Sens 3, Pens 2: In Which We Compare And Contrast "Shits" And "Giggles"

Here's a hint. Giggles had the hat trick.

The Highs:

• This? 'Tis but a scratch!: Sure, the natural hat trick was nice. Congrats on that, Jason. So is your continued ability to make the Penguins your personal whores (27 points in 20 games). But do you really want to know how to make the mouth breathers who normally howl "we gotta trade his ass!" during the call-in shows check themselves? Get up laughing after taking the biggest hit of your career and proceed to send the opponents a giant SUCK IT! by scoring a goal. Again. That would be perfect.
  

• Your mission, should you choose to accept it...: Okay folks, we need a better nick name for the Big Line than either "pizza" or (ugh!) "CASH". They turned Atlanta into gooey piles of despair (but that was Atlanta) and followed that up by fashioning Julien's little boy toys into pylons while being among the toughest hombres on the ice (bonus points to The Captain for walking off a bullet to the top of his foot). I'm thinking "Two-Four". As in: If we're playing on Victoria Day weekend, it's because of this line.
  

• Screw secondary scoring. You boys just keep on keepin' on: We would be remiss if we didn't mention the contributions from the supporting cast. The Winch, Little Nicky and Chris "K-Rock" Kelly keeping the Pens hemmed in their own end most of the time while being general pains in the ass...Roto Ruutu and his sneaky little elbows (somewhere Gordie Howe smiles...and asks for more tapioca). Then there's our boy C-Bass. Did you know he was playing with a broken toe? Neither did I. He laces on a pair of skates and spends three hours catching 100mph slapshots with his feet. Me? I'm lying on the couch, popping vicodin like candy while Beloved starts looking for a divorce lawyer.
  

The Lows (only two of which deal with the Cee Bee Cee):

• Next time, just shoot the hostage: That was one hell of a dilemma, wasn't it Brendan? It certainly looked that way. How else to explain why, after watching your "pass" go squirting onto the stick of Jordan Staal like some palsy stricken wombat, you stood there, flummoxed, while Evgeni Freakin Malkin went streaking by you three feet to your right? Malkin's ensuing short handed goal to pull Pittsburgh within one with ten minutes to go in the game probably gave you a clue as to how to handle that particular situation in the future, yes? Look around, dumbass.
  

• HURRY HARD! And get the HELL off my t.v.!: Mother Corp has been broadcasting curling for many, many years. I should know. For as long as I can remember (which is quite a few more years than I'd care to admit), there have been many a time when I have been lulled into blissful slumber on a Sunday afternoon by the dulcet tones of Don Wittman (R.I.P). So with all that experience, you'd think the pinheads that run the CBC would know how long the average curling match will run, and schedule the remainder of their programming accordingly, right? Right? Wouldn't you think? Yeah, I'd have thought so too, until I missed the first three minutes of this game for the semi finals of something called the The Capital One Grand Slam Of Curling. Dear CBC: If it doesn't say "Brier" or "Scotties" on the trophy, move it to Country Canada or Bold or whatever the hell you're calling your crap cable channel this week, and give me my fucking hockey game.

• You're looking particularly amorphous this evening, Mr. Galley: I am the proud owner of a 56" High Definition television. Ma Bell extorts me to the tune of $110 a month for the privilege of beaming High Definition satellite signals into my home. The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation has an annual, taxpayer funded operating budget somewhere north of one billion dollars. HD cameras cost much, much less than that. So why did this game look like it was being broadcast from the bottom of a swimming pool?
  

Pithy Observation of Questionable Importance:

We are now 4-0 when wearing those hideous third jerseys. Now I don't generally subscribe to superstition (unless my lucky Redskins socks are involved) but if someone tells me the I'm going to die the Senators are going to lose unless I keep a bowling pin jammed up my ass they keep wearing that jersey...I'd have to think long and hard about it.

Creamy Middle:

Not as dominant as they were against Atlanta (but again...that was Atlanta) and there were times in the early going where it looked like the boys had slipped back into their evil ways of sloth, apathy and general crapitude AND Coach Craig's recurring habit of jamming on the brakes by throwing the trap onto the ice late in a close game still drives me batshit (safe is DEATH, Coach), but still a quality win. If the boys are on, as they were through a large portion of this game and as they were for the entire Thrashers game, it's obvious we can play with anybody. Sooner or later, they're going to start believing that. I hope.

Next Up:

The barrel of yuks that is Jacques Martin brings his Florida Panthers to The Bank on Monday night (7:30pm, Sportnet East or...RDS for you coalition types). Remember how Now Florida Head Coach but Then Nobody Peter DeBoer jerked The Bryan around for a month last summer before The Bryan finally said "fuck it" and signed Hartsburg? Yeah, me neither.

And hey! We finally get to see that Bowmeester kid! Don Brennan should have him traded to Ottawa for Jason Spezza, Dany Heatly, Daniel Alfredsson, the athletic staff and a small block of cheddar by the end of the first period.

