WELL.

That was unique. The Hurricanes came out strong in the first period (though they were outshot), but in the second there was some hedge witchery going on because the Hurricanes just could not get anything done. Ray Whitney unleashed a bomb of a shot that was apparently aimed somewhere out around Hoke County, because it wasn’t going anywhere near the net. Paul Ranger’s goal was so sneaky that I had to backstep the DVR a few times just to make sure I even saw what happened. And Vinny Prospal? Man. He and Marty St. Louis pulled off the most beautiful fakejob that I’ve ever seen, with MSL luring Cam Ward out of the net and then immediately dishing the puck to Prospal–who of course celebrated like he’d just won the Stanley Cup.

Lecavalier, I tellya. He’s got some kind of charm on him. I’m convinced of it.

The second period ended with Chad LaRose yapping at all and sundry, Tim Gleason challenging Chris Gratton to pick on somebody his own size (i.e. Timmay instead of Rosie), and the Hurricanes down 3-1 with their Southeast Division lead in danger of getting even smaller.

Spirits were low at the RBC Center, until somebody bribed John Tortorella’s pet strega to look the other way while the Hurricanes did a little hedge witchery of their own. Ray Whitney started the comeback with a beautiful blocker-side-high shot that left some third-degree burns on Johan Holmqvist’s ear, and the charge was on.

Newly-shorn Justin Williams tied things up, and I sat there trying to assert Nod air superiority over a GDI-lackey friend of mine while listening to ChuckandtheletterK and hollering “DO NOT BLOW THIS, GENTLEMEN” at my radio.

Enter Glen Wesley, the Tribal Elder. He scored, and Tortorella did this number:

A great ending to what threatened to be another asstacular game. I’ll take it. Better recap up at red and black hockey.