As I write this, the Falmes are schooling the Hurricanes 6-4. It was 6-3 when I started, but The Chosen One just scored. I’m frustrated and upset, and I can only imagine how the players feel.
So, let’s look at where the team is going wrong:
Effort is there. But frustration is setting in, and it will take an herculean effort at this point to overcome it.
Great Leader Peter Karmanos refuses to spend the amount needed to bring in veteran leadership to help this team along–he looks at the barest minimum he can spend, tops it up by a couple bills, and then JR goes and blows it on bad signings like Tomas Kaberle. It’s like the season was written off before training camp even started, and Great Leader doesn’t even care because he’s got a Cup Ring. That’s what pisses me off so much–this nickel-and-dime bullshit has GOT. TO. STOP. It’s become even more important now, with a realignment in the cards for next season that will put the Hurricanes in with teams that actually spend money. This shit’s gotta change, kids. And it’s gotta change at the top of the food chain.
I’m seriously giving thought to buying lotto tickets four times a week in the hopes that I hit the jackpot so I can invest in the team and actually have some frelling input. Here, here’s an extra few million dollars–GET A DECENT VETERAN OR TWO TO HELP THE CHOSEN ONE, YOU JACKWAGONS! Either that, or I’ll just go picket the SAS Institute in an attempt to get local billionaire Jim Goodnight to buy the damn team. #OccupySAS!
But, let’s look at the good that Admiral Kirk has done–he’s gotten the team to WANT to show up again. It’s clear that there’s a definite change in attitude on the team, and a definite upgrade in the effort level. Admiral Kirk doesn’t make excuses, and he’s very up-front with the players about what he wants and gives clear direction. They certainly didn’t have any of that with Chairman Mo. The team doesn’t quit now. They have the equivalent of duct tape and kukris left to them, and with 5:00 left in the third period they’re still fighting.
What is being shown is the lack of veteran leadership on the team–The Chosen One is being expected to carry the forward corps with the help of only one Sutter. Our defence is Tim Gleason, Joni Pitkanen, a bunch of kids, one of those “DO NOT BACK UP, SEVERE TIRE DAMAGE” speedbumps, and a Krispy Kreme donut. That’s not going to win a lot of games. Let’s be honest. They’ll make it exciting, but wins will be few and far between for the rest of the season IMO.
Can’t wait to see what happens in Edmonchuk tomorrow.
(and as I finish this post, the game is over and it’s 7-6 Falmes. The Chosen One scored twice.)
And gods did this team need it.
After a frustrating-as-hell nailbiter on Saturday night, the Hurricanes are in Calgary getting ready to take on the Falmes. In the postgame on Saturday, Jeff Skinner was visibly upset and really trying hard not to let things like missing on a wide-open net get to him.
Shit happens–but I think enough shit has happened to the Hurricanes, ok?
Admiral Kirk is still upbeat, and gods love him for it. Jim Rutherford has officially called out Tomas Kaberle, which begs the question:
What the frell do we do with him? The Hurricanes are about $3Million (generously speaking) above the salary floor–if they send Krispy Kreme 2.0 down to Charlotte, they drop below the floor and get fined out the ass per the CBA. But who in the wide world of sports are the Hurricanes going to trade him for, especially given how he showed up to training camp out of condition?
For that matter, what GM in his right mind is going to trade for the guy?
EDIT: Luke DeCock posted this editorial a couple hours after I’d originally written my post. As you can see, he keeps it real as always and sums up WHY Admiral Kirk is having a harder time in his first few games than Lavi did in his. Like I’ve said before, it’s going to be ugly for a while yet.
I’m going to turn this into yet another liveblog tonight, from my husband’s computer, and this post is a placeholder for that.
Caniacs and others, feel free to hop on and participate. Festivities will start at 4:30 with pre-game. I’ll bring the Rumple Minze.
I’m trying out an Android-based blog client tonight, since my computer doesn’t have good LOS to my TV. Any typos amp;c. will get corrected at intermissions and post-game.
So far, the Hurricanes are doing okay. Not great, but okay. Skinner of course showed up, everyone else seems to be going through the motions. Again.
Will update randomly. Mo must go, again!
12:40 gg Juice, way to go with a bad slashing penalty. Hubby playing Maroon 5 in his computer room. Terrence bugging me for playtiemz, had to pause dvr. Pp looking, as usual, like ass.
13:04 BIG SHOCKER, A SLUGS GOAL. Let the pwnage begin, now taking bets on number of Slugfans arrested tonight.