Behind Enemy Lines:

Well, lah-di-dah, look who's made the big time! A scant six weeks after being mentioned on this very site, The Litter Box has been drafted into Mirtle's SB Nation army of hockey blogger brilliance. Coincidence? I think not. Congrats, Whale. Well deserved, indeed.

You're Next Sidney -- Fear The 'Stache!

Personally, I'd prefer the entire team follow Gator's lead and rock the badass Fu Manchu (except you Fish. Jeebus, you look like my prom picture...minus the mullet), but this works too. Think about it Neiler! It's like a codpiece! For your face!

I feel it. Can you? It's coming back. The mojo, I mean. The "Oh hells, we are SO better than this" feeling. We beat the Rangers. We beat the Leafs. Throw the last Islanders game out the window as the final lesson on how not to play a hockey game, a lesson well and truly learned. And we made Atlanta cry.

The Big Line is scorin'. Fish, The Winch, Gator and A-Train are rockin'. Oh, and before I forget, Roto, Neiler and C-Bass are a knockin':

Neil will likely skate on a line with Jarrko Ruutu and Cody Bass to see if they can create some energy against the Penguins.

So, Sidney. Y'all ready for this?

Sens 3, Pens 1: All Your Boards Are Belong To Us!

Oh hells yes! Now THAT'S what I'm talkin' about! As both of you may recall, some of the more astute (ahem) observers of our little club postulated that in order to be successful, the boys would have to work their asses off. I'm happy to report that Coach Craig has a firm grasp of the obvious and instructed his charges accordingly. The difference is, this time, they actually listened.

Pithy Observations of Questionable Importance:

• From all accounts, Swedes are a stolid and practical lot. Lord knows the number of allan keys cluttering my tool box can attest to that fact. So the only logical answer as to why they would design a state of the art hockey arena, and make it look like a giant golf ball is...they must be Leaf fans. Thank you! Thank you very much. I'll be here until Thursday. Try the veal.
  

• I generally don't pay much attention to what the competition committee comes up with over the summer (unless it has something to do with Brendan Shanahan saying something stupid), but I must compliment them on their tweaking this year. The two minor rule changes regarding guaranteed offensive zone face-offs on delayed penalties and delaying commercial breaks on icings are nothing short of brilliant. The first, because it allows for more creativity when the goalie is pulled, and the second because it will shorten the amount of time Pierre McGuire can yell at us.
  

The Highs:

• The name is Dany...but my friends call me "Heater": Two games, three goals (47 to go!) including punching a hole clear through Marc Andre-Fleury on one of the prettiest power play goals you'll ever see. But that's not what has me inappropriately aroused. No, it's this. Late in the 2nd, with the Penguins on the power play in a one goal game, our $45 million superstar threw himself in front of a point shot and got the block. I'll leave you to contemplate the "A" on his jersey while I clean up the mess on my television screen. And ceiling.
  

• The Ice Man cometh: Alex Auld is six feet, five inches tall. He moves about the crease with all of the speed and grace of a snow plow. And all he did was hold two of the most dangerous players on one of the most dangerously offensive teams in the league at bay for 59 minutes and 59 seconds. He was calm. He was cool. Our other guy? Um...not so much. I love the smell of goalie controversies in the morning!
  

• If you ask nicely, maybe MAF will give you the puck: Congratulations to Jesse Winchester, who capped off a truly stellar debut with his first (regular season) NHL point when he assisted on Verms' breakaway goal in the third. Strong on the puck, got his nose dirtied, started going hard to the net...fantastic job Jesse. No, really. Of course you do realize that had your little blind back pass that started the play gone the other way, you would be feeling the point of my pen in your eye socket, right? So we're agreed. That's just the kind of hypersensitive prick I am.
  

• Oh no you di-INT!: If there is one play that perfectly illustrates the fact that we are not the Sens of old, it was Big Rig putting Matt Cooke on his ass after Mr. Cooke (thanks for the power plays, putz!) took exception to The Captain's attempt to teach Max Talbot to keep his head up when coming down the trolley tracks. Contrast that reaction with the aftermath of Mark Bell's hit on Alfie last March (where our boys basically stood around and pushed stuff) or how Steve Downie basically got away with attempted murder, and that's all the rest of the league needs to know.
  

The Lows:

• Um...I hear the beer was warm?: Not a damn one. I'll even overlook letting Orpik off the hook for running Roto Ruutu and The Captain from behind with no retaliation (although I will file it away for December 6th). Breathe it in, boys. This won't happen very often.
  

The Creamy Middle:

Three out of four points in the first two games. Not bad, but considering what happened yesterday, there is a wee caveat. Coach, your first job after that pressurized mettle tube hits the runway tomorrow is to take the tape from this game and make about 50 copies. Give it to everyone on the team, including the water boys, with orders that they are to watch it every night before they go to bed. The tender ministrations of their wives/girlfriends/miscellaneouses (hey, I don't know what the water boys are into) can wait. This it too important. If we're going to go anywhere at all this year, we need 80 more efforts just like it.

