himself for the stat-spewing homer he is by ejaculating all over Gary Galley while extolling your "unreal vision". If I add that to the ridiculous pass through the Flyer crease to set up Heater and the fact that you chose the safe play and dumped it rather than trying to beat a 1-on-3 at the blueline (HE CAN BE TAUGHT!), I can live with the occasional brain fart. I said occasional.
  

The Lows:

• One of these things is not like the other: Maybe it was because the rest of the D has shown a rather marked improvement over the dreck we witnessed in the first five games, or perhaps it has to do with his tender years, but it may be time for Young Master Picard to take a confidence boosting tour of Greater Binghamton. I fear he may be feeling a touch of the vertigo.

• You play. To win. The game.: There's a saying amongst we football fanatics, one that doesn't involve "Aw c'mon Ref!" and "Of course I want that seventeenth beer, honey. It's Sunday!" and it goes something like this...The only thing a prevent defence does is prevent you from winning. Pretty clever, non? Yeah, I thought so too. And I'll leave you to ponder that the next time you see Coach Craig pull the trap trigger when we're up by two.
  

Pithy Observations of Questionable Importance:

• Don't worry Anton. A few more and they'll get it right: As I've mentioned before I love the crowd shouting out the last name of an Ottawa goal scorer. Now I love it even more. After A-Train scored, they tried their best, God love 'em. I can only attribute the resulting ANTON SPLXRTXZ..OV! to their stunned disbelief at having witnessed his second marker of the year.
  

• Well, that was...interesting: And the season's first nominee for Most Hilarious Breakaway of the Year goes too...Schubie Doo! While coming to a dead stop while the puck sits uselessly between your own feet while standing in the crease is a novel approach, allowing yourself to be subsequently pile driven into the cross bar may have been a bit much.
  

Up Next:

Down to SWEEEET CAROLINE! WAH! WHA! WHA! to face the Hartolina Whaleicans, with whom we are currently tied for the last playoff spot in the East. I think. I'm too lazy to look it up. Swiss Pastry with the start, so that shouldn't last long. On the upside...good luck getting the song out of your head. You're welcome. (7:00 p.m., SportsNet East)
Behind Enemy Lines:

A big, mint julep-y Mah word! to WufPirate and Carolina on Ice. Well written, informative, pretty to look at and quite often hilarious. Yeah, I'm not sure Peter Kormanos deserves it either.

Sens 3, Flyers 2(SO): If Only Bullitt Could Play Left Wing

There is a school of thought among the more cliché prone members of the hockey commentariat (you will know them by their twin predilections for headsets and pointing out the hottest puck bunnies in the crowd) that states "a 2-0 lead is the most dangerous in hockey" (although the Rangers may beg to differ).

It's an odd statement when you think about it, peculiar to our little game. Hell, if you have a 2-0 lead in a soccer game, your fans all already burning cars and clubbing little old ladies with bar stools for kicks. And you'd never hear...say...Emmitt Smith state "a two touchdown lead is the most dangerous in football", would you? No, you wouldn't. And why not? Because that sentence structure is way to complex for Emmitt. But my point still stands. All leads, no matter the score, are good. Why? Well, after all, leading beats...um...not leading, and by a fair margin, I should think. So, Mister "Hey Look! My Microphone Looks Like A Penis!", if a team loses a 2-0 lead, it's not because of any inherent danger in the number itself.

It's called "choking". Ask us. We know of what we speak.

The Highs:

• Don't worry Martin. You'll look great in a Kings jersey: Almost as much fun as seeing Swiss Pastry's pained expression after watching Ray (finally!) turn in a big-league, "money" performance? His attempts to hide it. I'm told that the SBP maintenance staff should have the teeth marks removed from the bench door in time for tomorrow night.

• Holy crap! When did we get a third scoring line?: Verms-Kelly-Stillman. Write it down John. Write it down in stone, have it bronzed and surgically inserted where your heart should have been, had you not been born a cyborg. You've been looking for people to play with Cory. You may have found them. Chris was a mad man, and Vermette's tip in to go up 2-0 (stick that in your poke check, Martin Biron) was a direct result of the Philly D keying on #61. Ah, but what to do with Neiler when he comes back from the flu, you may be asking yourself? This one is easy, no matter how much the itch to scramble the lines is eating at your soul. Randy, please report to the press box.

