Todd Bertuzzi's Beard

The Red Wings have made enough deep playoff runs in recent years that the fans have come to understand that each one of their playoff beards has its own personality. Kris Draper's once beat Chuck Norris in a fight. Niklas Kronwall's fights crime while he's sleeping. Johan Franzen's apparently gives him superpowers (thanks for the curly fries, Mule. They were delicious).

But Todd Bertuzzi's sort of looks like you're gazing into the void.

yeah, that's the best picture of it I can find.

And because when I gazed into the void the void gazed back, here's the top ten things hiding in Todd Bertuzzi's beard:

10. The rest of his teeth
They had to go somewhere.

9. Brett Lebda
Because he's very small. And he could fit in there.

8. Mike Ilitch's sanity
I love him, but he's crazy(bread).

7. Jimmy Hoffa
I'm just kidding. Jimmy Hoffa lives in a condo in Vegas with Elvis and Tupac.

6. The lost city of Atlantis
The weight of all those buildings could explain why he hasn't been doing anything overly useful the last few games?

5. Zordon
Maybe he got imprisoned in there by Rita Repulsa or something. That seems logical.

4. Free curly fries
They are delicious.

3. A KFC Double Down
He's got to have something to eat during intermission.

2. Whiskey for Larry Murphy
Is there room for enough of it though?

1. Gordie Howe's dog

Just in case Gordie's been looking for him or anything -- I suggest he start in Todd Bertuzzi's beard. That is an awesome sweater though. You couldn't pull that sweater off like Gordie can.

You think it's more likely there's a stripper in there? Leprechauns? The Art Ross Trophy? That's what the comments are for.


Game 5, the second in a series of four consecutive must-wins for the Red Wings, starts at 10pm eastern. If you happen to actually be at the game, you should throw an octopus or twelve. Scott'll show you how it's done.

Tinfoil Flashmob

I don't have to tell any of you how awful the officiating has been in the eyes of Red Wings fans throughout the second round. After watching what felt like 120 minutes of penalty killing, a group of fans decided to take action against the NHL. The best way to do that? Block the brainwashing with hats made of tin foil. Clearly.

Just that happened before game 3. A handful of Red Wings faithful made and passed out hats before dancing the Hustle to The Hockey Song on the steps of the Gordie Howe entrance.

And Hockeytown Static was there to capture the magic.


And by "capture the magic", I mean Lindsay creeped awkwardly in the shadows near the box office with a digital camera.

I'm the chunky one on the right.

We'd actually like to apologize to everyone involved for showing up seconds before the dancing began, loitering creepily with a video camera and running away as soon as it ended. We were fully prepared to show up early and introduce ourselves to all of you lovely people, but I-96 had other plans. Furthermore, a dinner engagement (which we were also late to) sort of forced us into a dash-and-dine. But let me tell you - having a nice family dinner in a restaurant decked out like we were actually at a Wings game, tinfoil hats and all? Worth everything.

If you'd like to read up any other perspectives of the event, check out the Free Press, Snipe Snipe Dangle Dangle, it_burns_us's LiveJournal, Etched In Cold, and Mlive

The tinfoil itself didn't seem to bother Gary or the refs at all during the game, but the event itself was life-changing. It taught me about myself, about brainwashing, and about how hard it is to do the hustle on non-regulation-sized stairs.

As WTF as we can get this week - Joe Thornton Reads Goosebumps

And that's not just speculation based on his naming his ventriloquist dummy "Slappy" as in the book from said series.

I mean, he actually reads Goosebumps, to Douglas Murray, for his bedtime story.


He also reads to Patrick Marleau.


But not to Dan Boyle, because Dan Boyle's been a bad, bad boy.


Or Nabokov, because he can read all by himself.


That's actually kind of an endearing picture. Just in case you're in danger now of warm feelings toward the San Jose Sharks, remember that they steal puppies and eat them.

That dog looks like she's been heavily drugged.