Up Next:

Six days hence, Saturday, October 11th, coast to coast on the Cee-Bee-Cee. In case flying halfway to nowhere and eating salted herring weren't enough, our home opener comes against the defending Stanley Cup Champs, heavy favourites to repeat, and general schoolyard bullies, the Detroit Red Wings. Thanks Gary! On the upside, getting them this early in the season can only improve our chances. As was proven last season, games in October mean squat in the greater scheme of things. We can only hope they feel the same way.

Behind Enemy Lines:

Let's give a warm, and above all, humble, welcome to Behind The Jersey, the grand-daddy of all Red Wing blogs. Everything you ever wanted to know about Chris Chelios' addiction to prune juice and the seniors' discounts at the Wallgreen's can be found here. Remember when this game was being hyped as a Cup preview? Yeah...good times.

Pens 4, Sens 0 -- Position Stake. Apply Mallet. Repeat As Necessary

Usually when the Un-Dead sleep at home," as he spoke he made a comprehensive sweep of his arm to designate what to a vampire was `home', "their face show what they are, but this so sweet that was when he not Un-Dead he go back to the nothings of the common dead. There is no malign there, see, and so it make hard that I must kill him in his sleep."

This turned my blood cold, and it began to dawn upon me that I was accepting Van Helsing's theories. But if he were really dead, what was there of terror in the idea of killing him?

He looked up at me, and evidently saw the change in my face, for he said almost joyously, "Ah, you believe now?"

I answered, "Do not press me too hard all at once. I am willing to accept. How will you do this bloody work?"

"I shall cut off his head and fill his mouth with garlic, and I shall drive a stake through his body." --Dracula, Bram Stoker [slightly redacted]

The Lonely High Without Which The Result Would Have Been Much Much Worse:

• Screw Obi-Wan! Help me Lord Vader, you are our only hope: Okay, the first goal was a little weak. Aaaand I was getting a little peeved that he spent most of the first spitting in the eye of Sir Isaac Newton (see file: Inertia, 1st law thereof). But he managed to turn it around and by the end, there were fleeting glimpses of the The Dark Lord we had come to know and love last fall. And it's a damn good thing, otherwise we'd all be hip deep in gloating Pens fans. And it's the only thing we can pin any kind of confidence to, going into game 2. If a goalie redeems himself in the forest, does anybody hear?

The Truly Shitty Lows That Stood Out From The Merely Craptacular:

• Let's go to the replay Bob!: "If Reds and Mesz can finally put their inexplicable and really fucking maddening regular season habits behind them and start playing the way they can and have in the past, we have a chance." I wrote that more than six hours before game time, and it took Wade Redden 1:08 to destroy any and all hope of it actually happening. Next time Bryan, make sure the plane takes off without him.

• Juuuust a bit outside!: I have no idea how, but the final Senator shot count was 26. Just think. If even half of the 21 OTHER shots we took had come anywhere near the Penguins goal, Fleury may have actually broken out into a sweat! Wouldn't that have been cool?

• Hello Charlottetown, you're on the air: Two two-man advantages. Yep, the boys were two men up for a full minute...twice. Surly, I thought, we'll get back into it now! Goals? Zip. Scoring chances? Two. As our favourite shout-out artist from the land of potatoes and Green Gables, PEISenators commented, "Maybe if they get a 5 on 2 they could generate something." Personally, I'm still holding out for a way to decline penalties.

• I'm sorry, perhaps you didn't get the memo: Neiler, buddy, you've always been one of my favourites. It pains me to call you out. Really, it does. But...um...JUST WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU?!? Of all the games I've seen you play, playoff, regular season, hell, even exhibition, that was the single most pathetic, non-contact, zero impact piece of crap I have ever seen from you. Christ man! If you're not willing to pay the price, than just why in the name of sweet Jesus am I wasting my fucking time holding out even the slimmest of hopes of winning this series?

We Now Pause For A Special Rant:

In all the many years that Gary Fucking Roberts has tormented us, I have accused him of many things, most of which involved sexual congress with livestock, but I have never accused him of being a coward. Until now.

You're a coward Gary. You want to hit a rookie from behind with less than 90 seconds left in a game you've already won? Fine. But you'd damned well better be ready for the instant retribution that will bring. Instead, you skated away from the scrum and waited until you were surrounded by officials before making a grand show of dropping your gloves, and elbow pads and helmet knowing full well no Senator, depleted the team already is, was going to risk a suspension by going through a linesman to get at your shit eating mug. That was bush league Roberts, and you know it. And when A-Train or Neiler (or...Gratz?) breaks your fucking back with a cross check to the kidneys at some point in this series, I will gladly put aside my natural disgust at such cheap shots and drink to the end of your career. Bank on it.