• Well THAT sure beats the hell out of my hand crafted porcelain ashtray: As my regular reader knows, I don't generally offer too many bouquets to opposing teams here. But I have to give credit where it's due, and congratulate Flyers coach John Stevens for putting Ottawa's own Claude Giroux, a rookie emergency call-up, out as the first shoot out...er...shooter, knowing that his whole family was in attendance. Sportsnet had a great shot of Giroux's dad rushing down the 100 level steps to take a picture as the fruit of his loins twirled at centre ice, waiting for the go ahead from the ref. Awww...that was nice. What was even nicer, though, was the fact that he missed. Sorry Claude, but my "aw-shucks" squishiness only stretches so far.

The Lows:

• Maybe Brian Burke is on to something: Four feet high. Six feet wide. Behold, gentlemen, the regulation NHL net. So please tell me why it was that most of you couldn't get anywhere near it? By my highly unofficial and possibly inebriated count, a total of 14 shots, most from the point or high slot missed the net completely. Oh, and The Captain's turn in the shoot out? Wide right, by two feet. Natch.

• CASH and burn! Thank you, I'll be here all week. Try the veal: Thankfully, I haven't had to call any of the the Big Line out very often this year. Otherwise, we'd be languishing somewhere down around the sixth circle of hell in the standings (but still ahead of the Leafs!). But, last night...um...yikes. Gentlemen, though I suspect you know this already, let's not repeat that performance too often shall we? And Jason? Watch the tapes. There's a reason Teflon John kept you on the bench while we "enjoyed" a power play with less than a minute to go in a tie game. Damn you for making me agree with him.

• Seriously. Dude. What the hell is wrong with you?: Jesus Wade. I mean...damn. Is it gas? It's gas isn't it? Are you gassy? All night long. You whiffed on holding the point. You were beaten to almost every puck (with one colossal "sit down bitch" hit taken in the second for good measure). You couldn't make a first pass to save your life and generally treated the puck as if it were a live grenade. What the hell? You're making it really hard for some of us to defend your continued invocation of your no-trade clause my friend.

Creamy Middle:

We'll take the points, thank you. After spotting the Devils the first half of the game on Saturday, I guess the boys thought it would be fun to try it the other way around last night. Here's the thing though. You may not have noticed, but just down the 417, the greatest game in the history of everything ever (according to some) happened, and, despite the win, we're still tied for first in the Eastern Conference. So...howza 'bout we try something new, starting...say...right fucking now. How about we try to put a whole game together? Yeah. That would be cool.

Up Next:

Tomorrow night, at the Bank, those terrors of the Midwest, the Columbus Blue Jackets come calling. Now, I've never been to Ohio. I'm sure it's a lovely, if somewhat corn addled state. But do you really think that a hockey team named for giant wasps is a good way to attract the tourists? Just askin'.

Behind Enemy Lines: Yet another representin' (do the kids even say that anymore?) talent from HLOG (man, they are everywhere), I give to you Bethany's Hockey Rants. What she lacks in hot pink formatting, she more than makes up for in passion.

Canadiens Complete Improbable Comeback [TSN.ca]
The Impossible is Made Possible [Four Habs Fans]

Game 22: Flyers 4, Sens ...Who Cares?? I'm Hopped Up On Goofballs!!

Last Saturday afternoon, I came down with the mother of all head colds, contracted, I can only assume, from some rather foolish outdoor activity undertaken earlier that week (next time Ma, get yourself off the damn roof). And so, I did what all men do in that situation, bitch and complain about it until the woman does something to make us feel better. Thus it came to pass that, as Beloved abandoned my phlegmy and mucus ridden corpse for a previously scheduled social engagement, I settled in to watch the Sens/Flyers game wrapped in the twin cocoons of a thick blanket and the soothing narcotic effects of a certain night-time cold medication (I don’t want to name names here, for fear of having my comment box deluged with badly spelled spam…but NyQuil ROCKS!) And I discovered that, under those effects, what I was witnessing on my television wasn’t nearly as infuriating as it normally would have been.

Swiss Pastry’s (no more Darth Gerber for you) three weak, weak goals were met with a series of shrugs. I actually giggled a bit at Briere’s winner, mostly because he looked like a giant bobblehead to my drug addled eyes. No really, an actual bobblehead. In pink, no less. So this got me thinking a little bit. Well, it got me thinking Sunday morning. Saturday night, I was too distracted by Jim Hughson’s repeated attempts during the late game to eat the giant marshmallow that had suddenly replaced his headset.

