(+4 rating, 4 votes)
Loading ...
10MT surface burst for the lose. I will have more thoughts later.
Archive for the 'Game Night' Category
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.
Let me preface this by saying that I am not a William Faulkner “fan”. I appreciate the body of his work, I admire the beauty of his work and I do like his work. But I don’t geek out over the guy like I geek out over, say, Les Dorscheid’s Battletech and Shadowrun artwork (which is some of the most amazing artwork I have ever seen–it breaks my heart that no Loren Coleman novel ever got a Dorscheid cover, even though my pet project got some).
HOWEVER.
This gem from the Sports Illustrated archives is possibly the best “my first game” story that I have ever read, and it’s something that I plan to show to anyone who ever asks me why I like hockey:
An Innocent At Rinkside - Sports Illustrated, 24 January 1955
Hurricanes take on the Capitals tonight at the RBC. Puck drops at 7:00 PM. Go Canes.
(Man, I wish I could write like that)
First off: Let me just say that I love a goalie deathmatch. I do, I really do. But last night, not so much–most cos it was Florida, and they’re whiny bitches.
So yeah. First period was a little eh. Second period scared the crap out of me, with all the penalties. Our defence was completely invisible, the offence stepped out for a Cuban (mmm…Cuban) at one point–and only one thing saved our asses:
(photo courtesy hfboards poster Vulcan91)
Seriously, the boy was nails for us last night. When he flat-out stoned (STONED!) Olli Jokinen on what would have been a sure-fire gamewinner, I swear I saw half the fans in attendance calling Miami-Dade PD to report a robbery.
The shootout, by the way? That was funny–especially the winner, which made Vokoun look like Bill Buckner in Game Six. Thank you, Mookie Staal.
Next game on the 25th. Go Canes.
This is Chancellor Merlin Liao. Merlin is often referred to in our house as “Der Führer”, because he is….well, he’s der Führer. He is the smallest of our cats, and along with that runtiness comes an inversely proportional sense of entitlement and extreme bossiness. Merlin runs the house–he tells us when it’s time to go to bed, he tells us when it’s time to feed the cats, he tells my husband when the TV is too loud and interrupting me when I am trying to sleep his beauty rest, and so on. You get the picture.
Merlin, like all cats, doesn’t like it when you don’t accept his rule over the household (specifically, he doesn’t like it when my husband doesn’t accept his rule over the household–I, on the other hand, make sure to pay the Pet Tax regularly and feed him twice daily; which mollifies him). So what he will do is wait until the offender falls asleep–at which point he will hop up onto the bed and camp by the target’s head…and he will wait until he is sure that the target is fast asleep.
Then he will growl, camp his front paws on the offender’s head (with his very sharp little claws out), and start pulling on the target’s hair while asserting his status as the true ruler of the house–rather than, say, as the de jure ruler of the house, which is Maximilian’s job.
We call this a “Merlin hat”, and the recipient becomes the object of much derision. Only once have I been the recipient of a Merlin Hat, because I decided to ignore Merlin’s requests for payment of the Pet Tax in favour of getting some sleep. My husband, on the other hand, can count on “getting the Hat” at least thrice weekly.
I had the next day off, so I was up late one night playing WoW while the hubby was at work. He called home.
“Merlin did something very strange last night…”
What did he do?
“Well, I was asleep, when Merlin hopped up on the bed and ran up by my head.”
I sense that this is going somewhere….
“He stared at me for a few minutes, and then he did the strangest thing.”
And that was?
“He growled, and started pulling my hair with his teeth. Then he started humping my head.”
*peals of laughter*
“What’s so funny?”
You got skullfucked by a *cat*?
“It’s not funny.”
No, it’s not funny. It’s hysterically funny! You got skullfucked by a cat?! *falls out of chair laughing*
*husband hangs up*
Why do I tell you this story? Because Merlin has also been known to give somebody the Hat after being humiliated (like when somebody laughs at him or bounces him off the bed), or just on general principle (so that the people know who’s boss or because he got the drop on somebody).
