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?

Pens 4, Sens 3 (OT) – Of Gerbers, Spezzas and The Vortex of Suck

Well, that was…nauseating. From the time the season ended last April, through the hiring of Coach Craig, right up until yesterday, the word “accountability” was uttered by someone in the organization 8,639,419 times. I know. I counted. Behold, the results. One thing I know for certain…Switzerland owes us one hell of an apology.

Pithy Observations of Questionable Importance

• Anyone else half expecting to see the crowd leave the building right after the national anthems only to have Sens P.A. screamer, Stuntman Stu tell them that contrary to what they may be accustomed to, we sing the songs before the game? Anyone? Just me? Okay then.
  

• Nice touch, trotting out Mats Sundin for the ceremonial face-off. It would have been nicer if he had grabbed the microphone and announced that he finally made up his goddamned mind.
  

The Highs

• Any chance of changing the draft age to 25?: After a shaky 1^st, the Verms, Kelly, Winchester line got stronger as the game went on, with Jesse in particular doing his best to get on my Christmas card list with some solid hits, a few nifty passes and good grunt work along the boards. Not bad for your first game kid. Next step? The net’s over there.

• Excuse me, Sid. You dropped your Jarkko: Three blocked shots, hard to the net, quality shifts on the PK and the general pain in the assery we’re paying you for. Yep. Keep it up, and you and I will get along just fine.

The Lows

• Might want to take another look at those matchups, there Craig: Look Coach, I’m all for throwing the kids into the fire (metaphorically speaking) to see how they’ll do. After all, how else are they going to improve, right? But…um…the next time you see your defensive pairing of Lee and Picard getting eaten alive by the other team’s first line, it may be wise to avoid doing it again. And again. And again… Just sayin’.

• So…Alex. Think you’ll be good to go tomorrow?: Is it your eyes Martin? Is that the problem? Is that why you were ridiculously late reacting to just about everything that came your way? Were your contacts bothering you, maybe? Yeah, that had to be it. Because I can’t possibly think of any other reason why, other than not being ready or, perhaps not having your poor little psyched coddled sufficiently to give you that warm fuzzy glow, you’d let three absolutely, ridiculously BRUTAL goals (including the winner, we should add) blow past you. Yeah. Must be the eyes.

• We now pause for a special message to Mike Milbury: Zip it, jackass. Ever wonder why you’re sitting in a studio Mike? Spending the first intermission screaming hysterically about how Ottawa needs to pick up Khabibulin is but a small example of that reason. Continuing to do it during the second intermission, Kelly Hrudy’s kind attempts to change the subject notwithstanding, is another. Other small signs would include running a once proud franchise into a hole so deep, they have yet to recover and giving Alexei Yashin ten million dollars. Yes, there is a reason you’re sitting in a studio Mike. You’re a congenital fucking idiot.

• If he played baseball, he would be a god: Since I figured you wouldn’t have time, what with all the sucking, I kept track for you Jason. You went 5-for-6. Five out of the six blind, dumb-as-a-bag-of-rocks, infuriating, across the ice, through the middle, from behind the fucking red line passes you tried today either ended up on the stick of someone in a white jersey or at the opposite end of the rink. Funny, I could have sworn I heard you telling the press just last week about how hard you were going to work at being more responsible with the puck. Good thing for you then, that your ever so clever attempt at a one-on-four in OT which resulted in Kennedy’s winning goal will likely distract the clamouring masses from that little contradiction.

The Creamy Middle:

Hot damn, I love spring! Mild temperatures, lovely foliage, BBQs, and….what? Waddya mean this isn’t April?? Really? This is a new season? Crap.

Up Next:

Same bad time, same bad channel, same funny looking building. Ever have one of those recurring nightmares where no matter how much you do differently, you still end up buck naked at centre ice while 20,000 people point, laugh and throw little packets of mayo at you? Me too! Terrible, isn't it? That's what playing Pittsburgh is starting to feel like.

Behind Enemy Lines:

Please say hello to FrankD over at PensBurgh. During the...unpleasantness...last April, and despite having every reason to gloat and dance over our broken corpses, Frank went out of his way to extend the hand of friendship. True, it may have been more out of pity than anything else, but I still appreciated it. And besides, I'm not sure I'm quite ready to deal with the unholy whordes from The Pensblog.

Marc-Andre's Ass Would Like To Congratulate The Detroit Red Wings!

I can think of a few worse feelings than losing a Stanley Cup on an own-goal. Like...say...getting one's testes caught in a band saw. Or coaching the Laughs.

But really, MAF's posterior exploits aside, the Wings have deserved this win since the first week of October. So congrats Detroit! And thanks! Universal Order has been restored.

Now we can finally start talking about the draft.

Stanly Cup Finals: You Heard It Here Last!

The year was 2003. The Human Genome Project was completed, thus solving the mystery, once and for all, surrounding the exact genetic mutation responsible for Leaf Nation. The Iraq war was declared "over", thus compounding the mystery of the exact genetic mutation responsible for George W. Bush.

It was the last year that featured two American teams in the Stanley Cup Final, with New Jersey defeating the (then Mighty) Ducks in seven snooze-a-rific games, thus ushering in an era of defensive hockey so stifled and boring, the entire League would be forced to close shop for a year out of shame and self-loathing.

It was also the last year anyone in the Great USofA gave a rat's ass about the Stanley Cup. Until now. Detroit vs. Pittsburgh. Wily Veterans vs. The Wave of the Future. Original Six vs. Hockey Jesus (© MYFO). Remember, Herr Kommisar Bettman. If it lasts for more than four hours, you really should see a doctor.

So who's going to win? Join me now for my in-depth analysis of this titanic struggle, as I compare relative strengths and weakness based on rock solid facts and a complete algorithmic study of all possible statistics, while also peering into the very souls of the coaching staff in order to determine, with an accuracy verging on witchcraft, the inevitable outcome!

Um...yeah. Just kidding. Wings in 7.

Why? Because it's too soon, dammit! You are the '83 Oilers to their Islanders. A bunch of kids with abundant talent and a future absolutely sick with promise, but who first needs to lose in order to figure out how to win. So, sorry Pittsburgh. No Cup for you this year. It will happen, of that I have no doubt. But at least this way, I can pretend for another year that the Senators will contend for an Eastern Title again in my lifetime. And you wouldn't want to take that away from me, would you??

You would? Fine. Screw you too. Go Wings!