This post is the closest I can give to commentary on the series at the moment, because basically my brain gave me three choices - wax preposterously hopeful, vomit all over the internet, or do a search under "My Pictures" for "Joe Thornton" cross-referenced with "what the hell is this thing?" and post the results.

it didn't really make me feel better...

Furthermore, due to a dinner engagement (which we'll actually post about at length, along with in-depth coverage of the tinfoil hat flashmob on the stairs of the Joe) scheduled prior, both of us missed most of last night's game. So that's all I've got - St0ry Time with the San Jose Sharks.

Hopefully they're too entranced by Eric Carle's artwork in The Very Hungry Caterpillar to play very well in game four.

Game 7

Do you remember that feeling you had after game 5? Like you were invincible, and nothing could go wrong? You were so excited that you stayed up until three in the morning talking about how happy you were (yes, I'm looking at you Twitter).

Well I hope you do, because I don't. All my memories of that feeling were rushed out the door with the epic loss in game 6 and replaced with the sudden urge to puke up everything I've eaten in the last 2 days just thinking about game 7.

And now it's time for that puketastical game. It's do or die. Round 2 or golf. But this isn't the time to recite cliches, the time to make excuses, whine about soft goals or complain about defensive coverage or lack of scoring - this is the time to win. If the Wings come out flying they way we all know they can, there is not a single doubt in my mind that they will win the series. They CAN do it.

The question simply is will they?

Until this game starts, I will be attempting to keep my brain focused on the chronology of Roman emperors and not on Mike Babcock's hair. Partially to keep myself from puking. Partially so I don't fail my final.

A special treat for our out-of-town readers

If you watched yesterday's game on NBC in anyplace that wasn't southeast Michigan, you probably missed out on a critical portion of every NBC broadcast Red Wings playoff game - the Local 4 postgame show.

Bernie Smilovitz (who covers sports for Local 4 News) and Mickey Redmond sit in armchairs in a studio and discuss what went wrong while they wait for Katrina Hancock (who is approximately 8 feet tall (no really. She'll interview Chris Osgood, and the cameraman will have to pan down from her to reach his face.)) to convince players to say something interesting on camera.

In the spirit of the Wings' PR department's season-long "Hockeytown No Limits" campaign, and because we feel as though your lives are incomplete until you've experienced Local 4's ever-endearing awkwardness, we bring you a loosely transcribed version of yesterday's events.


Bernie: So Mickey - why did the Wings lose that game?
Mickey: Because they played like sh-
Bernie: Hang on, I'mma let you finish, but Tall Katrina has Henrik Zetterberg.

Tall Katrina: Hank, tell us why you lost that game today.
Hank: Well, um... *pouty-face* I think we yust need to keep playing our game, and um... *cries*
Tall Katrina: Bernie, back to you.

Bernie: Thanks Katrina. Now, Mickey, what do you think the keys to the Coyotes game were this afternoon?
Mickey: Well, they had a lot of puck possession down low, and one of their players still uses a wooden st-
Bernie: Hang on, I'mma let you finish, but Tall Katrina has Nicklas Lidstrom.

Nick: --of keeping the puck out of our sssone, and we need to be more physssical and not give up asss many odd-man chancesss.
Tall Katrina: What happened on that 2-on-1?
Nick: It was a 2-on-2 actually, but Raffi f#$%!d it up.
Tall Katrina: Back to you, Bernie.

Bernie: Thank you Katrina. Now, Mickey, what do the Wings need to do on Tuesday?
Mickey: They need to get in deep, keep the--
Bernie: Hang on, I'mma let you finish, but Tall Katrina has Jimmy Howard.

Tall Katrina: So Jimmy... What the hell was the matter with you today?
Jimmy: *voice actually quivers this is not a made up fact* I need to be better.
Tall Katrina: Are you less nervous three games in?
Jimmy: OMG U GUYZ I WASN'T NERVOUS TO BEGIN WITH.
Tall Katrina: What did Ozzie say to you just before this interview started?
Jimmy: He told me to pretend this game never happened. And I'd really like to.
Tall Katrina: Back to you Bernie.

