Panthers 4, Sens 3 (OT): This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things

The hell? Here we were, thinking that you had finally figured it out. Everybody thought so. Four wins in five games meant that all was well, the corner had been well and truly turned and the rest of the year would be filled with sunshine, rainbows and lollipops. Then you go and shit the bed. Once more. With feeling. Don't make me sit you down again, boys.

The High:

• They'll LOVE 'em in Zimbabwe: Do you know what happens to all of the "Championship!" hats and t-shirts that get produced before the team they're produced for loses said "Championship!"? They end up in some God forsaken corner of the world where countries change their name at the whim of comically dressed strongmen, and the locals are too busy chasing cockroaches for food to worry about the fashion faux-pas inherent in their "19-0! Super Bowl Champion New England Patriots!" commemorative wife-beaters. Now that the "Back In Black" good luck charm is done, I fully expect to see an entire village somewhere in Buttfuck, Tanzania matching their (very) gently used "SENS" jerseys to their 2007 Stanley Cup Champion Ottawa Senators beanies. Make it happen, UNICEF.
  

The Lowest of the Lows:

• Viva Kuba Lib--Oh bloody hell...: I'm trying, Filip. I really am. Yes, the points are nice, and we certainly need them. So thanks for that. I've also come to reconcile myself to the fact that, despite your rather impressive dimensions, you will never make physical contact with an opposing forward. Ever. Fine. But do you know what else will make it exceedingly hard for me to ever like you? Jackass, dumb-as-a-bag-of-fucking-rocks, blind backhand neutral zone passes to nobody IN FUCKING OVERTIME! We have Jason for that.

• Great, now the OBC's gonna have m'a legs broke: Hi Cody. C'mon over here Roto. There seems to have been some misunderstanding. It was quite evident to me, as I watched Keith Ballard go coast-to-coast, over, around and through both of you before taking the shot that led directly to Michal Repik first ever NHL goal (also nice of you to let Master Repik stand around in the crease) that perhaps you didn't quite understand your roles. Here's a clue...HIT SOMEBODY!

• Surprise! The sucking will start......NOW!: On the upside, you all seem to be breaking the inevitable "oh, we don't feel like playing" portions of the game into manageable chunks. Ten minutes in the first, here...fifteen in the second over there... How very considerate of you. And a welcome variation for we home viewers, let me tell you. Watching you suck the hind end from a goat for entire periods at a time was getting pretty monotonous.
  

The Creamy Middle:

If this were any other season, I would happily write off the screw ups in this game...the three (THREE!) blown leads, the forwards' bewildering inability to adjust to the Panthers D jumping into the play (hey, that Bouwmeester dude is pretty good! We might want to keep an eye on him!), Kuba's brain fart in OT...to cite but a few...as just that, aberrant screw ups that are inevitable over the course of a long season. But this is NOT any other season. This crap has been going on for damn near a year. Not sure if you've noticed, gentlemen, but we're currently out of a playoff spot. Now I still have faith that we're better than that, but giving away points to the very teams who will be scratching and clawing for the 8th spot come March is a shitty way to prove me wrong.

Pithy Observations of Questionable Importance:

• The friend of my enemy is also...Wait. How does that go again?: Somebody want to explain to me why we're booing Bryan McCabe? For what? Not being flexible enough? Sure, he "played" for the Laughs. So did a lot of guys. But really, compared to Domi, Belfour, Tucker or Gary Fucking Roberts, hating McCabe is like screaming at the poor minimum wage bastard who has to answer the phone at a call centre. Sure, it may be satisfying, but he has nothing to do with the fact that you have been, and are likely still being, sodomized by Bell Canada.

• Thank goodness! I thought we were playing Jai Alai: Upon video review of K-Rock's goal to open the scoring, Head Zebra Dude Tom Kowal (who??) played to the crowd for a bit, and then deigned to announce over the mike that, since Jesse had been pushed into the goalie, Chris' tally was in fact a "good hockey goal". Oscar worthy dramatic pointing to centre ice thus ensued. Gee, Skippy, thanks for clearing that up. Here I was wondering what had happened to the base paths.

• Yeah, Sparky? I need eleventeen cases of toilet paper: We live in a world where devices the size of a matchbook can hold eight billion songs. Where I can sit almost anywhere in the world, plug a four inch stick into my laptop and download pictures of Britanny Spears flashing her woo-hoo to an adoring populace. So why is it that an NHL official can't talk to the video replay booth without donning gear that looks like it needs to be hand cranked by Radar O'Reilly or some Dickensian street urchin? "Review that goal for ya, Gov'nah?"
  