Creamy Middle:

I stopped into one of my favourite pubs yesterday afternoon, and naturally the talk amidst the bar regulars turned to this game. I said "There is no way on God's green earth we win tonight." Took a lot of grief for that. But I was both right and wrong. Sure, we lost. But I figured we'd lose because the Penguins would be out-of-their-minds pumped about playing the first game of the series at home in front of a crazy loud home crowd and that there'd be no way we'd be able to withstand the sheer adrenaline the Kiddie Korps would be running on. But that didn't happen. If I hadn't had the yammering vocals of Jim Hughson constantly reminding me that this was "game one of the Eastern Conference Quarter Finals", I wouldn't have noticed the difference from any other regular season game we sucked moose balls in this season. The Pens came out tentative, the crowd nervous. And we didn't take advantage. If the same thing happens tomorrow, I'm starting my yard work way earlier than I wanted to.

Of course, if we win Game 2 and get the split...well, that means all is sunshine and light, and that we still own your asses! As long as Gary Fucking Roberts leaves the ice on a stretcher.

East Quarter, Game 1 -- Period 2: Man Down! Let Us Pray...A-Train, Who Art In Stitches...

-- Now that Jim Hughson and Gary Galley have mentioned it four times in fifteen seconds, we can now rest assured that we have it on good authority that Spezz and Heater will be playing "A LOT!" Those of us who hadn't noticed that they've been double shifted since minute two of the first period thank you.

-- Other helpful information from the CBC...we've missed the net with 11 shots. 11! Eleven times we can't zero in on a target 24 square feet in size!

-- Paging Mr. Neil. Mr. Neil, please report to the ice surface. Paging Mr. Neil. Mr. Neil, please report to...

-- Talbot, Roberts, Laracque. Throw in Pestilence and I'm building a bomb shelter.

-- OH DEAR GOD, NOT A-TRAIN!!

-- I sense a disturbance in The Force. Too soon to tell who it might be.

-- Anton? Buddy? You okay??

-- Oh my heavens! I do believe I've just seen a forecheck! By a rookie! To draw a penalty! Good job Spawn. Good job indeed.

-- Marty Lapointe. Two minutes for being sexually molested by both MAF and Talbot. Okay then. But I'll take the 5-on-3.

-- On which we couldn't score. FUCK! Missed the net nicely though. Twice.

-- Somebody better tell me what's going on with A-Train, like RIGHT FUCKING NOW!

-- I hereby dub the defensive pairing of Wade Redden and Andrej Meszaros, Fucknuts 1 and Fucknuts 1A respectively. Please make them go away!!

-- End of the 2nd, still 2-0 Pens, and we're lucky to have it. SOG? Haven't a clue. I think they stopped telling me to save me the embarrassment. True to form over the last four months, we stopped skating in the second and gave up any good mojo we built up in the first.

-- Sens Player of the Period: Marty Gerber. Do I see a shit-scary black mask peeking out behind that flaky crust? I think I do. At least I hope so.

-- A-Train? Anybody? News? Seriously, if you need an eye, I'll be on the next flight to Pittsburgh. PLEASE COME BACK!

Now for the REAL Preview -- Screw The Regular Season. It's GO Time!

There's a couple-three reasons I posted the "preview" you see below, rather than something more informed. 1) I was dead tired. Unlike some of our Anonymous Friends, I have a day job that's actually rather demanding. 2) As always, my first goal is to amuse. Now granted, probably due to reason 1, I probably failed in that. But while it may not have been that funny, or as good as Sherry's (which is true, I should add), I did take slight umbrage to Quasi-Anonymous Penguins Fan's (um...still kinda anonymous there, Sport) outright dismissal of it without actually reading it. Then again, nothing about that should surprise me. Which leads me to the main reason for waiting until today.

I took a gander at The Pensblog last night and I saw this: "Tomorrow, we'll link every playoff preview we can find". Crap. With visions of a second wave of grammatically challenged, caps-locking, spell-check deprived knuckle draggers invading my comment section overnight, I decided that I'd wait until Game Day to actually put one up. I figured this way, at the very least, by the time the more...um..."passionate" Penguins fans noticed it and re-discovered their opposable thumbs, we would have gotten Game 1 out of the way, and with it, a better feel for how this series is going to go. That said, I cringe at the thought of what will happen if we lose, and lose badly tonight. But that's a worry for another day. For now, here's your real preview folks. Do with it what you will:

Forwards:

On paper, we have no chance. We're short Alfie, Fish and our best defensive forward, Chris Kelly. We have two raw rookies in Cody Bass and Spawn of Mike in the lineup. Conventional wisdom holds that Crosby, Malkin, Hossa, Malone and especially Gary Fucking Roberts will mop the floor with us. But that's on paper. I've told anyone who's asked me (and a few who haven't) that nothing has changed from our meeting last year. Hit them. Hard. Then hit them again. Instead of fearing the fact that two rookies are starting for us, use it. Bass is a big boy who likes him some contact. Spawn of Mike has some good hands and a knack for finding the quiet spots in the zone. How amped do you think they'll be? Use that. Sure, the margin of error is razor thin, but it's not the end of the world folks.

Edge: Penguins, but it's not as big as they think it is.

