See You Next Week, Bastards.

Um...o.k. Game is over. Pens win. I'm okay. I can deal... So, what have we learned kids?

Well, we've learned that Bic pens explode in a spectacular fashion when hurled against a wall.

We've learned that the Gary Roberts' Ottawa head fuck has followed him from Toronto.

We've learned that Colby Armstrong's secret past as (please God I hope so) a pedophilic clown will be exposed before Wednesday because that little shit is firmly planted in the Senators collective heads.

We've learned that an entire page of glib and gleeful notes (including the word "BOOBIES!") which were to be posted here for your enjoyment, can be delayed until tomorrow while I get my head around losing home ice advantage to a team that, between you and I, scares the crap out of me.

We've learned that the Habs/Leafs game on Saturday night will be HUGE. And by HUGE, I mean "Canada closed 7:00pm" large.

We haven't yet learned, but we will, where the most fervent Penguins fan sites are, and how best to tease them into insanity before the playoffs start next Wednesday.

And we'll learn to deal with tonight...and KNOW that it is absolutely NOT EXACTLY THE FUCKING SAME WAY THE SENATORS HAVE PLAYED FOR THE LAST 10 PLAYOFF YEARS. Yeah...we'll learn to deal. See you tomorrow.

Go Time Continued -- Notes from the 2nd Period

• Alright...it's official. Colby Armstrong is a dick. First the run on Emery in the 1st. Then, drawing an interference penalty on Scheafer by flopping like a harpooned trout. Then a blown breakaway (nice hands jerk). Now a high stick. There's an apt saying in French: Il y a une face a bucher d'dans. Literally translated: His face is built for pounding. Coloquial? "Mr. McGratten? Paging Brian McGratten".

• 4:20 -- HEATLY!! Goal #49!!!

• 6:25 -- first "This game is getting SPICY!" from Dean Brown. We drink!

• Chris Neil SMOKES Malkin then Whitney CREAMED by Dean McAmmond. Message? Not in Our House Bitch! Collin Campbell tsk-tsks quietly to himself.

• Sens are really gettin' into Fleury's kitchen. My, my, but the young man does rattle, doesn't he?

• Oh look! Leafs are losing!

• Oh look! Habs are losing too!

• Period is over, game tied 2-2. Still hate the Penguins. Roberts and Armstrong are still douches.

What's my wonderful, awful idea? Well, in a nutshell, and to quote Mel Gibson before his drunken anti-semetic ranting days (or at least before those days became public knowledge), I want to pick a fight. How is that going to happen?? I have some idea. Will I have a better idea after the 3rd? I certainly hope so. Do I curse the soul of Donald Rumsfeld for making the habit of asking yourself rhetorical questions and then answering them a way to stall for time in the face of a hostile audience the norm in a sound-bite world? You bet your ass I do!

Why Yes, Now That You Mention It. I Do Believe It IS Go Time.

I wasn't going to do this tonight, I really wasn't. I had settled in to watch the Ottawa/Pittsburgh game with nothing but sugarplums and easter bunnies dancing in my head. First evening of a 4 day week-end. I had the beer. I had the snacks. I had the mellow. Honestly, I did.

I didn't expect to hate the Penguins as quickly as I have come to hate the Penguins. They seemed like such a nice group of young men, well Gary Roberts notwithstanding -- LEAFS SUCK!! (um, sorry, force of habit. More of a reflex really).

Anyway, they did seem nice, if a little immature. The teams would play tonight, the Senators would win, the first round of the playoffs would therefore be set and over the next three weeks, the Senators would kindly, yet sternly school the youngsters from the Steel City on playoff pain and disappointment in say...5 games. Sorry lads, nothing personal you understand. We have bigger things to do, better goalies to fry. Better luck next time, wot, wot, and firm, respectful handshakes all around.

Well all of that was before tonight's 1st period. Before Colby Armstrong attempted to take Emery's spleen out with a blatant charge. Before Christian Ruutu goaded Jason Spezza (Spezza!!) into 7 minutes of penalties with a flying elbow to the head in the corner, then dropping like the European soccer pussy he is when Spez bopped him with a well deserved shot to the schnozz. Before Snivelling Sydney Crosby gave Christoph Schubert a (unpenalized) cross-check to the kidneys after Schubert happened to touch His Tightness after a whistle. Oh yes, that was before all of that.

We are now about to go into the second period. I now officially hate the Pittsburgh Penguins. Messages will continue to be sent. Scores will be kept, and numbers will be taken. I will be back after the 2nd. I have an idea. An AWFUL idea. A WONDERFUL AWFUL idea.

More Evidence Gary Bettman Is A Crack Head

Remember that “deal” with NBC the NHL signed right after the lockout? You know, the one where no actual money changed hands because after being treated like a syphilitic whore by ESPN and its slightly less-evil Mini-Me-esque offspring ESPN2 the League had to beg pretty-pretty-please with chocolate and a cherry to get on a U.S. network? And then after signing the “deal” NBC went and dumped most of the games on its specialty cable channel Outdoor Life Network, that at the time had about 27 subscribers, most of whom had never seen anyone do anything with ice but put it in drinks, and who only signed up to see which hot chick would crack up first during Eco Challenge? And then OLN followed the advice of three marketing cockroaches it found in the staff lunchroom and changed its name to Versus thus losing 24 of those subscribers? And then Bettman looked upon all that he had wroth and declared it good? Remember that one? No? Me neither.

So this caught our eye today through Deadspin (I know. I said no more Deadspin, but what can I say…I’m a sucker for a witty face…and for the record, Lindsay Lohan played no part in this. Nope. None at all.)