14:03 Husband now playing Average White Band and KC and The Sunshine Band. Terrence distracted by automated laser toy parked on my ve. Sun Tzu joining in. Slugs pwning neutral zone.
16:45 We have a Boychuk sighting! Aaaaand there he goes, back on the bench. gg Mo…putz.
Nice tour of the players’ lounge by The Chosen One. I’ve only had one Alpine, but my face is red already–rosacea for the lose. I skipped over Bob Harwood’s chat with Jay Harrison, because eh–same old same old. “We’re working on the power play.” /SlapShot
Retreating to couch for second period with another Alpine.
3:00 Was that actual offensive pressure from the Canes? No, couldn’t have been.
4:56 Oh gods, can we just decline this penalty?
5:50 Nice try Eric, but…no.
6:15 Ehrhoff has been ausgezeichnet for the Slugs tonight. Very nice play.
Aaaaaand another power play wasted.
8:00 Ponikarovsky in locker room. No great loss, but hope he isn’t hurt.
9:05 Boychuk makes token appearance for the period, and makes a lovely pass that nobody could be arsed to get and…oh I dunno…SCORE A FRELLING GOAL with. Seeya next period, bubba.
10:00 Time for more schnapps? Nah, gotta finish this Alpine first. Mmmmm….Alpines. Terrence now snoozing next to me. Sun Tzu watching you-mans on TV intently.
13:48 The Mighty Forslund flogging tickets. Yeeeeeah, okay.
16:30 Slugs aren’t even trying hard, and they are pwning us. Only Canes who showed tonight are Boosh, Boychuk, Rosie, and of course Skins. Sheesh.
END OF SECOND PERIOD
Intermission will be spent playing Angry Birds.
:45 Aaaand the Canes are making Enroth look like a Vezina winner. Staal is snakebit.
OK, no more schnapps. Face feels like I ate a bhut golokia chile.
2:15 Defensive shell and…GO!
5:08 Sheesh…Sun Tzu losing interest, and schnapps hitting me hard. I am a sleepy lightweight.
6:00 Sutter looks like he needs to drive a seedy van and offer candy to random kids, with that stache. #movember
7:00 Tripp and The Mighty Forslund talking about GM meetings and ignoring game for a bit. I dunna blame them one bit.
Wonder if I can make my cranberry dressing for Thanksgiving now, rather than waiting until Monday? Hmmmm…..
90125 err 9:25 Boucher is saving our collective asses. Would be nice if more than like three dudes showed some gratitude by trying to frelling score.
15:00 Mo must go, again.
WHY THE FRELL IS LAROSE ON THE FIRST LINE AGAIN MO?
17:00 Wonder how many Slugfans got arrested tonight?
18:22 Good job Rosie.
19:00 Pack it up, the Canes have left the building. Except for Jay Harrison, who is still there.
20:00 Slugs 1, Pod People 0. And I am wanting bacon for some reason.
OK, so I started the evening off with a trip to my local ABC store to get a fifth of my favourite schnapps. I figured I would have some fun and play a Tripp Tracy drinking game.
A Robert Burns quote about the best-laid plans of mice and men comes to mind right now, but I’ll get to that further down.
Yes, I channeled my inner redneck by drinking from a Mason jar. What can I say? The little kitty in the picture is Sun Tzu Liao–he just got done inspecting everything to make sure it was OK, because that’s what he does.
So I’m here getting started watching the game, when my large orange cat Terrence decided to come over and ask me to give him some love:
Yes Terrence, you’re a handsome cat–but Mommy wants to watch the Hurricanes game.
That game. Man. I took my first drink when Tripp called us “Toronto South”. Which is fair, but still damn wrong. Finished off the mini, and cracked the seal on the big bottle. I commenced to drinkin’ and spamming facebook with crazy updates. Steve Downie got up to his usual bitch-ass punk cheapshotting, but sadly the linesmen saved him from the furious fists of Jay Harrison. And, of course, no call. The refs are clownshoes. Tripp said that the game had reached a “pivotal point”, and I took yet another drink.
Bob Harwood had a chat with Great Leader–and I had this horrible sense of impending doom. Every time Pete Karmanos opens his yap to a mediot, bad things happen. He’s like a magnet for trouble. I mean, I’m just pointing this out here.
Then that little bastard Marty St. Louis scored in the second, just after Bob Harwood spoke to Pete Karmanos–breaking the defensive shell that the Hurricanes collapsed into just after Skinner scored. I just knew at that point that the game was about to go (in the words of Denis Leary) “STRAIGHT to fuckin’ hell!”