Defence:

This is where the "on paper" equation gets turned on its head. On paper, we should have an enormous edge here. To stay with my earlier theme, Phillips is the rock and A-Train is the hard place between which the Crosby-Malkin-Hossa line will find themselves. That's a given. But whether we keep our "paper" edge here, depends on the other four. If Reds and Mesz can finally put their inexplicable and really fucking maddening regular season habits behind them and start playing the way they can and have in the past, we have a chance. Lee, a rookie in name only, has looked fantastic in the few games he's played for us. Let's see how he handles the playoff pressure. Really, what do we have to lose? And Commodore, aside from finally (hopefully) starting to feel more comfortable in the system we're playing, should be able to use his considerable hitting skills to greater advantage than he did in the regular season. After all, playoff games aren't officiated quite the same, are they (King Gary's clueless protestations to the contrary notwithstanding).

Edge: Ottawa...but only if NOs 6 and 14 pull their heads out of their asses.

Goaltending:

It always comes down to these flaky bastards, doesn't it? MAF has the better regular season numbers, no question. But again, the Playoffs are an entirely different animal, and historically, he hasn't done all that well. Whether we win or lose this series will depend, in its entirety, on which Gerber shows up, starting tonight. If it's the constantly out of position, rebound loving Swiss Pastry, we might as well just pack it in now. If Darth Gerber, he of the flawless positioning and the cool head that ran off a 13 game win streak in the first two months of the season, well...I like them odds. And if all else fails (and it pains me to say this...really), there's always Razor. He should have a big enough chip on his shoulder by now to give us at least two or three quality games.

Edge: Ottawa

Coaching:

Silly gamesmanship notwithstanding, Bryan Murray is the better coach. No, really! By the time he got back behind the bench, the damage from Teflon's Reign of Error was too much to fix with so little time left in the regular season, and I'd argue that had it not been for The Bryan, we would have missed the playoffs entirely, given the injuries and absolute lack of confidence the players had in themselves. A master manipulator, he should have no problems convincing the boys that they should probably start listening to him, now that everything is on the line. There's a reason he has 600 plus victories to his record. As for Michel Therrien...um...I'm sure he's a nice guy, but how hard can it be tapping Crosby, Malkin and Hossa on the back every third shift?

Edge: Ottawa

Creamy Middle:

The longer this series goes, the better the odds. Chris Kelly is close to coming back (rumour has it by Saturday) and as for Alfie and Fish...well late season "decimating injuries" that will take "weeks!" to heal sometimes find themselves miraculously cured when the puck drops for real. Now, I'm not fooling myself into thinking that this is going to be the cake walk it was last year. Our D and goaltending is way too shaky for that. But holy shit, listening to the talking heads and reading the MSM, you'd think we might as well just give up now. Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm certainly not going to immediately prostrate myself at the feet of the Pittsburgh Penguins and worship them as some sort of invincible gods. They're human. They're still kids. And they're eminently beatable. That's why we play the games.

Slightly revised pick: Sens in 7.

Bring it bitches. Let's do this thing

Sens and Pens Preview: Why, Yes. I Would Love Some Kool-Aid, Now That You Mention It!

Gawd, I'm in agony. I've started this thing, deleted it and started again four times already. My fingers keep typing the wrong words and I can't make them stop!

So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to let my brain decide. I don't mean that in a "I'll think about this in a calm and rational manner and logic will eventually prevail" kind of way either, but my actual two pound jelly sack of neurons, axons, myelin sheaths and other medicine-y goodness.

The human brain is divided into two hemispheres, the left, embodying as it does the analytical mind, and the right, purveyor of passion, and emotion (some people, whom some may call "scientists" will dispute this theory, but as listening to them would serve me no purpose here, we will refer to them as "godless heathens". Besides, the booze is running out, so I gotta get this done) . I'll let them decide. Gentlemen, you have the floor...

Right: So, uh, who do you like?

Left: Well, I'm not really sure. Looking at the records, I'd have to say that --

Right: What? What the hell does the record have to do with it? This is the playoffs man!

Left: Yeah, but I'm just sayin'...they finished ahead of us by quite a bit and--

Right: Ah, that's crap man. WE were the Beasts of the East for three quarters of the season, not these little punks. Seriously, look at 'em. Brittney Spears has more pubic hair than their top two lines combined. Trust me, I've seen the pictures. Well, of her anyway. GUH! Besides, you heard the boys today. Clean slate! New season! Anything can happen!

Left: Um...okay. Then let's look at it by position. Start with the goalies. Gerber hasn't exactly been--

Right: Oh, here we go. Slights against the Swiss.

Left: Please don't interrupt me again. It's very ru--

Right: "Euros can't win when it counts". Is that it? You know what you are? You're racist. How does that feel? Racist.

Left: Seriously. Stop it. I've told you before, that really pisses me off.

Right: Sorry. I'll stop. Racist.

Left: Anyway, Gerber hasn't stopped a beach ball since January. Always out of position on the rebound, and other than absolutely sucking in his first and only two playoff starts with Carolina, which he blamed on a "cold", he hasn't faced the kind of pressure that goes with a playoff series in a Canadian market.

