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).

Sens 4, Bruins 1: Darth Gerber Laughs At Your Pitiful Teddy Bear

Hello, Mr. Carbonneau. I am coming for you.

The Highs:

• A tightrope? No net? Perfect!: On Coach's Corner Saturday night, Grapes sent a message to The Bryan to the effect that based on his own experience with the temper mental beast that is an NHL goalie (see file: Cheevers, Gerry), Gerbs needed to know, beyond any doubt, that he was THE man in order to play at his best. Well, he's given Martin his sixth straight start and with Rayzor's walking papers locked safely away in the GM's top drawer awaiting only an end of season signature, the "it's your team now Gerbs" message has been received. And the results are increasingly magnificent.

• This puck will self destruct in 15 seconds: Good morning Mr. Heatley. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is a third straight 50 goal season, despite your lengthy recovery from a separated shoulder earlier this year. You currently stand at 35, with 11 games to go. This translates into a 1.4 goal per game average. Should you fail in this endeavour, we will have no choice but to punch Tom Cruise, repeatedly, in the groin. Should you succeed...well...we'll do it anyway. Only with more glee.

• Ooooh! I LOVE origami!: I simply must use some space here to give an awe struck golf clap to Bruins' forward, Aaron Ward. After taking the full brunt of an A-Train hit that literally folded him in half, backwards, at the Sens bench, which resulted in a pity-whistle from the officials and the sight of Ward crawling on all fours ever so slowly toward the B's trainers, he was back twenty minutes later to start the second period. Such heroics cannot go uncelebrated. Seriously. My own spine snapped in half out of sympathy. I'm actually typing this with a giant Q-Tip held between my teeth.

The Lows:

• I'm sorry, could you repeat that? I had a bit of reality blocking my ears: At roughly 10:00 of the second period, Gasbag Emeritus Gord Wilson stated the following (and I am not making this up) "Andrej Meszaros was easily the second best player for the Senators on their West Coast swing". I'm paraphrasing a bit, as the actual statement went on for about twenty minutes, running roughshod over three scoring scoring chances, twenty-seven Dean Brown statistical references and a repeat of Dubya's last State of the Union. Ten seconds later, Mesz tripped over his own skates at the B's blue line, forcing The Dark Lord to make a spectacular stop on yet another odd man rush caused by a Meszaros brain hemorrhage (by my count, number 14 since the Duck game). Even by Gordo's regular lofty standards, this one completely destroyed my Broadcaster Homer-O Meter.

• This really isn't working out. But we can still be friends: Don't get me wrong, I like Randy Robitaille. I do, really. By all accounts, he's a good guy, solid, dependable, not too flashy...likes puppies. In other words he's exactly the type of guy all the hot chicks in high school "liked" but wouldn't be caught dead with in a closet at a house party. That is to say, Bryan, he has no business being on the top line with Heater and Spez. Now if you'll excuse me, I apparently have some latent issues that need dealing with...

Pithy PPV observation of questionable importance:

For ten minutes in the third period, the demonic duo of Brown and Wilson were mysteriously absent from the broadcast. Nothing to hear but the sounds of the game on the ice, the grinding of skates, the "thock" of a well placed pass, the oohs and ahs of crowd. No play-by-play, no overly convoluted colour commentary, no nothing. If I closed my eyes, I could almost smell the flat, overpriced beer from the concourse. It was glorious.

The Creamy Middle:

We may not have our MOJO back, Sens fans, but we do know where the little bastard is hiding and it's only a matter of time before we have him back in his cage, where he belongs. Last night's game was as close to our true form as we've seen since early December. The legs were moving, the boys were on every puck like a john on a Times Square hooker, and the goaltending was positively money. If I were our four division opponents, whom we face in 9 of the next 11 games, I might tend to be a little concerned. But then...that's just me.

Up Next:

A chance to regain a tie for the division lead beckons, as we travel to Montreal for the first of three games against the Habs before the end of the year, Sportsnet East with the regional coverage. If I may offer the kiss-of-death...it will be nice to be able to measure ourselves against such an elite team. Enjoy!

Behind Enemy Lines:

Seriously. Do you have to ask? While things may get a little heated between us over the next three weeks or so, Four Habs Fans is the place. As long as they stay away from the he-man stripper picks. After all, we aren't the Leafs.

Game 32: Sens 3, Bruins 2 -- Now Starting In Goal For YOUR Boston Bruins...Oh For The Love Of...

Pithy Observations of Questionable Importance:

• Mix 1 part Id, 2 parts Super-ego. Stir. Bring to boil: Train of thought for Bruins starter Alex Auld – “My Bruins sweater tells me I’m good. But my Coyote pads and mask say I suck. Mommy! What do I do??”

• Okay, NOW we’re under budget: The TD Banknorth Garden cost 160 million dollars to build. It is truly an architectural marvel. A veritable state of the art entertainment palace, packed with every luxury imaginable. The scoreboard alone cost $4 million. So…um…what’s with 98 cents worth of naked 100W bulbs being used as goal lights? Really Harry. If you wanted to bring something over from the old Gardens, you probably could have done better than that. Like maybe a real live crowd for starters.