To put this in hockey terms:
The Sabres gave us a Merlin Hat on Friday night (boy did they ever give us the Hat), so on Sunday the Hurricanes decided to turn around and give the Sens a Merlin Hat of their own.
So now if you hear me talking about “giving somebody/some team the Hat”, I am referring to this.
….and at least we won and managed to shut up most of the ASBOs that showed up at the RBC tonight. Last night. Whatever.
As usual, the Sabres and most of their fans are blaming everyone except themselves for not being able to win despite 1) the Hurricanes falling asleep during the last half of the game and 2) Ryan Miller standing on his freaking head. Must be tough, being all perfect and stuff like that.
Anyway–the Hurricanes are at the top of the Southeast by a mere 7 points over Washington…and a mere 7 points out of the top spot in the Eastern Conference. Wow. They’re off until Wednesday, when they take on Chicago in Chicago. Should be a fun one–and don’t forget to set your clocks forward, otherwise you’ll be late to work on Monday.
Edit: Duh AQ, “Spring Ahead, Fall Back”.
And, as proof, I present to you the “Monty Python” dream I referenced on today’s e-maul to NHL Live:
(note: this was back in August of 2005. Thus the pre-Cup Hurricanes)
[Hurricanes are driving down Wade Avenue in a minivan. WALLY, BOB, and SKIP are clapping coconuts together, yadda yadda]
A. WARD: And that, my captain, is how we know the Lightning to be Stanley Cup Champs.
BRIND’AMOUR: This new learning amazes me, Wardo. Explain again how the Left-Wing Lock may be employed to prevent scoring.
A. WARD: Oh, certainly, sir.
HEDICAN: Look, guys!
[The Hurricanes see the RBC Center in the distance]
BRIND’AMOUR: Camelot!
VASICEK: Camelot!
HEDICAN: Camelot!
WALLY: It’s only a model.
BRIND’AMOUR: Shhh! ‘Canes, I bid you welcome to your new home. Let us ride… to Camelot!
[Cut to the ice at the RBC Center, chorus line of Hurricanes players bursts into song]
We’re knights of the round table
We dance when e’er we’re able
We do routines and chorus scenes
With footwork impecc-able.
We dine well here in Camelot
We eat ham and jam and spam a lot
[shots of Hurricanes players in full gear dancing, cut briefly to Scott Stevens in the penalty box clapping]
We’re knights of the Round Table
ur shows are for-mid-able
Though many times we’re given rhymes
That are quite unsing-able
We’re opera mad in Camelot
We sing from the diaphragm a lot
[tapdancing, Niclas Wallin performing a little drum solo on several players' helmets before clocking Stormy over the head]
In war we’re tough and able
Quite indefatigable
Between our quests we sequin vests
And impersonate Clark Gable
It’s a busy life in Camelot
ZIGOMANIS: I have to push the pram a lot.
[cut back to the minivan]
BRIND’AMOUR: Well, on second thought, let’s not go to Camelot — it is a silly place.
[Minivan drives off]Canes take on the Wild tonight at the RBC Center. Come on out and have a good time.
WTF is it about Florida that makes players on their teams so whiny?
Is it the water? Is it too much sun? Is there something being put in those fantastic Cuban sammiches? What is it?
Case in point: Saturday’s beatdown of the Lightning. Yeah, we pwned face, 5-1. Welcome to Tampa, Mike Smith. I’m sure you’ll be hopping a makeshift raft out of there at the earliest opportunity.
But yeah–the St. Pete Times’ mediot-in-chief, Damien Homerdero, is all up in the whining about the game:
Lightning defenseman Dan Boyle still cannot believe he was called for a roughing penalty on Carolina’s Erik Cole in the second period of Saturday night’s game.