Right: What, and Fleury has some wonderful, magical edge because he's Canadian? When I look at his history, it's not exactly a glitter with post season success either. Remember last year? We got in his kitchen and he fell apart. So screw you. Racist.

Left: *sigh*... Alright, let's talk defence. Remember our old football coach? "Defence wins championships son!" Well, we--

Right: Did he say that before or after he tried to touch us?

Left: WHAT?? He never...what the hell, dude? Jesus Christ. Seriously. Where did that come from?

Right: Just seeing if you were paying attention.

Left: Yes. Well. Back to the point at hand, which was...um...defence! Right. My point is, we don't have any. Other than Phillichenkov, we got squat. Commodore is too slow and doesn't know where he's supposed to be half the time, Lee is too young, Luke is too old, and Reds and Mesz are pathetic excuses for "professionals" who will be shipped out of town the very second the clock strikes 12:01 a.m. on July 1st.

Right: Oh, very nice. Look at you, and your fancy logic. Who have they got that we should be afraid of, eh? Gonchar? Sydor? You wanna talk about old. Hell, they were so desperate for blue line help that they went out and traded for Hal Gill. Hal Gill!! A LEAF! You have to be pretty pathetic when you look to Toronto as the cure to what ails ya.

Left: Then let's talk forwards. Crosby, Malkin, Hossa...*shudder*...Roberts? And what about us? Alfie, Fish, Kelly...all out. You have to admit--

Right: I don't have to admit nothin'! Screw you with your admitting, brain! Crosby and Malkin will fold just like--

Left: They've got another year under their belts. They're not the same as--

Right: So now your interrupting me?? SHUT UP! They're kids! They're not ready yet! And Roberts is 112 years old! Sooner or later he'll realize that and just fall apart, right there on the ice! Poof, gone, in a cloud of dust and dentures. As for Hossa...Mother Mario will rue the day he gave up the only Sens killer he had in Colby Armstrong for Hossa's Gor-Tex groin. And we gave him up, remember? And why? Because he vanished when it counted! Just like all the other foreigners we've ever had!

Left: Who's being racist now?

Right: Oh, shut the hell up. I don't want to listen to you anymore.

Left: Fine. Screw you!

Right: What happened to "stoic, unemotional one", eh? You look pretty emotional to me.

Left: You know what? You're an idiot! There, I said it! You won't do the dishes, your room is a fucking pig sty, I'm pretty sure we have mice living in our couch because of all the food you leave lying around...and you have no fucking clue how this is going to play out! You're just going with knee jerk reactions and blind loyalty! So here's my final pick. The winner is--

Right: Yeah, well at least I'm not bailing on my team! Traitor! Racist traitor! You don't know shit about playoff hockey because you don't know how big "heart" and "will" and "grit" are! All you care about are the cold hard numbers that don't give you any measure of the man inside!

Left: Are you done? Have you gotten off the pipe yet? Good. The winner of this series is--

Right: Racist traitor.

Left: STOP INTERRUPTING ME!! FUCK! The winner of this series will be Pittsburgh in fi-OOF!

Right: SHUT UP! SHUT THE HELL UP! That's it! This...ugh...ball gag is going...argh...on and *oof* ...staying on until you start talking sense!

Left: Mph! Mphfft! MMPPFFFTMPEPHHFFT!

Right: You heard it here first folks. Sens in six. Thank you for joining us. Now back to you, Bob.

And So It Begins. Pens Fans Love Them Some Anonymity

I was afraid this might happen. As soon as the playoff match ups were set, I said to myself "Uh-oh, here they come." And they didn't disappoint.

For the three of you unaware of the fact, The Pens Blog is one of the top rated hockey blogs on these here interwebs. They are ruthless in their pejoratives (which makes them funny as shit 98% of the time...that 2% being when their guns are pointed at your team) and Masters of the PhotoShop. And their readership is rather...enthusiastic.

What follows are the comments I received from Penguins fans following my rather (at least I thought) innocuous post below.

Anonymous said...

Penguins may be exclusive to the Southern Hemisphere, but I don't see what Australia has to do with anything.

And not nearly as much as you miss
-Alfie
-Fisher
-Spezza
-Heatley
-half a defense corps
-and something resembling an actual NHL goaltender
being able to play hockey!

It seems the life terms of the Senators will be rather short.

Anonymous said...

The picture you posted is of Malkin. Way to go JACKASS! Remember last year. It's revenge time. You MAPLE SUCKING MOOSE FUCKING CHILD TOUCHERS ARE DONE. THIS IS GOING TO BE MORE FUN THAN TAKING YOUR WIFE OUT TO A NICE SEAFOOD DINNER AND NEVER CALLING HER AGAIN.

Anonymous said...

Roberts is back bitches. Ottawa is done. At least Staal and Sidney can get a few cups if Tim Horton's before hitting round 2.

Jeffrey Passwick said...

senators suck. why r u talking trash on the penguins when "ur senators" are going into the playoffs limper than gordie howe's dong?

