Sweet Tea, Barbecue, and Bodychecks

Bret of the Gimpy Hip appeared on NHL Live yesterday (show is linked here–it’s the April 29th show, Hedi appears at the 19-minute mark).

The things that were discussed (in some sort of order):

1) DWTS – Bret talked about how proud he is of Kristi and how she’s doing and how her background as an athlete has prepared her for the show. He’s trying to enjoy it and have fun, which is cool. Also said that they should find a hockey player to be on the show (my vote goes to Jeremy Roenick–he’s such a media-whore and a showman that I think he’d actually do pretty well).

2) The end of the season and playoffs — Bret talked about how much of a bummer it was to miss after the late-season rally (especially given how Ottawa took that huge nosedive), he sang the praises of Peter Laviolette’s insistence on accountability and his refusal to make or accept excuses, and made special mention (I thought) of how Lavi rallied the troops after the Warchief fell in combat. Among other things, he said (and I quote) “Peter did a great job right down the stretch of making everyone accountable for their job, and consequently we were winning games.” (If JimR fires Lavi that will cause way way way more problems for the team than it would solve. — my personal opinion)

2) 1994 and 2006, trying to repeat as Champs – he talked about playing at the Garden, talked about the 1994 Canucks team, and tied it in to 2006 and how he understood how the Oilers felt after that game because he’d been there before. He also talked about how banged up he was after 2006, and how hard it is to repeat because the long season and long playoffs are so physically and mentally draining.

3) The Southeast — I quote: “Hey, YOU try playing Ovechkin every night! You play against him eight nights a year!”  Bret’s commentary about the Southeast boiled down to him saying that the people that call the Southeast “weak” are full of shit and that they’re way more competitive than people would think (personally, I think that if the rest of the Central gets its act together that Division will wind up becoming the new Southeast). I quote also: “The Southeast Division is not no slouch division.(sic)”  (I winced at the grammar issues.)

4) Miscellany — gushed about his kids, talked about DWTS a little bit more, and general chitchat about the playoffs. Also did not say whether or not he’d retire, though personally I think he should.

Great Leader to take more of a hand in day-to-day running of Hurricanes — N&O

I see nothing good coming of this, to be honest. What’s he going to do, get a team of “advisors” together to tell him how he should run the team?

Actually, that’s a little unfair–unlike Richard Gordon, the Great Leader does know something about hockey, so I don’t think that he’ll be getting tennis players and futbol stars around him to help him run the team into the ground. But this whole thing just has a strong (indeed, distressing) air of Bad Craziness. Not a move (sorry to disappoint you, the 13th of April Movement), but definitely problems.

Every time that Pete Karmanos has meddled (and to me, it’s meddling when an owner gets involved in day-to-day ops like this) in the affairs of the Hurricanes, it has either not gone well OR a bad and distracting situation has just been dragged out even longer than it needed to be (see “Holdout: Primeau, Keith”) because of the man’s tendency to let his temper get the better of him and his equally upsetting (to me) tendency to run his mouth without regard for the wisdom (or lack thereof) of such things. I forsee little if any good coming of this, and that does not make me a happy camper at all. If he were more an easygoing big-picture Ted Leonsis kinda guy, then I wouldn’t have a problem. But PK?  Umm…no.

Colour me the Loyal Opposition…of course, when have I ever pretended to be anything but?

In other news:

Jim Rutherford was named to the NHL’s new goaltender equipment working group, along with fellow GMs Doug Risebrough, Garth Snow, and (of ALL people) Brett Hull.

I can’t be the only one that sees the double-shot of irony in this. I mean, really.

So this morning I pull up the N&O to see if Luke’s come back from his vacation with anything new.

And I see this.

OK, I can see Glen Wesley coming back. But Bret of the Gimpy Hip?  WHY, for the love of Tyr, is he even mentioned?  Dude needs to RETIRE.

As we no doubt have already heard, the Warchief skated with the Hurricanes who were picked for their respective national teams for the World Championships in Quebec City–he’ll be back in time for next season, which is a plus.

Also: Luke comments in Lord Stanley’s Blog about the kick-ass job Versus is doing covering the playoffs–and they are doing a very good job (but Brian Engblom has got to get a new hairdo–the mullet is starting to look rather like a headcrab). Normally I take shots at Versus for the way they cover the NHL, but they’re doing a good job this season.