Bernie: Thank you Katrina. Now Mickey -
Mickey: You gonna let me finish this time?
Bernie: Yes.
Mickey: Well I think Jimmy did the right thing, owning up to the fact that he needs to be better, and --
Bernie: Hang on, I'mma let you finish, but Tall Katrina paid Justin Abdelkader five dollars to talk with her.

Tall Katrina: Hi Justin.
Justin: Hi.

At this point I wandered out of the room because I was getting cranky and they weren't talking about anything interesting.

The Wings don't play again until Tuesday and they need a win or else this situation is going to get ugly.

Thought Bubble of the Day: What do you think the arena staff was thinking when the Cusimano brothers threw the first octopus back in 1952?

1st round playoff preview, as promised

This thing is a monster, even after I took out the three paragraphs on comparative symbology. I will totally understand if you just skip to the boobs at the end.

When the Winnipeg Jets moved out to the barren deserts of Arizona for the 1996-97 season, they weren't exactly expected to have immediate and bounding success and draw in a large, thriving, profitable fanbase. At least, I really hope they weren't, because they didn't. They really, really didn't. The success they had was small, and the truly devoted fans they garnered were scant. But this season, despite bankruptcy, despite nearly being moved half-way across the continent again, despite years of being one of the jokes of the league, proof positive that the southern US was no place to have hockey, the team overcame, and, as 4th seed in the western conference, have a legitimate shot at Lord Stanley's Cup. As a fan of hockey, and of sports in general, I want this Cinderella story to be able to warm my heart with the fuzzy feelings only achieved by watching bands of brothers overcome adversity prehistoric tribal-style, by beating down all the bigger, meaner tribes with sticks and then hugging it out at the victory feast.

Unfortunately, Cinderella's playing the Wings first round, so there will be no such fuzziness.

The Team:

This is a Coyote venturing out onto a road to meet its ancient
enemy the flying tire in glorious battle

This year, I think the Wings' biggest threat will be not treating the Coyotes as a legitimate threat. They seeded above us, and Babcock's no idiot, so my fears are probably unfounded, but I don't think the Red Wings are used to the mindset of "ok, we're below them, so we're going to have to be really careful and try to upset", and they also have a history of not always bringing their A-game to the ice when they're playing someone they're not scared of. And you know Ilya Bryzgalov's going to be a whore.

There's also going to be a few familiar faces:


Yep. Matheiu Schneider's still in the NHL.

So is Robert Lang.

And while Ed Jovanovski has never been a Red Wing, at least one current member of the team is very, very familiar with him.


omg get a room, you two.


The Fans:

First of all, to get this out of the way, are you one of those people who love a good internet battle, but haven't been online in like three days? You should look here, here, and especially here. Now onto business.

I write this entry (and indeed, every entry of this blog) under the assumption that at least nine of the ten people reading it will accept the following as common knowledge:

1. The economy in Michigan sucks hardcore, and lots of Michiganders have been forced to move out to the booming west

2. You don't stop following the sports teams you followed as children (and your parents followed as children, and your grandparents, and your own children) just because the desert is the only place you seem to be able to keep your family fed and clothed.

Phoenix, however, seems to be under the impression that you should just cheer for whatever team you happen to live most near. Rebuttals have been undertaken by better writers than I. If that's the actual mindset of the fans and media, then I pity the Coyotes their fly-by-night bandwagon. I'd never ask any legitimate fan of any team to forgo their loyalties based on something as stupid as geography (especially not in the internet age), and I'm more than slightly offended that there are other people out there willing to ask this of Red Wings fans, who during the playoffs, I consider one and all to be family.

