Reality Can Go F#%$ Itself

Ten Ways to Cope with the 3-0 Series Deficit to San Jose

1. Drink. Copiously. With any luck, you'll black out and not wake up until sometime in late September.
2. Find a gas oven. Extinguish the pilot light. Turn it on, open the door, insert your head. Breathe deeply.
3. Use your free time to sew a set of 4 small voodoo dolls in the shape of NHL on-ice officials. Practice creative pin-sticking.
4. Go to your favorite seafood restaurant. Order shark. Wield your knife with gusto.
5. Dye all your clothes black. Wear only jewelry made of onyx and jet. Demand that the entire nation don black armbands. Begin speaking only in the royal we. Become fat and embittered.
6. Become fat and embittered. At least getting there would be fun. I suggest the use of cupcakes. And maybe Cheetos.
7. Sleep. Hell, hibernate. Not only is napping fundamental, it's also the key to a youthful appearance! And it will leave you well-rested for the next season.
8. Displace your rage and disappointment with humor. Write a blog post about ridiculous ways to take your mind off the thing I'm trying to take my mind off of by writing this blog post.
9. Go to Amazon.com. Buy the boxed set listed here. Every time a game is scheduled to play on broadcast television, pick the corresponding game from the DVD and watch that instead. Pause it at the breaks where the commercials originally aired and watch live commercials for that authentic feel. 
10. Look on the bright side and contemplate the fact that this season has caused pain and misery from the first puck drop to the last. And it feels like we've lost the faceoff on all of them.  So why was it that we want it to keep going?

(Un)Fortunately, the season is not over yet. We still have one more chance to prolong the pain and extend the suffering. We can by postpone the sweep and take game 4, so that we can at least say we won one game in memory of our dignity. I just can't decide if that's what I want to happen.

Tag Team Hockey: DET vs SJS AND NHL

If there's one thing I'm learning in this year's playoffs, it's that I have a hard time writing a coherent and intelligent post when there are flames shooting out my nostrils and there's a billowing red haze in front of my eyes.

I am tempted, almost beyond endurance, to use this post to spew a a steaming vat of vitriolic bile and hate all over the internet. To comment, as it were, on the fact that the officiating in tonight's 4-3 loss against the San Jose Sharks was so one-sided that the entire 60 minutes was never more even than 9-on-5. The thing that stops me is that very few of the calls against the Sharks (what few there were) came with any more justification than the ones against the Wings. Which means that my problem is not that I'm a Red Wings Conspiracy Theorist (though I am) but that the NHL's officiating is a joke.

Incompetence pisses me off. It pisses off most people in my experience. Why does the NHL not think it pisses off hockey fans? Come to think of it, why doesn't it piss off the NHL itself? Shouldn't they have a little more pride than that? Shouldn't they have a little more respect for the sport they supposedly represent?

Blargh. I could go on all night. I could dissect each of the atrocious calls (which far outnumbered the reasonable ones) but there's no point to it. The game is over, and if the Red Wings intend to make it to the WCFs, they need to take from it one very specific lesson: In order to win, we have to beat the Sharks AND the referees, which means we have to play hard, clean and consistently. We need to make smart decisions, responsible passes, and check as if our lives depended on it. Because they do. And most of all, we need to SHOOT THE PUCK.

The Wings are more than capable of winning this series. So let's put this behind us and move on. Head back to the Joe and remember that even when we're playing against two opponents in one game, we have what it takes to win. Now let's prove it.

Don't Worry, Be Happy

Yes, it has been confirmed by our own Khan(!) that Jiri "Happy" Hudler will be back wearing the Winged Wheel next season. I have mixed feelings about this. Yes, it will be good to have his skill and scoring back on the roster, but I happen to be a champion grudge holder, especially irrational grudges, and a part of me will never be able to fully forgive Hudler for deserting us to go to the KHL in search of the filthy lucre. Maybe it's because I know I'll never make that kind of money, but when you've been offered almost $3 mil to stay with the greatest hockey franchise in the history of the game, why would $2 mil more tempt you to go play in a league only die hard hockey fans (and maybe a few Russians) even know exist? I mean, $3mil would be plenty for me, but then I'm not the greedy sort. Also, there's the significant concern over what Hudler's cap hit will mean for a team with a lot of budget juggling already on the boards. I want Hudler back, but I don't want to lose Eaves. Or Miller. Or really most anyone else. Wait, maybe I am greedy...