Facebook update: STOP SCOTING ON US, UOU LILLTE VONTZ!
And it was time to pour some more schnapps, because clearly I wasn’t misspelling things enough:
So I drank more. And the Lightning scored more. I do not think there was a correlation in either direction–it just kinda worked out that way. Somewhere along the line, the Tripp drinking game got lost in the shuffle of suck that was the Hurricanes after the score got to 3-1. I didn’t get piss-drunk, though–I got a little sleepy, and decided it was a good idea to just stop and go to bed as soon as the game was over. Really people, who’s going to think poorly of somebody who wants to keep at least some of her wits about her?
My penultimate facebook update of the night was: Yzerman just called. He told #jimrutherford “now you see that evil will always triumph, because good is dumb!” And of course, I followed it up with Mo must go, again!.
For serious–I really don’t think the problem is the players here. It’s Mo Hockey. It’s the defensive shell, which STILL sucks. It’s the 3-2 forecheck and the Musical Lines and the excusemaking, which we’ve had to put up with for years. You’d think that it would have become that much more apparent to everyone when Toronto went through the same thing with Chairman Mo behind the bench. But nooooo, Great Leader would rather keep nickel-and-diming everything while the fans get ready for yet another season of Mo-diocrity.
Mo Must Go, Again–and I’ll have another game night post after tonight’s game agin the Capitals.
Of ALL the guys we could have drafted in the first round:
16) C/RW Landon Ferraro
17) RW Zach Budish
20) LW Carl Klingberg
21) C Drew Shore
23) LW Jeremy Morin
27) D Stefan Elliott
34) RW Alex Chiasson (no relation to Steve)
35) D Ryan Button
37) C Joonas Nattinen
38) D Charles-Olivier Roussel
39) C Ryan O’Reilly
40) RW Richard Panik
41) C Ethan Werek
42) D Dmitri Orlov
43) C Tomas Tatar
44) RW Toni Rajala
45) D Eric Gelinas
46) D Brayden McNabb
47) RW Josh Birkholz
48) C Alex Hutchings
49) C Jakob Silfverberg
50) D Seth Helgeson
We pick this dude:
WTF was the scouting staff smoking when they made that pick?? Did all 4 of them decide to gather ’round, light up a big blunt, and come to the collective conclusion that the solution to all of our size woes was some dude that everyone else figured was a second-rounder at best?? What are they going to do with this dude, give him a wand and tell him to go fight Voldemort? Maybe they got so stoned that they thought they were drafting for a Quidditch team instead of an NHL team.
The only team that was made of more fail than the Hurricanes on Day 1 of the Draft were the Hartfordelphia Whaleflyers. When that trade got announced, I had to ask myself if Homer was hitting the sauce again–all that for My Golden Bitch?? Really?? Really?? 2 first-rounders, a conditional 3rd-rounder, AND two good young players?? For Pronger?? If I’m a Pflyers fan, I’m getting out the cans of gas and the matches and preparing to immolate myself in front of the Walk-Over-Ya Center because…damn.
p.s. TSN’s trio of commentators can blow me for deciding to cut away from/talk over Ron Francis when he announced our pick. I mean, I get that they figured “eh, it’s the Hurricanes, they’ll just blow it anyway”–but really. You asshats could have STFU and let Ronnie announce the pick.? I mean, I’m just sayin’.
Can’t wait to see how they blow it on Day 2. Somebody pass me a Mojito…or ten.
I don’t even fucking believe it. Jeff O’Neill? The guy who needed shipped out of Raleigh before he wound up piledriving himself into a bridge abutment after getting tanked at Crowley’s? The guy who was surly with fans (including his #1 fan on the whole damn planet, who he ripped a new one just for saying “hi” to him on the street), surly with the media, and whose best year was the Year of The Great Finals Run (well OK, and the year before, when he became the franchise’s first 40-goal man since Brendan damn Shanahan)?
The dude who played in a beer league all last season rather than play in the minors? What? I would HOPE he’s being looked at as an Albany signing, fo realz. I would also hope that O’s managed to get it through his head that if he wants to have anything even remotely resembling a career in the NHL again, he’s going to have to start in the minors and work his way into The Show.
And I’ll let the Tribal Elders take care of the other stuff.
As all seven of you are no doubt aware, Peter Laviolette is still officially in limbo here–will he stay, will he go? Who knows? I’ve got this absolutely sick feeling that Lavi’s going to get the boot and wind up in Atlanta, while we’ll get Chairman Mo back behind our bench. HOPEfully it’s just the mead talking, because if Mo comes back I can about guarantee you that we’ll see triple-digit attendance at the RBC Center if we’re lucky and we’re playing Ottawa on a Tuesday.