Furthermore, in yet another sad attempt to usurp the authority of the octopus tradition, the fans have embraced the idea of throwing snakes (I'm assuming rubber) onto the ice, to support their team, rattlesnakes being indigenous to the area. On the one hand, I'm inclined to agree with PuckDaddy - this could be the rallying point the fanbase needs. You don't hear "Winnipeg" or "Hamilton" and think "snakes live there"; you might when you hear "desert" or "Arizona". The snakes would represent the fact that this team belongs to Phoenix, belongs in Phoenix, and though it might not have the rafters filled with championship banners and retired numbers, it will bite if cornered.

On the other hand, I'm pretty sure no one in Phoenix thought this far into it, and the snakes are only there to piss off Wings fans by farting on a tradition that celebrates its 58th anniversary today. Those are real unclassy intentions, guys.

Also, the comments to this post, suggesting that instead of throwing them, the fans wave them above their heads, one in each hand, make me think we're about to watch a hockey game played in an arena full of Minoan fertility idols.

Yeah, you didn't know this post was going to be about anthropology, did you? (And before you get excited about all the Coyote fans showing up topless, remember that they're Coyote fans, so they'll be wearing white shirts.) (and they'll mostly be guys.) (and they won't like you because you're wearing red.) (You'll be wearing red, right? You have to wear red.)

The puck drops at 10pm eastern. We'll have our coffee in one hand and our barf bag in the other. Go Wings.

And it's over

I could write something bitter about the cup being stolen from us. Point fingers and blame injuries.

I could write something pseudo-uplifting about how the Wings are still awesome and we'll get 'em next year. (They are still awesome, but that won't help us again for a while.)

I could write something sad about this being another disappointment for an already sad region.

But I think all that's already being covered, so I'll just exercise my womanly right and lock myself in my room for three days with a tub of chocolate ice cream and Abba's 'Winner Takes it All' on repeat, feeling sorry for myself and Marian Hossa.

Ok, not really. For one, it would have to be an awfully big tub of chocolate ice cream to last three days.

Honestly, I'm still not sure how I feel about this. I mean, this is the closest I've ever watched the Red Wings get without them winning it. The last time they made it to the finals without winning, it was 95, and I was asleep, because I was eight. I'm still trying to sort it all out. At this point, I think I'm most disappointed at the fact that that was the last Red Wing game until they go to Sweden next fall.

*sigh* Well, at any rate... at least Gary finally got what he wanted. Cue the Sidney Crosby media extravaganza.

Take a deep breath. One more to go.

In the newspapers tomorrow, everyone's going to be talking about the epicness of Friday's game. I bet Mitch Albom wrote his article three days ago. They're going to mention the same four or five things over and over again to fill an entire sports section, because that's what they get paid to do.

I don't get paid, so I'm not going to sit here and do that. And I'm not going to pretend that I'm excited about a game seven.

Pointing fingers? The refs weren't calling much either way. Chris Osgood had like eight-thousand saves. I don't even know if the Wings had enough shots on Fleury for me to be able to point at his whorishness on this one.

So you can pick your goat, but I'm going with my dad, who made a prediction before the game.

Anyway, the Wings still aren't out of it, and they're pretty good at home. So I'm keeping my positive face on. (at least until game day, when I melt into a puddle of nervous goo.) Someone's winning the Cup by the end of the week, and I like our odds.

I don't know how you're dealing with the frustration, but as for me and Lindsay, we're keeping sane by making fun of Jim Balsillie's name. Maybe that makes us fifteen year old boys, but seriously. Balsillie.

game 6 jitters

I'm not sure if I'm excited or pukey right now. It's sort of how I felt last year. Understandibly.

I hope you haven't jinxed things by making personal celebratory plans, because this thing isn't over yet. Out of five Stanley Cup finals games played at Mellon Arena during the last two years, the Red Wings have only won 2. None of them have been in this series. I don't want this thing to go to seven games, but I'm not going to make the assumption that it won't.

Still... it could be over tomorrow. And if it is, I want to see how many Pens fans stay to boo Hossa.