“Cole’s about 240 (actually 205 pounds) and I put my hand on his face and he does a summersault, 360 (degrees) on the ice,” Boyle said. “He was shocked he didn’t get a (diving) call. I saw his face afterward.”
Hey Danny-boy, guess what:
You see where your stick is? You should have been called for a tripping penalty, son. Moreover, allow me to quote for you Rule 51.1 (that would be “Roughing”):
Roughing – Roughing is a punching motion with the hand or fist, with
or without the glove on the hand, normally directed at the head or face
of an opponent.
Now, in futbol that would be a facemask penalty. Is it a borderline call? Possibly–but I freaking watched you drop the glove and try to rip Cole’s face off, dude. You got caught, you got called, you sat for 2 minutes, so GTF over it.
And of course, Homerdero goes on to whine about our “reputation” as divers. Wow, I guess the Lightning are so desperate that their players, coaches, and even their mediots are hopping on the Panthers’ bus and calling us divers because they can’t come up with anything better.
Sheesh.
Anyway–Canes are off until Wednesday, when they play the Thrashers in the ATL. Mahalo.
I knew it was going to be a rough day when I went to move a monitor at work and my back said “GUESS AGAIN KIDDO!”
So you can’t say that I wasn’t prepared for last night’s game–though I was hoping to actually be at the game, rather than flat on my back AGAIN praying that ibuprofen would be a suitable replacement for Flexeril. I’ll never snark about players with back issues again, I swear on my grandmother.
The game was a bit of a haze, and I admit that I got excited when my boy Malik saw the puck squirt out from under Hank’s pads and hauled it out the zone. I also winced and knew that things weren’t going to go well when I saw Sergei and the Bishop collide at the blue line. But I do remember enough through the endorphinic haze to be able to say that Cam singlehandedly kept the team in the game.
You heard me. It’s become fashionable for some of the less-intelligent citizens of the Caniac Nation to blame the goalie every time this team loses, but really. Cam played just as well as he’s played the last several games. The defence, on the other hand, decided to get an attack of the stupids–and the aliens brought back Atlanta Frankie too, which pissed me off–and I’m sure that the talking heads today will be all up in the “See, we told you they’re going to choke cos they lost their captain!” nonsense. Yeah, cos ONE GAME is really a representative sample.
But Saturday, the ‘Canes have a chance to redeem themselves by administering a world-class beatdown to the Lightning–which will start another nice win streak
Just sayin’.
Yeah, so last night was Tuomo Ruutu’s debut in the Sightless Eye.
I knew it was going to be interesting when I heard 96Rock’s Foster dub him “The Bishop” as I was driving home from work. I just didn’t know how interesting it would be.
Second shift, Ruutu rocked Colin White with a big hit (that he really should have been levied a boarding call for) and immediately endeared himself to the TSB Goon Squad (and everyone else in the arena). Mike Rupp responded by Orpiking Tim Gleason, who had to be helped off the ice with an unspecified head injury and didn’t return, and that little tease Bret Hedican made me think he was going to throw down in defence of his sidekick–but no, such was not to be. It was all just a tease. Get me all excited for null comma nichevo. Damn elves…can never trust ‘em. Especially when they own-goal and spoil the shutout.
So it was up to Wade Brookbank, who stepped to Rupp and administered a partial beatdown (I say partial, because it was more wrasslin’ match than fight). And that was the end of the first–more or less. The game settled down, more or less, in the second and third. The crowd was up in arms when three Devils basically held The Chosen One back while that whiny little bitch Marty Brodeur took a couple shots at him–Staal responded by going RAWR! and putting Brodeur on his ass (to the delight of the crowd and the dismay of Devils homer colour dude Chico Resch). Ruutu wound up leaving the game toward the end of the third after Patrik Elias accidentally-on-purpose (IMO) clipped him by one eye with his stick.