Anyway, Huds will be back next season, but in the meantime, we have the rest of the playoffs on our plate to keep our minds and the Wings' bodies occupied. It's only Round 2, after all, and in spite of last night's 4-3 loss to San Jose, I remain bafflingly optimistic regarding our ability to prevail and make it through to Round 3. Indeed, there seems to be an odd mood of optimism around the blogosphere this morning. No one is taking the loss too hard, perhaps because so many of us realize that the 3-goal shitstravaganza that put the Sharks over the top is one that will not be repeated. We all know how James Howard reacts to that kind of performance, and it's not by going soft in the next meeting. Plus, for the majority of the game, the Wings looked pretty good out there. We competed, we skated, we played fairly responsibly, and the Mule even started to look like the Mule again. With those factors on our side, optimism should be the least of what we're feeling.

From Sand to Sharks

So here's the thing: the Sharks don't scare me, and that scares me a little.

I was firmly against facing Phoenix in Round 1. I thought they were too lean and hungry, too young, and had "Cinderella Story" written too large all over their damned faces. No, I wanted San Jose back then. Let's take the Sushi, I thought to myself, so we can ease into the playoffs while they complete their inevitable end of season choke-fest. Perfect.

Only, we got the Dogs and they proved just as hungry as I expected. Not only that, but they had Bryzgalov, who despite all of my I'm-a-mediocre-hockey-blogger-aren't-I-cool-and-clever arrogance, intimidated me. No matter what Anaheim thought, the man's got some game. He can bring it, and he brought it all too often against the Wings. And to top all that off, the Wings brought very little for a couple of those games. The third in particular gave me such bad flashbacks to November that I started craving cranberry sauce like a goddamned speedball. It took game 7 to bring out the kind of playoff Red Wings play that we're all used to seeing. But bring it they did and when I looked at the team that stomped the Coyotes on Tuesday night, I looked on the shadow of the Sharks and I laughed. Like this:  Muahahahahhahahhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Our regular season record against SJ speaks for itself. They're a good team, but we know them and we know how to beat them, so what is there to worry about? Not worrying.

I know I'm not alone in making the observation that the Wings seem to be at their most vulnerable when they're up against teams that don't worry them. For fuck's sake, just look at our record against Edmonton (Edmonton, for the sake of little baby monkeys!) this season for evidence. Now maybe the Wings take the Sharks more seriously than I do, and if so, all to the good. I mean, they do have a strong coach in Todd McClellan, and they avoided the doom of the President's Trophy this season, so they have that going for them. Plus, I've heard rumors that there are a couple of pretty decent hockey players on their roster. So, there might be hope yet. I suppose it all depends on which Red Wings show up: the team with R1 G7 Zetterberg, Datsyuk, and Lidstrom, or the one populated entirely by the pod-people stand-ins dressed in the uniforms of Franzen, Cleary, Helm, and Kronwall.

Thought now that I think about it, I'd take an under-performing version of any of those 4 over a lot of other bodies in the NHL. Even without spectacular efforts from those guys, we've still managed to pull out more than one pretty fantastic hockey game. Imagine what can happen if they all show up tonight...

What? I Walked Into A Door, Okay?

I'm fine. No, really. It doesn't hurt at all.

What? Don't be silly. I already told you, I walked into a door. My team would never hurt me. They love me just as much as I love them.

Now you're just being a jerk. I told you I broke my arm when I tripped over that soccer ball in the parking lot. It was my own fault for being clumsy. Besides, that was back in November, and it healed up just fine.

I wish you wouldn't talk about the Red Wings like that. They did not give me these two black eyes. It was the DOOR.

What? The bloody lip? That was...um...oh, yeah. That- that was the dog. I scared him when he was sitting on my lap while I watched the game and he jumped up and hit me in the mouth with his head. It was an accident. The Red Wings had nothing to do with it. I already told you, they would never hurt me.

Oh, stop harping on yesterday. You weren't there. You don't know how I got these cuts and bruises. They happened just like I told you. You know what your problem is? You're jealous. You've never liked the Wings because you can't stand that they chose me to be their fan instead of you. You got stuck with those stupid Coyotes and you're bitter, so you're trying to make trouble between me and the Wings.