I don't know where you'll be watching the game, but I can tell you where you won't be. You won't be at Joevision being treated to awesomeness like last year. Two quotes from the Free Press article sort of stuck out as douchey to me. "...the NHL asked NBC and CBC not to allow the Wings to broadcast the game," and "...one of the league's contractual agreements with NBC is that clubs will not hold viewing parties in their arenas".

So, if you weren't sure before, there's your proof that NBC is Satan and Gary Bettman is the antichrist.

Lindsay and I are going to go tye-dye at midnight to keep from worrying about where we may or may not be in 24 hours.

It's not over yet

Today, I was in a car with a close friend of mine, a photographer. He asked me if he could borrow some Wings gear for a photoshoot because he had a model from Ohio who wanted to royally piss off some friends in Pittsburgh. I was all for pissing off people in Pittsburgh.

"But I hope the series isn't over until after this weekend, because that's the only time I have to shoot," he said.

So that game you just puked over? Was what he wanted. And all the anger, pain, and frustration built up within me? Will probably be taken out on him. Maybe that's kind of bitchy of me. But I think our friendship will survive.

You know, for a minute there, you probably could have convinced me that the only reason Crosby stayed down after that slash by Maltby in the third period was to get Wings fans' hopes up that he would be out of the next game.

But I don't think he was thinking that far ahead. I think that was just your average, run of the mill dive.

That game did, in fact, push me over the edge into a curled-into-a-ball wimpering panic, but if you don't want to follow me into the fetal position and actually feel like trying to remain positive, you're well in your rights.

The Wings aren't out of this one yet.

I'll still be spending most of game five trying not to puke.

Are you ready for number four?

I'm sort of riding that fine line between bouncy excitement and curl-up-in-a-ball, wimpering panic right now. The outcome of tonight's game will go about 5,000 miles in determining which way I fall.

Datsyuk might be back in tonight... but then again, he might not. What's wrong with him? "I no score for like 12 games. Is problem." Well no kidding.

I don't think I really need to tell you how important this game is for both teams. A lot of people talk about "momentum" in regard to hockey games, and a lot of times I'm pretty sure it's just another canned response that coaches learn to fill time during interviews between periods because they're not politicians and they don't have anything else to say. But tonight that's exactly what these teams are fighting for - momentum. And I don't want to see what happens if the Red Wings let the Penguins catch their breath.

It was a year ago today. I'd be surprised if the Penguins didn't use the memory of slumping over on the bench in defeat as motivation tonight.

But I'll also be surprised if Hossa doesn't either. And he's scored every one of his playoff goals so far in pairs in game fours.

So here's hoping our team keeps the momentum tonight. Go Wings.

Holy crap

I get terrified every time I see anything I think might injure a Wing like Henrik Zetterberg. I mean, Hank especially. He gets a love-tap from someone half his size and I cover my eyes and yell OH-NO BACK SPASMS!

But I thought this was awesome.

Completely unnecessary, and the result of a bunch of ridiculously cheap shots by a frustrated Penguins team (seriously, Max Talbot, stop being a whore and lay off our goalie), but awesome.

And after seven (now eight) Stanley Cup finals games against them, that kind of end-of-game shenaniganery is just what I've come to expect from Pittsburgh, so it's not like I was entirely surpised.

But seriously, that picture is going up on my wall next to the picture of Franzen punching Malkin in the end-of-game corner-scrum from last year. I think Malkin needs to stop trying to beat up vikings, because it's not working out for him very well at all.

And so it begins (or does it continue?)

The Stanley Cup finals have finally started, and with that the world has jumped on the hockey bandwagon. Every other feed on my Facebook homepage says “Go Wings!” Newspapers are posting hockey news on the front page. Even youtube.com is jumping on for the ride. I’d ask where these people are the other 351 days a year, but I know the answer.

They’re watching football.