Now, if only Versus was more widely carried and didn’t show the same 5 or 6 teams over and over again during the regular season….

OK, so.

OK, let me see if I have this right:

Canadiens fans boo another country’s anthem before home games in the playoffs–and have to be told by the PA dude not to do so.

They torch police cars, loot stores, and cause general mayhem after winning the first freaking round.

One of them chucks a beer into the penalty box, to cheers from his seatmates (and nothing was done by Bell Centre staff, from what I saw–except of course to clean the glass off after the game).

Six years ago, several of them tossed ‘nanners and sling racial slurs at a black player after an OT win during the second round–and the rest of that lot claimed that it was really the opposing team’s fans in disguise, just trying to make the Canadiens look bad.

And then of course we have Jack Todd. I’ll stop myself before I go off on that jackass again.

And they have the nerve to call us rednecks?

WE didn’t riot after winning the first round. We didn’t even riot after winning the Finals in 2006. The ONE time I heard some asshat in the stands refer to a black player with a racist epithet, everyone sitting around him threatened to throw the toolbag over the glass so he could call the player that again to his face–and when toolbag demurred, he was told to STFU and stop embarrassing all the rest of us.

I’m sure some Habs troll will show up and say “I won’t be back, but I wanted to say GO HABS and we are more passionate than you are because we do all these things”, but you know what?  Fuck y’all in your ears. I’d rather be classy than “passionate”, if “passionate” means “being on a level with the drunken thugs that invaded the RBC during the 2006 ECF.”

I was cheering for the 10-megaton surface burst in this series (because I have no love for Montreal or Philly), but I may have to rethink my position.

Actually…no. I’m still barracking for the 10MT surface burst.

And the Rangers take on the Pens (and the Sharks throw down with the Stars) in their respective Game 1s tonight. Give ‘em Hell, Harry.

Let me keep this short and sweet:

1) Christobal Huet is not the answer for the Caps. He got pwned on that dribbler of a first Pflyers goal, and he got pwned on the series-winner in the exact same way that Cory Stillman pwned him in 2006.

2) I liked how Ovechkin and Kolzig stayed out to applaud the fans after the handshakes–I didn’t, however, like how the fans just kept their hands in their pockets. C’mon kids, your team went from dead last at Thanksgiving to the third seed in the East, they battled back from being down 3-1….and you can’t even give ‘em a little love?

3) Better luck next year. Except, of course, against the Hurricanes.

On to Round 2. Give ‘em Hell, Harry.

…I’ll be planted in front of the t00b watching the Habs (who SUCK…just sayin’) take on the Bruins in a Game Seven. Why?  Because it’s a Game Seven, and because I want to see the Habs fans’ heads implode if Carey Price can’t steal the game. Either way, it will be a barn-burner.

And I’ll be checking on the score of the Capitals game, to see if they manage to take their series to a seventh game or if they choke it like a chicken (which is what I think will happen).

I suspect that if the Caps pull it out tonight, that moronic little twerp capsfan88 will be back like a bad yeast infection to try trolling it up again.

Meanwhile, over in the Western Conference, everything that has happened before will happen again. And that’s all I’m saying about that.

Yeah, so I watched regulation and half of the first OT in last night’s Caps-Flyers game.

The Caps, barring a miracle, are toast. Pahtoleipä. Труп. Erledigt. You get the picture.
The problem the Caps had last night is best summed up in the following video:

Not penalties per se–but sloppy penalties.

Now, I will freely admit that the penalty that Kimmo Timonen drew on Kozlov in the third was (as Ed Olczyk put it) a wrong call, and the interference call on Eminger in the first was iffy–but That Hasenfratz Putz was working the game, so I expected at least one or two blown calls. But the rest were just sloppiness on the part of the Caps. Two Too Many Men penalties are possibly the most glaring sign of a lack of cohesion on the Capitals’ bench right now. The Caps are in complete disarray right now, Huet is once again showing that he’s not really playoff material, and I expect the Pflyers to close them out on Saturday.

Memo to occasional (not to mention unintelligent and uncreative) troller capsfan88:

Yes, playoffs are fun–but actually winning a series?  That’s even more fun.

Just sayin’.

Caps-Flyers tonight at 7 on Versus, followed by Falmes/Sharks at 10 with Hockey Central sandwiched in between–hopefully they get Manny Legace in studio rather than Rick DiPietro (who, though handsome, has all the personality of wallpaper paste).

