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.

Sens 6, Sabres 3 -- Well, At Least We Didn't Spot Them Six

My New York Times Overlords have once again tapped the hockey blogosphere to find out what the eminent scribes from those teams on the playoff bubble are feeling. They didn't come to me. Either they have more confidence in the Senators then I do, or they know something I don't and are just trying to spare my feelings. I haven't decided yet.

The Highs:

• 29 teams petition League to reduce game to 40 minutes: Five against the Habs. Five against the Sabres. All scored in the third period. Now about those first two...

• And lo, a child shall lead them: Brian Lee. Remember that name, because he'll be starting on the blue line coming out of camp next year. First ever big league game? No sweat. All he did tonight was be the most reliable defenceman we've seen since...oh...November. Scored his first point...sure, it was an assist on an empty net goal, but still. Earned himself some time on the power play too. And did I mention he saved a goal by kicking a Buffalo shot off the goal line? Oh, and that he repeatedly put Sabres players on their asses the way an NHL caliber D-Man is, you know, supposed to? See ya Reds. Enjoy free agency.

The Lows:

• Speaking of worthless bags of donkey feces: Mr. Meszaros certainly had himself an adventure didn't he? Let's see...where to start? Oh! How about your chronic inability to do anything other than pussy little shoves on an opposing forward? Or wait, wait wait! How about your latest incomprehensibly stupid brain cramp that led directly to Jason Pomainville's goal a mere 25 seconds after the Sabres had gone up 2-1? But for my money, your opus, your coupe-de-gracie if you will, was the hooking penalty you took because you were out of position again, thus wiping out a 3rd period powerplay while we were down by two. Um...you're a restricted FA come July aren't you? Oh...no reason. Just asking.

• A real goalie? Missed it by...THAT much: If Gerbs is losing pucks in his pads, or making the stop only to remain frozen in place as the fat rebound squirts onto an opponents stick, or if we find him grossly out of position after almost every fucking shot, it can only mean one thing. Playoff time is coming. Which means...GUH!...Rayzor. Sweet Jesus, can no one save me from these turbulent idiots?

• Attention! "Kristen" please report to dressing room STAT! Bring massage oil...and a friend: Not sure how many people caught it, but The Captain was definitely not okay after scoring our fifth goal and his second of the night. In fact, after shaking his head to an inquiry from the trainer, he left the bench with a grimace with about a minute to go. If memory serves, somebody warned him against coming back from his back problems too early. Whomever could that have been? Please light sacramental candles as you see fit.

Creamy Middle:

Two trains of thought on this one. First: Holy Mother of God, were we lucky to get the win and if we keep it up we're going to get killed in the playoffs! Second: The boys dug deep to win a game we absolutely needed and we'll ride this and be unbeatable in the playoffs! Man...I'm really starting to hate the month of March.

Up Next:

Two nights hence, we tangle at home with the Sabres once again. Depending on what happens with the rest of the clusterfuck that is the Eastern conference between now and then, we could be facing an even more desperate team than we did tonight. Or not. Either way, it would be nice to see us actually play like we're supposed to and crush an opponent who, on paper, has no business giving us this much trouble. But then, that's just me.

Behind enemy lines:

Fellow Times-ian The Willful Caboose is the place to be. Her game threads are an achingly poignant portrait on what it's like to be on the outside looking in. God, I hope I'm never in that position.

Update: Turns out young Master Lee didn't get his first point after all, Verms' empty netter appearing as "unassisted" in the box score. This is what I get for listening Gordo Gasbab Wilson while trying to write a post at the same time. That's it. Come next game, I'm drunk dialing A-Channel Ottawa to tell him he's an idiot. And that I have Prince Albert in a can.