If Lavi goes, don’t be surprised if a company man gets the job barring a miracle. Crazy Ron I don’t want to see here–I don’t think he’ll sit well with the populace–though Joel Quenneville (former member of the ’86 Whalers team) would be nice to have, as a nice nod to the team’s past (the Avs’ recent playoff performance notwithstanding–sorry Avs fans, but the Hurricanes kinda roont Jose Theodore for y’all way back in ’02).
The folks at The Hockey Show have put together a fun little video for all y’all–Bret of the Gimpy Hip and his lovely wife Kristi Yamaguchi take the viewer behind the scenes of her rehearsals for Dancing With The Stars (which, unlike EJ Hradek, I do NOT watch), and Gimpy learns to do the Cha Cha.
I’ve really had a hard time getting into the playoffs, since the four teams that are left are teams that I either despise (Detroit, who I hope gets bought and moved to someplace like Apalachicola, FL the instant Mike Ilitch kicks it) or intensely dislike (Dallas, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh). But since Wife 1A is a Pens fan, I’m suckin’ it up and waving a black-and-gold pompom for her.
ECF Game 3 in Philadelphia tonight. Puck drops at 7:30 at the Wachovia Center, and it should be an interesting game. Wonder if the Pflyers will try to get down and dirty with Evgeni “Slewfoot” Malkin?
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.
I knew the day was going to blow when I stood outside FOR TWO HOURS waiting for a bus that never came (even though the woman I spoke to at gotriangle.org’s trip planner hotline (AS WELL AS THE SCHEDULE ON THEIR WEBSITE) told me that the bus comes by the stop every 20 minutes). So I said “screw this, I’m driving”.
AND THEN I GET TO WORK.
The machine that I had imaged the day before? Forget it–the image was corrupt, so I had to re-image the blasted thing again. *sigh* So I reimaged the damn thing and took it back down to the office I got it from.
At noon, I tuned in to NHL Live and listened to EJ Hradek give Don a Merlin Hat (“You’ll read e-mails when I tell you to read e-mails”). And I looked forward to getting home and watching the rebroadcast at 5:00 so I could laugh again before the game came on at 7:00 (since I wound up not being able to go to the game like I had planned to).
YEAH, LIKE THAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN.
I get home. It’s 5:30–and the DVR is scrolling the following message:
PLEASE CONTACT YOUR OPERATOR.
What the…? So I call Time Warner and wait on hold for half a damn hour.
WTF? My account should be paid up, why am I disconnected?
“Oh, well it says here that you’ve paid with bad checks.”
Uhh..wha? I don’t have any checks, how can I write bad ones?
“On $DATE, a payment was rejected because your bank said no account existed. Then on $DATE another payment was rejected because the check was written on a closed account.”
WTF? I don’t write paper checks. I use BillPay through my credit union, and I’ve got upwards of $400 in the account at all times.
So…yeah. I find out at almost 6:00 PM that, because my credit union had honked up BillPay for my cable provided twice in a row, Time Warner will only accept CASH payments from me–and all the payment stations were closed for the night.
SO I DIDN’T GET TO WATCH THE GAME EXCEPT ON A STREAMED FEED FROM SOME IDIOT THAT KEPT SWITCHING TO THE RANGERS GAME. And I had Chuck Kaiton. So I got to listen to the Hurricanes lose in a shootout.
You’re welcome, Capitals. My bad day is your good day. Now fuck off, and prepare to be April Fooled.
Next game is Friday versus Tampa. And I am going to kill my credit union.
Edit: I’m sorry, did I say Tampa? I meant Atlanta. Time for me to go to bed and put this comedy of errors to rest once and for freaking all.
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.
Yep, he cleared waivers yesterday at noon.
Jeff “Hambone” Hamilton is wearing the Sightless Eye once again. Now, I am approaching this with an open mind here. We can use Hambone’s cannon-shot on the power-play, and the time in Albany was far better for him than sitting in the pressbox here. So we’ll see.
Wade Brookbank also skated yesterday, which is good news since we’re playing the Thrashers and Panthers tomorrow and Thursday (we’ll need the fists). And Chad LaRose is skating for the first time since he broke his leg a month and change ago–but don’t expect to see him right away. He still has a lot of work to do before he gets cleared to play, but it’ll be very nice to see our happy little yip-dog out on the ice again.
Maybe for the playoffs. That would be fun, wouldn’t it?
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]
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
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.
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