TSN will be covering Avs/Wild Game 5 and Ducks/Stars Game 4–damn shame I don’t have Centre Ice.

Samsonov signed for three years: ch.com

This is certainly an interesting deal. Sammy had a bit of a resurgence here after having issues in Montreal, Edmonton, and Chicago, but (to steal a quote from the Good Doctor) how long can he maintain? Honestly, how long can we expect the man to rack the points up?  He’s always been a mite on the streaky side, and I’m seriously thinking that if he gets on a schneid the fans will start screaming for him to be shipped out in the back of a pig truck.

We’ll see. I just hope that neither party in this agreement winds up regretting it.

Tonight I’ll be cleaning my kitchen while the Rangers game is on in the living room. Maybe I’ll get lucky and the Serene Master will get to don the battlegear (and hopefully not have a brainfart or two).

For those who have been living under a rock, here’s the videotape:

If you don’t want to watch the video: Sean Avery decided to camp in front of Martin Brodeur–FACING the guy, with his back to the play, and do this psychotic little dance in an attempt to screen Brodeur while the Rangers were on a 5-on-3.

It, like the Babylon Project, failed. Chris Drury even had to skate up to him during the freaking play and tell him “STICK DOWN”–and when your captain does the equivalent of tell you “You’re doing it wrong”, that is saying something.

So on Monday, the NHL issued the following statement:

NEW YORK/TORONTO (April 14, 2008) — National Hockey League Senior Executive Vice President and Director of Hockey Operations Colin Campbell today issued the following advisory on the interpretation of Rule 75 – Unsportsmanlike Conduct: “An unsportsmanlike conduct minor penalty (Rule 75) will be interpreted and applied, effective immediately, to a situation when an offensive player positions himself facing the opposition goaltender and engages in actions such as waving his arms or stick in front of the goaltender’s face, for the purpose of improperly interfering with and/or distracting the goaltender as opposed to  positioning himself to try to make a play.”

Predictably, a vocal handful of Rangers fans are crying that the League made this announcement specifically to protect Martin Brodeur (or as one fuckhead on X Random Messageboard calls him, “Brodiva”).

My comment to that, of course, is: Bullshit.

What Avery did went way beyond creative. It went to clear to the “what the fucking fuck were you thinking, you stupid fucking fuckhead?” end of the spectrum. I mean, really. There is a point where you have to admit that something a member of your team did is indefensible, and that point was reached Sunday night with Sean Avery’s egregiously fuckheaded display of unmitigated fucktardery.

Damn, think I dropped enough variations on the F-bomb there?

Anyway. My point remains: Rangers fans can spin this any way they want to. They can cry and whine and hop on the martyr bus all day if they want to. I don’t care. Avery’s little shenanigans on Sunday have zero place in the game, they go way beyond agitation, and when even Don Cherry (who normally loves you) calls you a “jerk”?

That is saying something right there. Maybe my boy Malik will beat his dumb ass down in practice again. I’d love to see that.

Let’s go to the videotape:

As we see here, Patrick Thoresen took a slapshot to the neuticles and collapsed in obvious pain. The contortion of his face suggests that he was also making unpleasant noises indicative of being in a great deal of pain.

There should have been a whistle, but there wasn’t for reasons that aren’t important right now, and the Capitals scored on the play.

The non-whistle doesn’t bother me so much–it was a discretionary call, and the officials didn’t, from what I see, notice what had happened. What bothers me was the veiled assertion by Bristol North mediot Glen Healy that Thoresen had taken a dive–an assertion that he reiterated after the goal was scored when the poor bastard was being helped to the bench, still doubled over.

Did Healy know at the time that Patrick Thoresen may wind up losing his left nut?  No. But not knowing the severity of a guy’s injury does NOT, in my humble opinion, give one a free pass to make a stupid comment like “they better be doing leg surgery on him” and then follow it up with more excoriation while the poor bastard is STILL doubled over and barely able to make it to the locker room without assistance from two teammates and the trainers. You don’t go down like that and STAY DOWN if you are not having a serious issue. Not even a gutless diving puke like Darcy Tucker is stupid enough to pull that stunt.

Of course, this is the same asshat that cried and whined on the air over my boy’s epic shootout goal back in 05-06, so I guess something like this should come as no surprise.

