And The Earth Takes One Small Step Toward Axial Equilibrium -- Sens 2, Laffs 1 (SO)

Holy crap that sucked. Holy crap that was sweet. Live blogging is hard. Brian Burke is now officially second guessing himself. And who's the bag of dicks who told Toskala he's a real goalie?!?!

Creamy Middle to follow tomorrow. For now, let us just revel in the sweet, sweet taste of no longer being the worst team in the Northeast.

TSN Bravely Refuses To Believe Burke's Soul Still For Sale

I'm sorry, did I miss something?

The last time I looked (or had Pierre McGuire yell at me about it), MLSE's latest foray into the land of Cantankerous Irishmen Not Named Pat Quinn has yet to yield any real results. But fear not stout, albeit delusional, blue and white clad yeomen, a quick perusal of TSN's home page assures you all is well:

• OTR brings us Bobby Clarke, waxing rhapsodic with "words of praise for Brian Burke...admitting he was a fan of his work as a general manager. But while he thought Burke would do a good job for the Maple Leafs, he expressed some concerns". My guess is those "concerns" centre largely around no longer being the biggest egomaniacal blowhard in the Eastern Conference.
  

• Not to be outdone by Michael Landsburg and his carbon fiber cheek bones, the intrepid NHL on TSN panel "discuss who they think will stay and who will go when Brian Burke takes over" (emphasis...um, not theirs).

• And finally, Bob McKenzie sets aside his onion belt as he struggles to remember that dusty old saw about actually confirming something before reporting it as fact (sooooo 1985!) and offers us, in his usual gripping fashion, that "The Brian Burke-Toronto Maple Leafs saga is close to reaching its logical conclusion." Settle down there, Bob.
  

For those keeping score at home, that's three items on the main page of Canada's self proclaimed sports leader about a story that hasn't even happened yet. And they wonder why the rest of the country presumes that the "T" in "TSN" stands for "Toronto".

For the record, my guess as to why Burke hasn't yet surrendered to the Dark Side signed with MLSE? Neither camp can agree on who has to water Cliff Fletcher twice a week.

Leafs 3, Sens 2: It Being Sunday, We Turn To A Higher Power

Aw...crap.

The Singular High:

• Mr. Neil welcomes you to the big leagues: To hear Leaf Nation tell it, Luke Schenn is some sort of bastard hybrid built from a combination of Cliff Fletcher's senile imaginings and bits of Hap Day's dessicated corpse. That may all be well and good, but the youngster may want to pick his spots a little better. Hint: Running after Chris Neil to "avenge" a hit on a teammate that never actually happened isn't one of them. So...how's your face feeling today, Luke?
  

The Lows:

• This is as good a place to start as any: Oh, how innocent and lovely it all seemed at the time. You, the rugged, macho impresario and me, the coquettish ingenue seduced by the swagger and musky odour. But like all summer romances, Gator, things fade. Perhaps not seeing the number on your back as you fish yet another puck out of our own net would rekindle the flame. Oh...and maybe hitting a few guys too. That would be nice.
  

• Another such victory we are undone: According to legend, those words were related by Dionysius to his King, Pyrrhus, whose army suffered irreplaceable casualties in defeating the Romans. Hence, the term "Pyrrhic Victory" has come to define a meaningless gain at the cost of the greater good. What does this have to do with anything? Filip Kuba has 11 points in 5 games. Damn near a record. Very nice, yes? Um...no. In those five games, with his 11 points, he's barely breaking even at +1.
  

• This bit always worked for my mom: I'm very disappointed in you. Honestly, of all the things I imagined could possibly go wrong this year, you weren't one of them. And yet, here we are. You won't hit anyone. You're constantly caught out of position. And when those big meanies in the different coloured shirts bother our poor goalie, you just stand there like a useless lump. So, Christon Phillchenkov, what do you have to say for yourself?
  

Creamy Middle:

I've climbed down a little from the ledge I found myself on roughly 13 hours ago. Losing to the Laffs will do that to me. Being one point out of last place in the entire freakin' League will do that to me. Sure, we can't (or won't) hit, can't (or won't) shoot, can't (or won't) clear the crease, can't (or won't) take care of our own zone, and yeah, the D is getting torched to the outside before getting its ass handed to it night after night after night... But, no, this isn't the worst Senators team since '93. It can't be. 15, 19 and 11 aren't exactly Bob Kudelski, Sylvain Turgeon and Jody Hull, and never will be...thank Christ. Which brings me to...

Unsolicited Advice Because I'm A Fan, And I Know Everything:

• Stop screwing around, Coach: The top line stays together. Full Stop. If you can't figure out how to get Verms or Fish or Kelly or anybody with a fucking pulse from the bottom three lines to the front of the net, then you don't deserve the Big Whistle. Yeah...we're fickle bastards, we fans. Deal.
  

• A small side bar with regard to our achilles heel: Buckle up, Alex. You're the man now, dawg. Until Brian Elliot is good to go, our playoff hopes rest squarely on your 6'5" shoulders. Oh...you think October is a little early for that kind of pressure? Check the standings, buckwheat. Two points is two points, no matter when they come. What's that? Gerber? Screw him. He's done.

• There are far too many things wrong with this team that will fit here: But I'll get to them. Never fear.

Up Next:

Tomorrow night, on the road against the division leading (and undefeated in regulation) Buffalo Sabres. There's no local t.v. for this, and since I was too cheap to spring for Centre Ice (Sorry Gary, but Sunday Ticket ate up my entire Useless Subscription Budget for this year) I will be mercifully spared the inevitable ass raping we'll be enduring. On the upside, it leaves me free to craft a 3000 word opus on how many things are wrong with this team. Won't that be fun?