So Sunday I thought to myself that we, as Sens fans, should embrace this slump. And let’s not gild any lilies; it is a full-blown slump. Why? Let us count the ways:

· It’s November, not March: Historically, the Senators play their best hockey after Christmas (and I’ll pre-empt the witless wags here and say “until the second week of May”). So, we get the shitting-our-pants phase out of the way early, and we’re home free for the rest of the year.

· A bad Sens game, makes a great drinking game!: The rules are simple. You divide the number of players on the ice between the participants. You then drink every time one of “your” players fucks up. For each nervous pass fanned in the offensive zone, one shot. Defensive zone? Two shots. A fanned shot gets 2 drinks and a drop pass resulting in an odd man rush the other way (a.k.a.: The Spezza Surprise), means the owner of that player picks another participant, who then has to drink three shots. Did I mention I was alone Saturday? My dog really didn’t like this rule very much.

· I’ll put $10 on Rayzor: Office pools, Super Bowl style, on which of Ottawa’s goalies is going to suck the most over a given stretch of time. Bonus money to anyone who can pinpoint the exact moment Gerb’s confidence hops a flight to Geneva, or Ray snaps and goes Rambo on the asses of his fellow commuters.

So there you are, fellow Legionnaires. Enjoy it. Have fun with it. And always remember, things could be worse. We could be Leaf fans.

At Least We're Not The Leafs [Four Habs Fans]

p.s.: The picture is from a site called Subversive Cross Stitch. Seriously. As stitching is one of Beloved's many many creative talents, I include it here for her benefit. And I totally want "Don't Make Me Cut You" for my cubicle wall.

And Great Umbrage Shall Be Loosed Upon The Land...again.

Cover your ears children, for there will be howls of outrage and much gnashing of teeth emanating from the learned scribes south of the border today (and truth be told, a few on this side of the divide…not to name names, but they all appear on TS (Ed. – Shut up! Legal says NO brands!)…er…they all appear on a certain Canadian sports-oriented television network not named “SportsNet” at 10:30 Sunday mornings…or so I’ve heard (Ed. – That’s better.)) about the VIOLENT!! and BARBARIC!! nature of our favorite sport. Entire forests will die to espouse their enlightened opinion that those of us who love this kind of thing are nothing but knuckle-dragging Neanderthals who, when not clubbing our women over the head, are going giggleshits over old Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em tapes whilst sitting in our Cheezie-stained underwear. (Ed. – Suddenly I’m hungry…and pantsless)

It seems that Todd Fedoruk knocked himself loopy pummeling Colton Orr’s fist with his face last night, sparked, it would seem, by Fedoruk’s “rough play” (read: running around like an idiot and cheap-shotting Ranger players) the last time the teams met in February. In a style reminiscent of the great boxing reporters of yesteryear (whose names escape me at the moment…which doesn’t matter ‘cause they’re all dead), AP reporter Ira Podell describes it thusly:

“Just seconds after Orr started for the Rangers, Fedoruk hopped off the Philadelphia bench for a quick line change and squared off with the New York enforcer. The gloves came off and Orr dropped Fedoruk with a hard right to the cheek, knocking him out and forcing him to leave the ice on a stretcher.”

My god, you can almost see the cigarette smoke wafting over the beat up typewriter.

Anyway, judging by the hue and cry that went up after the Neil on Drury hit and subsequent Emery/half of the Buffalo Sabers fight (Best. Goalie fight. Ever. If only because of The Smile), then the Janssen hit on Kaberle (with subsequent pay-back), I do believe that we’re about to be inundated by another round of “Hockey Is Less Popular in the U.S. Than Televised Roach Rodeos And THIS IS WHY PEOPLE!!!” stories. (As an aside here, I’ve never understood the argument that fighting somehow makes hockey too uncouth to catch on in the country that invented NASCAR…which I also love BTW…and spray-on cheese. Maybe they just don’t like ice.)

Please, allow me to simplify this for you Sports Reporter Types before the hyperbole makes your heads explode: Hockey is a contact sport. Hockey has a code. Todd Fedoruk acted like an asshole, violating that code. A well-deserved comeuppance was called for. It was given. The Earth continues to rotate on its axis. Get over it. That is all.

Rangers 5, Flyers 0 [MSNBC.com]