As tonight’s game came to a close, I started racking my brain for a word to describe it. Unfortunately, no such word exists, so a long string of adjectives will have to do. It was stressful, gross, fast, amazing, ridiculous, exciting, and above all, (what else?) pukey. But the Wings came out with the win, and that’s all that matters in the end. It was great having Nick and Fabio back on the blueline, and it will be even better when Pavel finally gets healthy.

How long has it been now? Maybe in my brain three minutes without Pavel Datsyuk just feels like ten years, but I’m almost ready to call complete bs on the “bruised foot” thing. Whatever it is, it needs to go away soon; I want the Russian-on-Russian deke-battles I’ve been dreaming of.

Now, onto things that make me irrationally angry. DENNIS-FREAKING-LARUE. Who let him into the Stanley Cup finals? Wasn’t it enough fun last year when O’Halloran ref-ed every other game? It’s a miracle that the Red Wings didn’t end the first period with two game misconducts, five fighting majors for standing too close to Sidney Crosby, and down by nine goals.

But the Wings deserved that win. They killed off two back-to-back penalties, had the better goaltender, and just all out played a better game. I’ve been hearing that all three of the goals they scored were lucky bounces, but clearly these people didn’t see the goal from Justin Abdelkader. He knocked it out of the air and then put it in the net. That doesn’t sound like a lucky bounce to me.

At the rate they’re going, Crosby and Zetterberg are going to end up scheduling a full on cage match for the off-season. The last thing I want to see is those two trying to hurt each other as the series goes on, because as much as I’ve got my money on the Viking, Hank has a history of back spasms that I’d like to keep as history.

And I don’t know. I sort of expected more violence against Hossa. I know there was some, but I was sort of hoping that their retribution-anger would have distracted them from the game, like it did Chicago. Like taking stupid penalties and going WHAAAAREVENGE!! instead of I am going to force him toward the boards and pass the puck across ice to the neutral zone. Maybe tomorrow.

Deja vu all over again

Ha. Take that, you punk kids. The Wings finished them off, and they finished them off without Pavel Datsyuk, without Babcock's giant man-crush Ericsson, and without Nick Lidstrom. They can call the team old, they can call the team European, they can call the team whatever they want, but no one can say the Wings don't have depth. Darren Helm for the win.

I think he still doesn't have any regular season goals.

But now the Wings are playing the Penguins in the finals again and I feel like we just went through this.

That's probably because we did.

I'm not going to lie to you - I am sick of looking at the Penguins. I am sick of commentators fawning over Sidney Crosby, I am sick of yelling at my television for Marc-Andre Fleury to stop being a whore, and I am sick of yinzers in 'Free Candy' t-shirts sitting in lawn chairs burning their Hossa jerseys just to see how high the flames go. I know that this is going to be a different series than it was last year - the teams are different, the bounces won't all go the same way - but for some reason it still feels like I'm about to watch a dead horse being kicked. A dead horse with the overlying threat of the Penguins potentially having their revenge. Maybe I'm the only person who feels this way, but I'm sort of worried that the whole series is going to run like some sort of bizzaro dream-world alternate reality where you're forced to relive your past only you do it wrong and you mess up the future.

The finals haven't even started yet, and I'm already imagining them as being a bad weekend movie on Sci-Fi, or the kind of nightmare you tell your therapist about.

Whatever though. In the end, I don't much care who the Wings play in the finals provided they beat them.

Game 5 crazyness

Today I got woken up early by my cell phone. It was a twitter update from Scott Oake telling me that Pavel and Nick didn't skate this morning. Not quite what I wanted to wake up to.

Game five was ridiculousness embodied. I was being drug around the Royal Ontario Museum instead of watching it, and I still haven't quite worked out all of what was going on, but in the aftermath, only two things really matter - the Red Wings won, and Johan Franzen is the most amazing person in the world:


Trisha and I have been wanting someone to do this for two years. Because seriously. Just keep the damn thing in your mouth.