Fuck you, Glen Healy. Fuck you right in your ear.

Wednesday night after I got home from watching the Rangers game, I sat down and joined the I’m Not A Puckbunny podcast crew along with Stars blogger Cat (from Untypical Girls) for a playoff preview.

I get zinged a time or two, I contradicted myself at least once because I suck at extemp speaking, and I almost made Finny fall off her chair with a zinger on that jugheaded Italian boy Jason Spezza.

And I also asserted that, even though I’m married, I’m certainly not dead.

I’ll be trying to find someplace to go watch Devils-Rangers Game 2 tonight, just so I don’t have to hear the Caps-fellatio that will be occurring on Versus.

I can’t bag on Versus too much though–they will be showing Game 3 of the Rangers series on Sunday, and they’ve got a pretty cool playoff promo:

Give ‘em Hell, Harry.

OK, so all we have to look forward to now is the Draft.

Well, except for me–I have Rangers playoff games to look forward to (Give ‘em Hell, Harry)…which, to be honest, is exceedingly small comfort. I would much rather have the Hurricanes in the playoffs than barrack for this season’s application of The Malik Effect.

Back on message, AQ.

Oh, sorry about that.

Anyway, the Draft. I’ve been looking at our depth chart, and what I see is the same old shit: we’re thin on our left side, our defence is getting older, and we have like half the goaltenders in the known universe because our GM insists on drafting at least two every year rather than actually trying to seriously address our paper-thin left side or our aging defence.

So, let’s address our needs:

Left Side:

This is kinda “duh”, here. We have Ray Whitney, Sergei Samsonov, Tuomo Ruutu, Chad LaRose, My Man Ryan Bayda, and Wade Brookbank. Umm…hmm. I am guessing–though not immediately assuming–that Samsonov will be offered a contract, though whether Sammy signs or not will more than likely be contingent on whether or not we retain Laviolette as coach. Ray has one more year IIRC. Same with Ruutu. Rosie will be staying unless JimR can find somebody that will offer us an upgrade for him–and I would make that deal too, even though I adore the Chuck Norris of Hockey, because the team is far more important than any one player. Bayda will more than likely stay in the speed dial as first callup unless he really impresses in training camp this fall, and Brookbank?  We’ll keep him around for the judicious application of excessive force, I’m sure.

Teh Defence:

We can’t have Casey Borer, Timmy Gleason, Dennis Seidenberg, and Joe Corvo holding down the fort by themselves once Glen Wesley and Bret Hedican retire, Nicky Wallin goes back to Sweden to raise his 2394878724 children to be proper Vikings, and Atlanta Frankie gets taken away by the aliens for the last time. They need some serious help–especially because Joe isn’t getting any younger himself and Dennis and Timmy (much as I adore them both) are pretty much mid-range kinda guys. Which leaves Casey Borer, who (though promising) is not a Jedi yet, and Tim Conboy–who the fans love because he’s willing to drop ‘em (and he’s a good egg), but let’s face it: he’s a callup type of guy, and not much else.

Center:

I will say it now: If the Warchief isn’t back in September then I fear he may not be back at all–which will hurt, but not as much as having Trevor Letowski as our second-line center behind The Chosen One. Brandon Sutter is currently in Albany on an Amateur Tryout (ATO) contract, which means that he’s there on his dime. It’s my sincere hope that this franchise decides to go against type and doesn’t rush him, but I have a feeling that he’ll be rammed into the lineup and spend all of next season getting pushed around (because really, he’s like Wierd Harold: 6’9″ and 50 pounds). You know, like Eric Staal in his first season–though hopefully we’ve taken the lesson from his experience and will actually take some time with this kid.

Right Side:

We are actually kinda okay…ish. Kinda. Sorta. Maybe…ish. Erik Cole may wind up being trade fodder for a defensive upgrade (or, with our luck, another freaking goalie)–depending on the guy we get in return, I could dig this. And I say that as a charter member of Erik’s Caffeine Nation. After Cole, we have JWillie, Remo Williams, Patrick Eaves, and…and…err…

*looks at depth chart again* *blinks* *rubs eyes* *looks askance at bottle of diet coke*

Fuck me, did I say we were okay here?  Am I high?  Right side, we need it. We need it bad.