• Correction! TWO perfectly good jackets!: Pssst…Coach P. Do me a favour? Can you please return the suit you wore last night to whatever wino you rolled to get it? While tweed is considered, in some circles, rather professorial, without the suede elbow patches, it just screams poseur. And the vertical stripes almost caused my new 56” HDTV to explode in protest. Thanks.

The Highs:

• Yeah! I got one! Now get the hell off my lawn: The year was 2005. FourHabsFans were still just four lawyers bitching about the Habs. Jamie Lynn Spears was an innocent lass of 14 living in Big Sister’s double wide. And on the 26^th of November, Luke Richardson scored his last goal. His last goal, that is, until last night. We await word of any biblical ramifications stemming from this event.

• I see England. I see France. I see Bruins’ underpants!: For 2:30 of a 4:00 power play, the big line, with help from Mesz and Corvo (yes, that one) played keep away entirely inside the Bruins blue line, until Golden Groin finally ended their misery by getting his second of the night. Whereupon the Bruins penalty killers were finally free to suck on their oxygen tanks, retrieve the many articles of normally invisible garments strewn about the ice and place a bulk order for more jockstraps.

The Lows:

• Those diesel fumes? Don’t worry, you’ll get used to them: Spawn of Mike continues to impress upon the coaching staff that perhaps another year of seasoning might be in order. Nicky, a small word of advice from an interested observer: when playing on the first line with two of the greatest talents in the league, you would do well to try more than just dumping the puck deep. Gotta make a play kid.

• You take it. No, you take it. No, you. Please, I insist: Twice, on odd man rushes did our brave heroes pass up on a high percentage shot to try the pretty pass through the slot. Both times, they were rejected. Both times, the rush went the other way forcing Darth Gerber to save your collective hides. The moral of the story? They’re not booing; they’re saying SHOOOT!!!

• Never thought I’d say this, but I miss Jacques: Speaking of rather spotty defence, I counted three Bruins breakaways in the first period caused by a bad pinch, and two brutal giveaways at the Boston blue line. THREE! Five years ago, this would have resulted in severe punishment from the head coach. Martin would have had the offending parties locked in a closet until such time as one of them managed to make him smile.

Egregious Joe Corvo Fuck Ups: Just one, surprisingly. On Ottawa’s first power play, Joe decided that he didn’t want to man the point and skated into the slot. The only problem? The Captain, down low, passed the puck…back to the now empty point. The resultant short handed breakaway (see above) by Sens killer Marco Sturm was mercifully stopped by His Sithness. Gary Galley, doing the colour for Sportsnet, upon viewing the replay posed the rhetorical question “What the heck was he thinking?” I assure you, gentle reader, my words were somewhat stronger.

Creamy Middle: For those of you scoring at home, that's six straight as our rape and pillage of the Northeast division continues. And this was as solid a win as you'll see. A few shaky moments in the first period aside (Joe), the Bruins were never really in this one. They were beaten to every puck, lost almost every battle on the boards and were treated to the sight of Verms and Neil taking repeated runs at Chara's...um...upper thighs (Guys...the dude is 7"3' on skates...You? Not so much. Aim higher). For a team short three key players, that ain't half bad.

Up Next: Tomorrow night, in Atlanta. For we unlucky bastards forced to watch the local A-Channel feed and thus will be subjected to three hours of Gord Wilson's windbaggery, we can at least take solace in the fact that with a win, the Sens can sweep the season series against the Thrashers and finally put those "Who won the Hossa/Heatley trade?" to bed once and for all. Not that that will stop Simmons from typing something stupid about it.

Well, That Settles It. Tim Thomas Is Clearly Inhuman

I was originally planning on posting the usual half-assed snark masquerading as quasi-serious analysis following the Sens home-and-home series with the Bruins. But something funny happened on the way to the Creamy Middle. Tim Freakin' Thomas. The man is utterly ridiculous.

He's 33 years old. He was drafted by Quebec (Quebec!) in the eleventh round, presumably because the quadriplegic midget was no longer available. The draft doesn't even have eleven rounds anymore (may have had something to do with the midget).

His Bruins page is the War and Peace of player bios. He's played in just about every league anywhere that ends in "HL", and I'm pretty sure I read somewhere that he also spent six months in a Turkish beer league. And all he does is give us fits. Did last year, and is doing it again. Outshot 80-39 in two games, the Bruins managed to steal a point they had no business getting, all because nobody told a 217th overall pick to pack it in, that he'd as like have monkeys fly out of his ass than be a big league goalie. Ridiculous.

Well, I say good for you Timmy. I've always had a soft spot for grizzled journeymen who won't give up on their dreams no matter what their mother thinks. Now go jump in a well before our next game, will you? There, that's a good boy.

Up Next: Speaking of ridiculing goalies, the traveling three ring circus that is the Toronto Maple Leafs are into the Bank for their third date with humiliation this year. If you're attending the game and are over the age of 80, please be careful. You may be kidnapped and forced to act as mentor to JFJ.

Keep an eye on Pension Plan Puppets, not only because it's chock full of Leafy goodness, but also because the...um...Pension Plan Puppetmaster (Puppeteer?) was kind enough to interview yours truly for his 5 Questions With... feature, an honour for which I am deeply flattered. I can only hope I can insult Leaf Nation as eloquently as Four Habs Fans did last week.

Update: For those who may be interested, here's my turn on the PPP hotseat. REPRESENT!