Well, it won't work. I love them, and they love me. Sure, sometimes we disagree and sometimes someone might accidentally get hurt, but they don't mean it. They just have a lot of stress to deal with sometimes. But most of the time they're the best hockey team a girl could ever want. I mean, look at all the sweet, thoughtful, loving things they've done for me. Haven't they brought me 11 Stanley Cups? Haven't they reached the playoffs for me 19 times in a row? Haven't they brought home countless Norris and Lady Byng and Selke trophies? Haven't they created a dynasty for me that is one of the most enduring and celebrated in all of hockey? Doesn't that prove how much they love me? I certainly think it does.

So we had a little argument on Sunday, so what? It was probably my fault. I pushed them too hard. I asked too much. I knew Phoenix would be a challenge, but I had to go and mouth off about how they just had to finish off the series at home and how I didn't want to have to deal with a game 7 back in the desert. I was being selfish. I was only thinking of what I wanted, not about their needs. I deserved whatever I got. They had every right to teach me a lesson.

I mean, you know, if that's what had happened. But it didn't. The Red Wings would never deliberately hurt me. I told you; I walked into a door.

Who Cares? ME, DAMMIT!

If I were the insecure, obsessive, neurotic type of hockey blogger, I might wonder why I bother to keep up this charade. After all, there are like 176 quadrillion Red Wings blogs out there that make mine look like the mold that grows on dog crap out here in the Pacific Northwest. I  might question my purpose, my calling, my avocation, if you will. (Hold me.)

But then we're treated to 1 of 2 things: either a super-phenomenal top-notch ass stomping hosted by the greatest hockey club ever to lace up the skates, or a game like we got last night, and suddenly everything becomes clear. I have to blog, because if I didn't, I would be mainlining heroin (or possibly guacamole, thanks TDD, or possibly even guacamole-flavored heroin. How metal would that be?), kicking puppies, beating small children, sexually assaulting livestock, and setting forest fires. So really, when you think about it, the world owes me a big ol' "thank you, ma'am" for the fact that I vent my rage, frustration, bitterness, elation, exuberance, and fuckyeah this way.

There was not much fuckyeah last night. I can't deny that I had a bad feeling going in. After all, as The Triple Deke pointed out (because clearly they actually wrote this post, only their version was funnier. Obviously.), afternoon games have not gone well this season for the Wings. Beyond that, however, traveling back from Phoenix after a 10 PM start, having one day, and then playing a 3 PM game is a sure way to spell reaming in Hockeytown. My tin foil hat allows me to understand that this is just the NHL scheduling office's way of getting their shits and giggles at our expense. Today, though, we get an actual day of rest before tomorrow's rematch.

The only question left is whether the Wings will use this day to muster up the energy to care whether or not they win. I do. I know at least 19 other non-professional athletes who care as well. Maybe we can send some of that to Detroit? I'll gladly pay the postage.

Of course, I'm not sure the team would bother to open the package. Right now, it looks as if that might be too much trouble.

You've Got to Want It

And when I say that, I'm not talking about wanting it the way Bertuz-hnikov wants to be a prima ballerina, or the way Pens#87 wants a Playskool Little People Animal Sounds Farm set for his birthday...

 ...or the way Herm wants to go to Helm's house when he dies, or even the way the Scrappy Octopus wants to be Homer's BFF.

I'm talking want. Deep, grinding, obsessive, teeth-clenching, gut-wrenching need. And once you have that, it's still not enough, because you also have to work for it. You have to work every second of every shift of every game. You have to demonstrate that you're willing to skate like your life depends on it and shoot like the buzzer's about to ring and hit like the refs aren't looking. And you have to do it not just after the losses but for every game for every series until you get to rip Lord Stanley's Cup out of the hands of the Midget Unbeliever Over(-weening) Lord (High Idiot) of the NHL.

So it would be great if the Red Wings would remember that and start looking like they understand it. Thanks.

Still, I predicted (in my head, where I also foresaw the inevitable rise of intelligent, programmable breast implants. Just wait for it) the Wings would take the series in 6 games. Tonight we gave Phoenix their second. Time to start wrapping thigs up.

Let's Go Red Wings!!!