Goaltending:

Ward, Leighton, Nastiuk, Peters, Manzato, Akerlund. I THINK WE HAVE ENOUGH GOALIES, DON’T YOU? And Grahame is a goner. His backbending stretches may turn the ladies on, but he’s just not pushing Cam like he should have been. But of course, JimR will trade half our team for another freakin’ goaltender. Why don’t we get Manny Legace back?  I’m sure he’ll LOVE that.

So, the Draft. I was planning a trip up there, but the hubby has decided that we need to move to a new apartment the same weekend–which, needless to say, pisses me off greatly cos I was (and am) hoping to organize a blogmoot. Bah. So anyway, if you’re there and you hear somebody bellowing out “DEFENSE!” “RIGHT WING!” “NO MORE GOALIES!” from somewhere in ScotiaBank Place every time the Hurricanes are on the clock, you’ll know I made it.

(“High Hopes”, by Pink Floyd. From their 1994 Album The Division Bell)

This is about how I feel right now. I honestly think that it would have been better if the Hurricanes had just imploded when the Warchief went down. It would have hurt less that way, because we at least would have known, going into the last day of the season, that all our dreams were torn asunder.

But no. We had to give it up to the Florida fucking Panthers. Nathan fucking Horton said after the game that it was nice to be in a position to decide who goes to the playoffs–and I knew at that moment that they were going to as good as throw the game tonight just to spite us.

I was not disappointed. Perhaps I’m taking it a little hard. I’m sure that by the end of the summer I’ll have a far more rational viewpoint. But right now, at this moment, you cannot in any way shape form or fashion convince me that the Panthers did not deliberately tank that game tonight to twist the lemon juice-coated salt crystal that they plunged into our hearts Friday night.

A couple weeks before the World Series in 1986, Bill Buckner sat for a TV interview–in that interview, he said that he thought the RedSox would win the WS, and he said that something crazy would have to happen like Mookie Wilson hitting a grounder between his [Buckner's] legs with the bases loaded for them to lose.

We all know what happened. I am feeling like that right now, because I had to open my yap back in the middle of March and say that the only way the Capitals would win the Division is if Raleigh were obliterated by a 10MT surface burst. Neither Buckner nor I caused the events that we spoke of, of course–we were simply the messengers, as it were.

Friday night, the bomb hit. Tonight, what didn’t get vapourized got levelled by the shockwave.

Fuckin’ Panthers.

10MT surface burst for the lose. I will have more thoughts later.

So let’s recap:

Yesterday morning, everyone in the Caniac Nation was all up in teh dramaz about the Caps pwning face on us. I slapped around some dumbass who got all up in the whiny because I said that Alex Ovechkin can be a dirty bastard–and yes, he can be–and then I took a shot at people that were claiming that there’s some kind of Sooper Sekrit Conspeerohsee going on to get the Caps into the playoffs at our expense.

Yesterday afternoon, EJ Hradek decided to clown on my coach’s meltdown behind the bench in DC. And, admittedly, it was funny–though really my coach is far less nebbishy-lookin’ than EJ is (not, yanno, that there’s anything wrong with being nebbishy-lookin’. Just saying.)–but I knew that the ‘Canes were going to get it together against the Lightning that night…and my favourite Spicy Italian, John Tortorella, gave us a lil’ hep by putting Mike Smith in goal.

Mmmm…..Spicy Italian. *ahem* sorry.

Then a friend of mine leaves me a ticket at Will Call–and my car is out of gas. Hubby was at work, clear out on the other side of the Containment Area for Relocated Yanquis. So I was stuck in my “AQ has no cash and can’t call a cab to take her to le jeu” living room for the night, which didn’t make me very happy–but what can you do, right?

So I settle in to watch the game–and 32 seconds in Eric freakin’ Staal shows why he is The Chosen One by scoring on a breakaway while practically wearing Vinny Lecavalier. I knew then that it was going to be a fun night. Merlin decided, at that point, to decamp to the foyer for some odd reason. The rest of the cats (including Jasmine the Feline Mute Button), however, parked their furry butts on the couch and watched the game with me. Martin St. Louis scored a few minutes later while Keith “Tater” Aucoin was in the box for tripping, and I bellowed “STOP SCORING ON US, YOU LITTLE VONTZ!”

Jasmine, tiny little dainty kitty that she is, then jumped on my chest and nipped my chin to let me know that I was too loud and needed to be quiet.