Up Next:

Tomorrow night, off to the souless edifice that is the United Centre, for a date against Marty Havlat (provided he doesn't hurt himself between now and then) and the Chicago Blackhawks (8:30 p.m., TSN2...for those lucky enough...like me...to actually get it). Ah...to harken back to those heady days of John Muckler, Brandon Bochensky and Tyler Arneson! On the upside, Bill Wirtz won't be around to yell at you for actually watching on that new fangled tee-vee instead of getting your sorry ass to the rink. Bonus? Pastry with the start! WEEE!

Behind Enemy Lines:

It's been so long that the Sens have graced the Windy City that I needed something special to mark the occasion. Please welcome Second City Hockey. You may leave your polyester wrapped tributes to Gilda Radner and Eugene Levy with the bouncers.

Enjoy the game, everybody. Well, as much as you can, anyway.

Panthers 3, Sens 1: Urge To Kill...Rising...

Coach Craig crafts Friday night's lines. Not seen? The pitchfork wielding mob.

Okay...deep breaths. I won't swing the rant stick. Not this early. This is, after all, still October. Hell, we've only played five games. And as much as some of my most favoured interweb scribbling colleagues seem to enjoy it, I'll give things a little time to settle down. So, no. I won't swing the rant stick. But I sure as shit know where it is...Coach.

The Highs:

• You know what? Fuck it! You don't deserve it: I could mention the fact that Fish actually played like Fish and if not for a few sticks and skates, may have actually scored. Buy I won't. I could mention that for only the second time this season, we actually out shot an opponent over an entire game, despite getting only three (THREE!) pucks to the net in the first. But I won't. I could laud the play of Schubie Doo, and lament the fact that it took Coach Craig this long to get him back into the lineup. But I won't. And I could also mention that our PK is clicking along at a ridiculous 92%, good for fifth in the League, having given up a scant 2 goals in 25 kills. But I won't do that either. And do you know why I won't mention any of those things? Well, because...now listen closely boys, because...you know, I'm not sure you noticed but...we...LOST THE FUCKING GAME! THAT'S WHY!
  

The Lows:

• You are now officially dead to me: Goodbye Martin. I've had it with you. I'm not even going to bother sugaring it up with cutesy nicknames. Get out...Martin. We made excuses after you folded under pressure and lost your starting job two years ago. Easy to do after Rayzor stepped in and we went to the Finals. We made excuses after you folded under pressure last year. "It was the distractions", we said. No more excuses. Go away. Take the $7M you've sucked out of the organization, and go...oh, I don't know...stuff eclairs with your shrivelled dick for all I care.

• Those who do not learn from history, are destined to repeat it. I read that somewhere once: The Bryan tried it. It didn't work. Teflon tried it. It didn't work. The Bryan tried it again. It didn't work. So, Coach Craig...after observing your team spend the first twenty-five minutes playing like a fourth grade floor hockey team, replete with flailing sticks, missed assignments and passes to nobody, think you'd like to try it again? Here's a hint: Put 'em back together and let your boss figure out how to fix this mess.

• About that whole "harder to play against" thing...: We were promised. We were promised a new, pain-in-the-ass, hard as nails, opposing-forwards-shitting-their-pants-as-they-go-to-the-net defence. I look forward to that defence actually showing up.

Pithy Observation Of Questionable Importance:

Wait, what?: Ladies and gentlemen, I submit to you the following exchange between the TSN broadcast crew:

Pierre McGuire: "I've seen Zednik in his undergarments. That scar is nasty!"
Gord Miller: "Again, you're talking about players in their undergarments."
McGure: "What can I say? I have good taste."

Considering this started around a discussion of the scar on Richard Zednik's neck...make of it what you will.

Creamy Middle:

Our "#1" goaltender blows moose cock. The D is slow and as soft and offensively anemic as it's ever been. And other than 11, 19 and 15, we've got nothing on the front end. On the upside, we all have a front row seat to the inevitable, nail biting dogfight that will be the "race" for eighth place in the conference. I'm sure that our eventual first round sodomizing at the hands of Montreal or Pittsburgh, will make the agony of the next five months all worth it. Yeah. No problem.

Up Next:

Tomorrow night, the Anaheim No Longer Mighty Ducks come to the Bank (7:00pm, SportsNet East). Fortunately, tomorrow night is also the tenth anniversary of Beloved foolishly agreeing to be my wife, so I'm probably going to miss this. That said, I'm willing to guarantee I'll have a better night, no matter what happens on the ice.

Behind Enemy Lines:

The one, the only, Battle of California. Brilliant. Insightful. And best of all, they sound more desperately hopeless than I do. But not by much.