Happy 300th game to Patrick Eaves.
At least he can laugh at himself.
We here at Hockeytown Static hope all of you who attended H2H had a really great time. We cried for hours that we couldn't be there. And we would like everyone to know that there's going to be a next year, and we will be there. Plan accordingly.
(Our mother asked us how many people were going. And we learned something that day. We learned how difficult explaining the concept of The 19 was to someone who cares about stupid stuff like math.)
Last night's two points were BIGGER THAN GIGANTOR. Which sort of feels awful to say because, god, how long has it been since it felt good that the Wings were in sixth place in the West?
I don't generally care how the Red Wings win, so long as they're winning, and I think Niklas freaking Kronwall taking the shootout was spectacular. But that being said, I can't believe I sat through three and a half hours of nothing last night. 1st period? Nothing happened. 2nd period? Nothing happened. 3rd period? Nothing happened. Overtime? Nothing happened. I was glad to get to the shootout based purely on the fact that it was getting exponentially more likely that actual goals were going to get scored. And even then, it took five rounds for the pucks to start hitting the back of the net. What the crap.
Because whether you're cheering for your own team or you're groaning in anguish that the opposition's scored, a goal is a chance for you to release the tension you've built up watching the game. I didn't realize how important this was until Bertuzzi scored and the primal scream I let out was less "YAY" and more "FINALLY". The relief even felt good after I yelled at the Predators' shootout goal.
But you know what really feels good? That the Red Wings have been doing so well lately, winning so many games, and playing with such painfully surprising consistency that I've actually started finding things to bitch and moan about immediately following a win. So, dammit Wings, why couldn't you have scored sooner in that game? You're killing me over here.
(You can keep killing me as long as you keep winning.)