Anonymous said...

Sidney...spell check before trash talking.

Anonymous said...

Senators suck. You suck. Your mom's gay.

Wow, I go away for a 24hrs, and somebody gives the Special Ed kids a day pass...

Okay, let's try this in order. I'll type slow for those who can't read very quickly:

• Anonymous number...um...2: Yes, I know it's Malkin. I used the same picture after we thumped you in Game 1 last year. I was unaware that text and picture had to match. I'll try not to do it again, seeing as it seems to confuse you. Oh, and your Caps Lock is on.

• Jeffrey: I'd like to congratulate you for manning up and being the only Penguins commenter to use an actual name. Bravo. While I have no first hand knowledge as to the potency of Gordie Howe's reproductive organs, I'd be grateful if you could point out under what circumstances you acquired yours.

• Anons 1 & 3: Solid hockey related points raised by both of you, which I plan on addressing as soon as I can herd your friends back into their cages. Bonus points for using actual grammar and correct punctuation.

• Anon 4: Sorry, and thanks for the tip. I'll get it right next time. "Sidney was much more whiny then he normally is..." Better?
  

• Anon 5: Thank you for your contribution. I look forward to more of your well thought out counter arguments as the series progresses. Oh, and my mom asks just what is your point, exactly?

If this is the reaction I get after putting up a one sentence post accompanied by a rather run of the mill picture before the series even starts, I can't WAIT to see what happens after we win a game...or, heavens, the series. But either way, in the spirit of sportsmanship and good manners, I'd like to add...thanks for the page hits!

Flightless Bird Season Is Now Officially Open

Flyers 2, Penguins 0. Welcome back Sydney. Did you miss us?

Sens 5, Pens 4: Memo To Habs -- We Will Crush This Little Rebellion

Please forgive me for indulging my inner geek here, but I feel the need, in light of our regaining the Conference lead for the next...oh...three hours or so, to call down a little Dark Side voodoo on the derrieres of our rivals.

The Emotional Highs:

• Man alive! There are...men ALIVE in here!: Now that's what we're talkin' 'bout gentlemen! They hit! They banged! They hit 'em again! They finally found, trapped and skinned that wily and elusive animal called a "forecheck", long rumoured to exist but rarely seen. And Verms! When Vermette drops the gloves you know everybody is amped up. As for the fight itself? Well...um...nice haircut Antoine.

• My name is Senators Lost Cojones, and I approved this message: Everyone knows, there are good penalties. A hook to disrupt a breakaway. The trip to clear out the crease during a goal mouth scramble. Then there's the "fuck THIS shit" penalty. Mr. Phillips, please step forward. For teaching Mr. Malkin that a two minute boarding call is not the worse thing that can happen after hitting someone from behind (sure, it cost us the power play but I don't care), I hereby award you with...um...let me look around here...AHA! I award you the The Golden Beer, symbolic of hard work and short tempers. I know...you're speechless. It'll pass.

• Does that #28 jersey come in prison stripes?: Congratulations Marty. Three straight penalties (only two of which you actually deserved, both of which the Pens cashed in for goals), one goal scored and being a general pain in the ass. You've instantly become the most memorable deadline acquisition in franchise history. Granted, if you look back on our record at the Trade Deadline that's not saying much...but still. Just keep on keeping on, and we'll get along just fine.

The Lows:

• Somebody missed the memo: Playing the part of an airplane seat cushion, ladies and gentleman, Mr. Jason Spezza! Yes, whether it was ignoring the back check, lazy passes through the neutral zone or getting knocked off the puck quicker than an eight year old polio victim, our boy certainly puts the "Float" back in "Flotation Device".

• Oh...so THAT's a hook. Gotcha: If ever you've questioned my rants about the decline in the quality of officiating this season (Hi Dad!), please consider the following sequence: Staal skates into the corner after a loose puck, Spezza (shockingly) close behind. Staal literally picks up Jason's stick by the blade and tucks it under his arm, before flopping to the ice like a wounded trout. Dive? Not in Gary's brave new League. Nope. Penalty to number 19, two minutes for hooking. And referees wonder why they're held in such high regard by the paying public.

• You're a hard habit to break: A small vestige of Teflon's tenure reared it's misshapen head in this one. After two periods of hockey, played at a tempo to make a Sens fan's special places all moist and excited, we came out flat for the third. For now, we'll cut you some slack guys. We know that there are far to many things to fix before the stench of the previous administration is finally eradicated from the room, but if you could put this one somewhere on the "to do" list, it would be appreciated. Remember, the gallows haven't been completely put away yet.

Pithy Observation of Questionable Importance:

At one point in the second, The Captain disappeared for about five minutes, a fact noted several times by an increasingly alarmed booth. When they finally threw it down to Eliot Friedman to find out what the hell was going on, Eliot informed a breathless and rather worried fan base about the state of the entire franchise with one word: "Maintenance" Okay then. I'll be sure to issue a press release before I take my car in for its next oil change.