We are very disappointed that Charter customers may lose VERSUS. We hope to resolve this carriage issue with Charter as soon as possible so that NHL fans don't miss any playoffs action, PBR fans don't miss any events in the coming weeks and so that field sports viewers don't miss out on the best field sports programming available. We hope for a quick resolution so that VERSUS viewers can continue to enjoy their favorite VERSUS programming. To contact Charter call: 888-438-2427.

Putting aside, for the moment, the fact that we have NO idea what the hell “so that field sports viewers don't miss out on the best field sports programming available” means (it’s a “rink” you idiots. “Arena” will even do in a pinch), we continue to be baffled by the League’s almost dogmatic and most certainly irrational belief that if only the great American unwashed would watch JUST ONE GAME regardless of the third-world quality of the production, they would be absolutely enthralled with the Greatest Game On Ice and immediately begin throwing money away on jerseys and foam fingers and those stupid PuckHead hats and calling their first born Sydney.

Um…not so much, it would seem. Gary Bettman: Driving satellite channels off the air since 1994.

Yeah, About That Versus Deal [Deadspin]

Run Over My Mother With A Golf Cart For Hideously Unfashionable Men’s Apparel? You’re Damn Straight I would!

I love golf. There. I’ve said it. There is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of in that (Ed.—Um…except that this blog is supposed to be about hockey. Auth.—Shut up. It’s my blog and it will be about any damn thing I want it to be about. Besides, it’s not like I’m taking a chance on offending my vast audience. It’s GOLF. And I have no audience).

I love everything about it. The etiquette, the snappy clothes (Plus-Fours do attract the ladies), the fact that you can still call it “exercise” while buying your fourth can of Blue from the hottie on the beverage cart. I love that players call fouls on themselves, which, it can be said, is a rather…er…rare…occurrence in any other sport (Barry Bonds to Bud Selig: “Yeah, I’m giving up all of my home runs because I’m a cheat, and an asshole and a disgrace to the game. Now I'm off to a Tibetan monastary.") I love to watch it, and I love to play it, even when it breaks my heart, as it inevitably must.

Which brings us naturally to…The Masters. By far, The Masters is my favourite major, and not just because you can repeatedly use the word “Hootie” in polite conversation. I have to admit, I’m a sucker for all that grand tradition (well, the Azaleas-Amen Corner-Eisenhower Pine kind of tradition, not the other Old Rich White Guys Buying Slaves To Run The Clubhouse kind). Why, I’ll bet if you walked 50 feet in any direction into the woods behind the 12th green, you’d see a plaque that says “Bobby Jones Peed Here”. Seriously. I bet you would.

I love the fact that Hootie (see? Try it. It’s fun!) held his ground against Martha Burk and told her to go play in her own sandbox, this one was boys only! And I especially loved it when Hootie (WHEEE!!) took his golf ball and went home after advertisers rebuked him for telling Martha to get bent. Don’t like it? We’re now commercial free! Huzzah!

So I would encourage everyone to relax and raise a beverage to Hootie this weekend and take in at least a few minutes of the serene glory that is Augusta National “televised for 54 out of every 60 minutes”. And please be rest assured that the urge you’ll have to jam that tinkling piano up Jim Nantz’s rectum just to shut that saccharine filled hole in his face will eventually go away. Promise.

Um…So North Korea Punches Iran In The Face. Remind Me Again Who I'm Supposed To Cheer For?

I cannot stand Sean Avery. I cannot stand players who play LIKE Sean Avery. Hell, I can barely tolerate players who play WITH Sean Avery, my propensity to assign guilt by association being that strong. He is the epitome of everything I consider wrong in a hockey playing primate.

You’ll often hear some homer sportscaster (Ed. – Bob Cole on line 1…) say something like “He really gets under the other team’s skin” or, even worse, “He’s the type of player every team hates to play against but would love to have!” to which I always add “Yeah. If only to be able to hold him down after practice and cave in his skull with a shovel”. You know the type I’m talking about…a big mouth, a spear here, a rabbit punch there, wail like a colicky baby any time someone touches you, then run behind your team’s tough guys if the other team comes looking for some payback. (Ed. – Claude Lemieux on line 2)

Well, I must say that I dislike Sean Avery slightly less today. Why? Why for this, of course. And the fact that as much as I don’t like Avery, I absolutely LOATHE Darcy Tucker…to an extent that borders on the pathological. Seriously. So in a scrap between the two of them? Let’s all just say “Go Great Leader!!” take a shower and be done with it.

Pest Patrol [Hockeyfights.com]

The Devils Are In 1st?? Playoffs a week away?? Well, That's Gotta Mean It’s FIRIN’ TIME!!

Lou Lamoriello is generally regarded as a pretty smart guy. How smart one needs to be to know that you’ve pretty much got one half of a Stanley Cub in your pocket by keeping Martin Brodeur in enough booze and hookers to keep him happy (‘cause that’s pretty much the only thing that would keep me in Jersey for 13 years. Well that and impressive parking lot parades…) is a matter for some debate. That said they’ve been rather successful over the last…oh…DECADE…or so…(Ed.- No-no-no 2003 absolutely did NOT happen!!) This year was no different. 102 points, first in the division, second in the East (assuming they can hold off Pittsburgh). Which naturally means, of course that for the second time in seven years, the Devils have fired their head coach with less than two weeks to go in the season.

No reason was given, but there are a lot of rumours floating around this here interweb this afternoon. Coach Julien not getting along with Brodeur is one of them (and the likeliest, one would think), but we’d like to get in on some of the fun, so we’ll start one ourselves. Julien was fired for Breach of Contract, to wit: Refusing to make his daily trip into the bowels of Continental Airlines Arena to feed Scott Steven’s evil twin brother. Not after being accosted by a crazed Jimmy Hoffa, who dumped the bucket of fish heads all over Claude and then touched him in his naughty place. Again.

Devils Fire Julien [TSN.ca]