Behind Enemy Lines:

Fellow NY Times unpaid intern/indentured serf Kate, at the Willful Caboose brings her special brand of gleeful incredulity to our little corner of the Tubes. If I can offer but one piece of advice...enjoy it now Kate. Because the inevitable crash really, really sucks. Trust me.

Now, I Don't Mean To Alarm Anyone...

• The Toronto Maple Marlies sit two points ahead of the Ottawa Senators in the Division...
• We currently find ourselves mired in 13th in the Conference...
• We currently find ourselves a scant one point from being the worst team in all of hockey...

So what does it all mean? It means I'm busting out my parachute pants and digging my silk shirts out of storage...IT'S 1993, KIDS! WHEE! Can't touch this!

Of course, none of that matters tonight.

Have I mentioned I'm a Washington Redskins fanatic? No? Well, I am. Stupidly so. No, really. I'm giving serious consideration to naming my first born "Riggo". Even if it's a girl (Beloved has some strong feelings on the subject...damn Cheese Heads). If I ever win the lottery the first thing I'd do is buy season tickets and fly to D.C. for every game.

Now, considering how the 'Skins have performed for the last...oh...15 years, this little fact has left me open to no small amount of ridicule (hellooooo...Erin. Check the standings lately?). But no matter how badly my 'Skins sucked, no matter how hopeless things looked after yet another 4-12 season, only one thing mattered...Did they beat the Cowboys?

Welcome back to the Battle of Ontario. No matter how bad this season gets (and it's shaping up to be extremely unpleasant), come April, only one thing will matter to me...Did we beat the Leafs?

Nothing else matters, boys. Curbstomp those bitches.

BREAKING NEWS: Cujo Signs With Leafs, Mick McGeough Duly Warned.

Let the youth movement begin! Welcome back the Battle of Ontario Curtis. We've missed you.

Great One Opts For Seppuku Over MLSE

I have to admit to a certain morbid fascination with the Leafs continuing search for a new general manager. It's like passing a train wreck, or an incredibly ugly person. You don't want to, but you can't help but stare.

To recap: MLSE hung the last one out to dry, spending most of last summer trying to recruit a "mentor" for him before finally giving up (because no one wanted the job), but not before calling him "a mistake" two months into the season, which, of course, didn't stop them from keeping him on for another two. After finally, mercifully euthanizing firing JFJ, 116 year old Cliff Fletcher was brought in on an "interim" basis with the sole task of rebuilding a once proud franchise. But that didn't work out so well either, what with no trade clauses and a predilection for talking to potted ferns having a somewhat deleterious effect on one's ability to fulfill one's mandate. And yet, the "interim" still sits in the big corner office arguing with the ghost of Conn Smythe, while the search for his replacement continues.

So how bad has it gotten in Toronto? Putting aside Brian Burke's baffling insistence on talking himself out of any job for the moment, you know things are bad when the greatest hockey player in the history of everything holds a press conference to A) preemptively refuse a job he hasn't been publicly offered yet and B) prefers staying in Phoenix, the NHL's ode to apathetic mediocrity to tilting at the windmill that is the Byzantine corporate culture of MLSE.

You can cross the Great One's name off the list of potential candidates to take over the hockey operations of the Toronto Maple Leafs. Wayne Gretzky will be staying in Phoenix.

"I have always been a big fan of the Toronto Maple Leafs, and wish them luck in the future. Right now my focus is on the Phoenix Coyotes and developing our young talent"

Loosely translated? "I would rather have Janet gouge out my testes with a rusty ice cream scoop than come within a hundred miles of anything to do with Richard Peddie, Larry Tanenbaum, or that God forsaken ownership fuck-up that is Maple Leafs Sports and Entertainment!" Sounds reasonable enough.

Gretzky's Focus Remains In Phoenix, Not Toronto [TSN.ca]

Sens 8, Bubba's Bitches 2 -- Now Shut The Hell Up

We're about fifteen minutes away from puck drop against the Bruins, so I'll save The Creamy Middle of last night's game until I have more time. Besides, I'm going to need a little help deciphering my notes in order to produce something semi coherent. Who knew smashing a pen against the wall would be so messy?

But first, let's get The Hit out of the way. If you read my comments on the BoO game thread, I was as incensed as any of you. I called for all manner of plagues upon Bell's head and house. I wanted him flayed alive with a dull spoon. I wanted his genitals to rot off and be stuffed in his ears. And I still do.

But...sorry Sens fans. Upon further review, it was clean. At least as "clean" as Neil on Drury last year. If we cheered that one then (and we did...but unlike those classy classy folks in T.O., we stopped cheering when we saw he was seriously hurt. At least I did) and condemn this one now, why, that would make us hypocrites, now wouldn't it? Or worse...Leaf fans!

Now that said, Mark Bell is a gutless punk. Always has been, going back to his days in junior. His head shot to The Captain, his slew foot on Reds on an icing call and his general cheap shot fuckery (nice face cage, there tough guy!) surprised me not in the least. He's also a felon, who will be going to jail sometime in the next month or so, so that's cool. Lots of nasty things can happen in jail, Mark. All it will cost me is a carton of smokes. And if Queen Bubba and his Buick-sized penis don't get you in the showers, well...keep your fucking head up next season, no matter what pathetically desperate team signs your worthless carcass.

Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead! Stick A Fork In 'Em! And Other Mixed Metaphors

In keeping with my long standing principle of never, ever, passing up a chance to mock, ridicule and otherwise do my utmost to stomp on the flag of Leafs' Nation, I would be remiss if I didn't add my two cents to those who are piling on in glee at the prospect of a third straight year without a mid April sighting of Darcy Fucking Tucker's ugly mug. This one's for you, Dad.



See ya guys. As the Nation would say, we may not have won anything either, but at least we got further than you. And according to you guys, that's all that matters, right?