Creamy Middle:

Picking up where we left off on Thursday, the light at the end of the tunnel just got a little brighter. If anybody had any doubts whether axing Teflon was a mistake, they should be gone after today. And while we're still a long...LONG way from regaining the form that got us to the Final, we can at least take comfort in the fact that The Bryan won't let us go down without a fight.

Up Next and Behind Enemy Lines:

On the road, Anaheim, San Jose and Los Annng-ga-lese. Here there be monsters! As the Sens take off on their annual odyssey to the edge of the known world, I am reminded by Her Majesty that my five a.m. wake up call means that for all intents and purposes, this team doesn't exist for the next week. But be sure to check out Mike Chen, Battle of California, and Purple Crushed Velvet for all of your update-y goodness. I'll be around from time to time, if only to keep my page hits up.

Update: Just fixing some typos and cleaning up the dead link. Nothing to see here. Move along.

Sens 4, Happy Feets 3(OT): Message To Heirs Presumptive -- Get The Hell Off My Lawn!

Finally. We finally showed some intestinal fortitude, some gumption, some...balls. It wasn't pretty, but we did it. We peered into the dark abyss that is fifth place in the Eastern Conference, and with one voice, exclaimed unto the heavens and to the omnipotent and benevolent Hockey Gods gathered therein "Fuck this shit".

The Highs:

• Zoinks! Score one for those meddling kids: Despite the CBC's willful ignorance (The Captain? First Star? Really? Were we watching the same game?) Schubeedoo was clearly the best Senator on the ice. And by "best" I mean "the only one who actually looked like he gave a crap for the first thirty minutes of the game". He skated hard, finished his checks and did his best to be a royal pain in the ass for Malkin and Co. In short, he's everything I should want in a son. However, a small word of advice Christoph, if I may. In future, please refrain from physically striking an opponent when said opponent is two feet off the boards and has his back turned to you. It's not very nice. Unless, of course, said opponent happens to be wearing blue and white...and the number 16. Then by all means...Giddy. Up.

• Wow. That must have been one hell of a slump buster: Okay Heater, you can loosen that grip now. You got your deuce. And only 20 to go until you hit your third consecutive 50! Isn't that great? Oh, and thanks for playing some pretty solid D too. Maybe you can pull Jason aside and have a little...um...talk. 'Cause that would be great!

The Lows:

• Where's Dave Hodge when you need him?: While it wasn't exactly on the level of preempting an overtime game so Auntie Mabel in Moose Jaw wouldn't miss Peter Mansbridge and the report on wheat futures, I'm just a little peeved by CBC's decision to stick with the extra ends of the Scotties' semi final (that's the Canadian Women's Curling Championship to all of my American friends. The Dave Hodge thing? It's a long story) rather than cut to the game, at least in the Ottawa market. In an age where almost everyone has access to multiple feeds of the same channel, the hardcore rock heads could easily have switched to, say, the Halifax feed. Look, I like curling. I do. In fact, I'll make it a point to watch tomorrow's final, even if the women don't wear those sexy sexy kilts anymore. And sure, it was only the first five minutes, but if you've watched any Senators games over the last month or so, those first five minutes are usually the only time you'll actually see them play hockey.

• Even the Deathstar had a fatal weakness: Psssst...Ray. Not sure if you've heard, but teams seem to have figured out how to beat you. Sykora certainly went to school on you. A word of advice? If your blocker hand is bothering you, and the bad goals along with the multiple completely butchered attempts at handling the puck would seem to indicate it is, now is the time to tell Teflon, and not...say April...when your tough guy act could cost us a Cup. Again.

Creamy Middle:

This game was like getting laid on Prom night. Without a lot of luck (and in my case, a whole lot of booze), it wasn't going to happen. While we should be ecstatic about coming back from 3 goals down, we should also feel slightly dirty about how it happened. Not that I'm turning my nose at the two points (two points that keep us in first place, at least for another day) , but I'm not going to fly into orgasmic flights of fancy and declare an end to our now three month old "slump". We still have too many passengers (Fish...man. I'm hurting here dude) or beat up superstars (Alfie? How's that hip buddy?) to feel all that confident going into the stretch run. Then again, The Deadline is Tuesday. Everything could change between now and then. Apropos of nothing, what's Swedish for "Welcome to Ottawa, former Toronto Maple Leaf captain?"

Up Next:

Well, looky here. The Formerly Evil But Now Mostly Pathetic Empire that is Leafs Nation makes a visit to the Bank on Monday night. It just so happens to be the night before the trade deadline. This may be a first, sports fans. Sportsnet will pay more attention to who isn't playing than to who is. Okay...it wouldn't be the first time. But a least this time, it's on purpose.

Behind Enemy Lines: Round up the usual suspects. I'll be hanging out on the BoO game thread, doing my bit to rile Muppet into a consonant and ampersand heavy rant, but I'd also like to point you to Bitter Leaf Fan. Just the right amount of hope mixed with exasperation and futility, don't you think?