Oy to the Vey

I've been sleeping a lot lately. TV commercials would have me believe that this is a sign of chronic depression and that I should immediately begin taking a medication that will cause me to become suicidal in order to combat my symptoms, but I know the truth. The Wings are just tiring me the faux* out.

I missed last night's game, since while I spend a ba-jillion dollars on DirecTV and Center Ice, I don't have the "privilege" of watching those games aired on Versus, aka GBVTV (Gary Bettman's Vanity TeleVision). Really, the main reason this ticked me off was because I really wanted to see Mac lose his broadcasting cherry, but it annoyed me to miss the game. At least until I saw the results online. Honestly, I should have known. The Versus Curse means that the Wings must lose any and all games aired on that network, but sometimes I'm a naive little optimist. What can I say?

Missing the game means I really have no right to comment on anyone's play, but when has that ever stopped me? I feel compelled...Nay, I feel morally obligated to echo the observations of so many other, superior, bloggers--Todd Bertuzzi is making Pavel Datsyuk look like an average player, and for that, he must die.

Seriously, I'm a supporter of Uncle Mike for the most part. I think he's doing his job, and making a decent effort at keeping our asses kicked this season in an attempt to get us to realize that we're going to have to WORK for our successes this year. But what the hell was he smoking when he decided to put Bertuzzi on that top line? Because I'm starting to think he nipped it from a private stash normally reserved for NHL referees and people who think Rosby is the next Gretzky.

(Excuse me for a minute. Typing those names so close together just made me throw up in my mouth.)

Bert's gotta move. He's becoming a frickin' millstone around Pasha's neck. I won't go so far as to say he needs to be dropped altogether (I try not to ever be dumb enough to say Kenny Holland could make an actual mistake), because in spite of general idiocy, he has generated some chances and hasn't looked like a stooge in every single minute he's been on the ice. But he needs to come off that line before bloggers like me start staging hang-ins, in which we show up at the games and in a coordinated ballet of synchronized movements, jump off the over-tunnel railings with skate laces tied around our necks. I'd rather see fucking Maltby on that first line, and if that doesn't speak of my desperation, I don't know what would.

Anyway, I know the chances of me getting my wish are slim, but I need to put it out there, on the off chance that the Hockey Gods might be in a benevolent mood.

Hey, a fan can dream.




*If this makes no sense to you, go read this right now. Actually, do that anyway. It's a better blog than this and always will be.