The game went to OT, and Sergei Samsonov wound up potting the game-winner. And the Devils, after the game, actually had some praise for the ‘Canes:
“They played a lot better game — that’s the bottom line. That’s a different team than we’ve seen in the first three games. They played like the Carolina team we know. They were playing hard, they put a lot of good things out there, they were aggressive, and we didn’t come with the same desperation they did. And it showed.” — Jamie Langenbrunner
Why thank you. Thank you very much.
9 games to go until I render my final opinion of the Ruutu trade. Go Canes.
So this Saturday I had to watch the Caps-Canes barnburner on teh t00b–which robbed me of these choice comedic moments:
Olaf Kolzig throwing a little tantrum and breaking his stick after the Hurricanes’ fourth goal.
The goal horn at the RBC blowing a lung.
The Caps fans that bused in going home quietly. (I kid because I love, guys–srsly!)
A few drunk members of our nation’s military trying to re-enact the USO scene from “Apocalypse Now” with several members of the Storm Squad.
Well OK, that last one wasn’t comedic so much as pathetic, but you get the idea. The Hurricanes have been playing rather well since the Warchief went down–which apparently puzzles such luminaries (ha ha) as EJ Hradek, but doesn’t surprise me. I’d had a feeling that various guys (like Eric Staal) would step their games up, and I was right. I am right.
So tomorrow the Hurricanes face the Devils for the fourth (and last) time this season. The Devils let the Capitals get a point yesterday, which didn’t please me in the least. Hopefully they give us two points tomorrow night. Just sayin’.
Couple things:
First–the ‘Canes win a wild one at the RBC last night v. the Thrashers. Actually, it was wild only in that the entire first period was the Hurricanes throwing everything but the kitchen sink at Kari Lehtonen. In the second, they finally threw the sink at the guy and wound up winning 5-3. It was ONLY because Lehtonen was so on that first period that the score wasn’t something freaky like 15-3. The excuse given by the Thrashers’ broadcast team on Turner South was that the team is “distracted” by the whole Marian Hossa thing.
Bitch please! That’s not a distraction. Losing your Captain for the season? Now that is a distraction.
And speaking of the Warchief–Greatfather Bob is in town visiting his boy and grandkids (he was holding court at the RBC last night, according to several fans who stopped by to deliver their well-wishes), and had a little rap with Luke DeCock. Yes kids, the Warchief doesn’t want to take his recovery lying down; not a day after surgery, the man was already back to pumping some Fe:
“He’s struggling right now,” Bob Brind’Amour said. “He wants to do more than he should and he doesn’t realize it’s the healing process. The knee, when he ices it, it almost looks perfect. But then he walks and the blood gets in there and the fluid and it blows up.
“He got operated Friday afternoon. Saturday morning at 7:30, he’s lying on the floor in his bedroom and he’s lifting 55-pound weights. He’s got his leg up on a chair. I went up there and said, ‘You idiot. What are you doing?’ He’s so dedicated. He knows his body, but in this case he’s got to tone it down a bit.”
Our Warchief, ladies and gents. You can’t keep him down. Tomorrow, the Hurricanes take on the Capitals at the RBC–Puck drops at 5 PM, and the game is pretty close to sold-out according to Ticketbastard; so hurry up and get your tickets before the Caps Road Crew takes ‘em all up. 
What a week:
My computer falls victim to the Great Collapsing Table Disaster.
I get smacked down hard by the flu.
The Warchief (well, his knee) falls victim to shithappensitis–contrary to what some foolio on on X Random Messageboard is positing–and all the talking heads pronounce the season over.
The Hurricanes win three straight–with the third game taking place ~2h after a State game–and effectively give the finger to the aforementioned talking heads. They’re not dead yet!
I’d say “cool”, but really only the last one is cool. The first three really suck.
Monday we’ll see if the ‘Canes can make it 4 in a row when they venture into the fetid swamps of The Garden State to take on the Devils.
