One thing that everyone learns about me pretty quickly once the conversation has breached the subject of hockey is that one of the things I hate the most about he NHL is the Gary Bettman-fueled three-ring circus extravaganza of Crosby/Ovechkin. Not the players themselves, but the Gary Bettman-fueled three-ring circus. I've gone so far as to personify this media-entity as a living thing and have written numerous letters to my representatives in Congress asking why Crosvechkin has yet to be put on the list of known terrorists to be hunted down and shot.
But there's a reason I like to pay attention to the Winter Classic (and not just because I secretly think having a game outside is awesome enough to counteract my distaste toward any team that might be playing (even Crosvechkin)) - it's because the game itself seems to have fallen under some sort of gypsy curse. I'm not talking about the weather or the ice conditions (which, admittedly, have been hilarious), I'm talking about this:
And I don't want to jinx anything, but the last two years have seen a prior Winter Classic participant be the one to carry out the curse on that year's team in the finals.
Now, could all this superstitious what-have-you simply be the result of the NHL just being good at choosing teams to participate in the Winter Classic, teams that are good enough to make it to the conference finals and beyond for a couple years surrounding their outdoor game debut?
Yes. But I have nothing of merit to say about the last three games the Wings played, and frankly just wanted to have an excuse to post Crosvechkin, which I worked on in MS Paint for three straight days.