Then Chad LaRose, the Chuck Norris of Hockey, scored at 16:10 to put the ‘Canes up 2-1–and on to intermission we went!

Now, the second period was kinda surreal. Rosie scored again (and there was much rejoicing. YAAAAAY!), Andreas Karlsson hooked Trevor Letowski in the wedding vegetables, and then a few minutes later there was a knock at my door. I opened it, and there was Scott Walker. “Hey there, Your Infernal Majesty,” he said, “Mind if I come in for a moment?” How could I refuse one of my tribesmen, right?

I let Remo in, and–after paying the Pet Tax to Merlin–he ripped off this shot from atop my coffee table while Mike Smith was off at the Cook-Out on Western Boulevard to get a huge Cheddar-Style with double extra onion and a side of hushpuppies. “Thanks,” Walks said merrily before reaching down to pick Merlin up. “C’mon little buddy, we’re going to need you later.” Then he left, and I went back to watching the game just in time to see Jeff Halpern attempt to use Ryan Bayda as a missile weapon against his own goalie…and then try to re-enact a scene from “OZ” while poor Mike Smith is dopeslapping both of them with his blocker and hollering “GET OFF ME WITH THAT SHIT MANG, THAT AIN’T MAH SCENE.”

Then the phone rang. It was my husband. “As your lawyer,” he said to me, “I advise you to keep the noise level down so that we don’t get tossed from our apartment.” And Jasmine nipped my chin again, punctuating it this time with a meow. And the neighbours upstairs started trying to loudly remind the world that they like to engage in conjugal relations from time to time. Point taken, I turned down the TV in the living room and ChuckandtheletterK in the computer room.

Tuomo Ruutu went off for hooking, and I wondered ‘How long can we maintain?’* The answer was “as long as we have to”.

Vinny Lecavalier got dinged for a double-minor at the end of the period after he got called for interference and then decided to tell the refs what he thought of their parentage, and I knew that it was about to get surreal. More surreal. Something like that.

I was not, I assure you, disappointed.

Bishop Ruutu canonized a shot from the faceoff circle that beat Smith like a rented mule, Halp thought he was a Cap again and managed to score, and then the Chuck Norris of Hockey, Chad fuckin’ LaRose, got his hat trick.

It was at that point that I saw Merlin firmly ensconced on the top of John Tortorella’s head, and I decided that fatigue had definitely gotten the better of me and that it was time to go to bed. I walked over to the TV set and turned it on to a dead channel-white noise at maximum decibels, a fine sound for sleeping, a powerful continuous hiss to drown out everything strange*. Then I went into the bedroom and collapsed into bed surrounded by four furballs and seeing my team as monster reincarnations of Horatio Alger: men on the move and just sick enough to be confident*.

(This post inspired by (and the asterisked lines cribbed from) Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Good night Hunter S. Thompson, wherever you are.)

OK, let’s clear a few things up about last night:

1) THERE IS NO FREAKING CONSPIRACY ON THE PART OF THE NHL, THE OFFICIALS, OR ANY OTHER ENTITIES TO GET THE CAPITALS INTO THE PLAYOFFS AT THE EXPENSE OF THE HURRICANES. SO STOP COMMENTING AND SENDING ME E-MAULS WITH THAT SPECIOUS ARGUMENT, BECAUSE IT HOLDS ABOUT AS MUCH WATER AS A LEAKY SIEVE.

2) I shouldn’t have to write that in all-caps, but nothing gets on my tits more than whining about officiating after a loss.

3) Alex Ovechkin is a fun player to watch and he has leet skillz, but he can be a dirty bastard who gets away with a lot more than he should.

4) Scoring overcomes crappy officiating.

5) The Hurricanes were outplayed from the first puck-drop to the final buzzer. So stop whining.

6) The Hurricanes hold their destiny in their hands.

7) Meredith in Richmond can bite me–and on Friday, I’m going to kick her of the top of Pilot Mountain Jet Li style to drive the point home.

8 ) EJ Hradek can bite me. Him and that damnable towel of his. *shakes fist*

9) I’m going to do my work today and let the Hurricanes do whatever it is that they’re going to do.

10) I’m cutting my hair. Those of you who know me well know how significant that is.

Canes take on the Lightning at 7:00 tonight. Be there or be square.