So Tuesday night, the Hurricanes celebrate the arrival of their new comrades-in-arms by almost choking a three-goal lead to the Boston Bruins.
Last night, they celebrated my anniversary by beating the Pens down 4-2 and making Evgeni Malkin cry like a little bitch. Well OK, a big bitch.
In a development that has half the ASBOs in Western New York rejoicing in their MD20/20 (and has the more class-free members of the Pens Nation clapping for glee as well–my wife, OTOH, is none too happy), the Warchief is out for the season with a torn ACL. Was it a cheap hit? No. It was a “shit happens” thing–I didn’t see anything deliberate on the part of the Pens (as opposed, of course, to Brooks Orpik piledriving Erik Cole into the boards and breaking his neck–you still can’t convince me that it wasn’t deliberate).
Yes, I have a wife. Two of them! And a husband, and a husband-in-law too. Deal.
So yeah, anyway. The power play finally woke up last night, which was encouraging. It was very encouraging, but I won’t be fully encouraged until I see them keep it up.
Tomorrow night the ‘Canes will play the Panthers at the RBC. Wonder how long it’ll take before they get Vokoun to have another of his very entertaining meltdowns?
Luke DeCock on last night’s fiasco–and since he’s saying what I’m thinking, I’ll let him do the talking today.
Yeah, so last night I went to the Canes-Rangers game. I was fairly fully expecting the ‘Canes to get pwned as they have just about every time they’ve played a game after a break, and hoping that Sean Avery would get a beatdown or three (dozen) just to break the monotony.
The fun started before the puck even dropped. No sooner had the lights come up and everyone gathered for the opening faceoff than Scott “Remo Williams” Walker and Sean Avery threw down. It wasn’t much of a fight, really. They wrestled a bit, and the linesmen immediately broke it up and sent them both to the penalty box for roughing. The real fun, however, was yet to come. Wade Brookbank and Colton Orr threw down at 3:41 of the first–Wade got his face pwned, and he and Orr made a date for later in the game.
After Remo laid a hit on Scott Gomez that had more than a little elbow action to it less than 45 seconds later, a writhing mass of players (or, to quote The Mighty Forslund, “a bevy of humanity”) congregated in the southwest corner of the rink and commenced to discussing the merits of said hit.
Birthday boy Tim Gleason waded in and wound up wrestling with Jaromir Jagr–and was summarily ejected for violating rule 47.16 (Third Man In).
Walker and Avery got into it again, and both got to have a sit-down for five minutes–well, except for Avery. He got 4610 and 2 just ahead of me for instigating (yeah I know, big shock there).
And about 9 minutes and change later, Orr and Brookbank stepped to each other for Round 2. That fight was a bit more even, for those who keep score at home. I could just hear Marv Albert and Ferdie Pacheco breaking it all down in my head, and decided that I better not go get another Diet Pepsi once I’d finished the one I was currently drinking.
Things settled down after that–some cheatin’ wife-stealin’ no-good dirtbag who whined his way out of Hartford and deserves to have the air let out of his tires Ranger scored, people were falling down all over the place, and Bret of the Gimpy Hip not only played defence but he also made me laugh by first clotheslining Petr Prucha at the Hurricanes’ blueline and then giving him the Flying Buttcheek. If he’d thrown in a Stinkface for good measure, it would have brought the house down. Either that, or it would have made me fall out my chair laughing. One of the two.
The crowd was admittedly a bit on the light side (except in Section 328, which is always well-staffed and ready to overwhelm the audio pickups on Press Row), but they were really into it. The last minute of the game was pretty tense, as the Rangers pulled Lundqvist to get a 6-on-3 and even knocked Cam’s stick out of his hand for good measure–but the good guys prevailed in the end.
Thursday night should be interesting, as it always is when Chairman Mo comes back for a visit. Let’s just hope Sportsnet East doesn’t pre-empt the game for like NASCAR or something.
Recent Comments