The Wings are now one win away from meeting the Penguins again in another springtime battle to the death. Get ready for every other word from the announcers mouths to be "Marian Hossa".

I actually really liked him and Tyfus last year, and had a great time getting to watch them be Red Wings, even if both of them are elsewhere by July.

Damn is it gonna suck for them if the Wings make the finals but don't repeat.

Blogging from Toronto

Realistically, I never expected the Wings to sweep. They had to lose a game to the Blackhawks eventually. But then, I didn't expect them to come back from a 3-goal deficit either, so by the time they lost, my emotions had been seriously played with. Still, I feel cheated every time the Wings lose in overtime.

I guess I was lucky, in that I got to see all three Wings goals, but missed all four Blackhawks (three while we were en route to Toronto, the overtime winner while I was trying to buy chocolate glazed timbits from a real shady Tim Hortons (insult to injury - they were out)), so my actual memories of the game itself were all covered and dripping with awesomeness.

Unfortunately, the fact that I spent most of Friday evening in a car with my family, travelling through lower-Ontario under cover of night also meant that we all missed Kronwall's epic hit on Havlat. From what I've heard the consensus is that if it was a bad hit, it was only because Havlat sort of missed the puck, and other than there being no puck-touching and leaving him looking pretty dead on the ice was perfectly fine, but then, most of what I heard I heard on a sports show we don't get on Livonia Brighthouse cable where one of the in-studio guest ball-hockey players spent the entire time pretending to lick the side of Ray Scapinello's head.

But now I guess Brian Campbell is tying threatening notes to bricks and hurling them through Kronner's window. Spectacular. There are so many potential issues at hand here - Was it a clean hit? Will Havlat be ok? Will some nutbag on Chicago try anything stupid in retaliation tomorrow? Will the Hawks be bastards and tie the series? What's going on with Pavel's foot? Is Pavel's new, more relaxed Dr. Rahmani Eye Institute commerical totally better than Campbell's Sweat Centers one? (Hell yes is it.) The only thing I can think to do is look at the positive side of things.

So, the Wings losing sucks, but on the bright side, they're still up one game, and can get within one win of the Stanley Cup finals tomorrow night.

I'd tell you to go out and be happy like me based on this information alone, but that's not really fair - I kissed the Stanley Cup at the HHoF today, and am bound to have a better baseline mood than I would have otherwise. It was a day of being constantly reminded of how freaking awesome the Red Wings are - it pretty much just fixed everything.

Chicago…still blegh

That game was a thriller, but Chicago still gives me headaches. I was getting whiplash watching the puck move so fast with all the turnovers and honestly think that the western conference finals are going to end with someone sustaining a serious injury of some sort. It almost happened in Game One with that Burish neck-slice scare. This series is getting really scrappy.

And with scrappiness comes penalties. Horrible, unnecessary, stupid penalties from the whistles of Dennis LaRue and Greg Devorski. I hate Dennis LaRue. Every time I see a tiny man skate onto the ice wearing a striped jersey with a number 14 on the back, my stomach drops because I know I’m about to sit through at least sixty minutes of ridiculousness. I hate it. There are some refs in this league I give second chances to, allow occasional mistakes from, try to forgive a little even if I can’t forget (because we’re all human) – but Dennis LaRue is not one of those refs. I want to get him alone in an elevator so I can kick him in the shins more than I do Jarome Iginla.

On a less bitter note…that game was, in my opinion, Chris Osgood’s best performance in this year’s playoffs, and… probably all year. He was consistent and pretty much the main reason why the Red Wings came out with a win. Justin Abdelkader had a pretty solid night, too. He made some plays that showed he is ready to play in this league. I’m a little worried about who we’ll have to drop to get him and Darren Helm in Detroit next year (even though I’m guessing that ready or not, Abdelkader’s spending some quality time in Grand Rapids again), but that’s Ken Holland’s problem – not mine.

Game three is Friday in Chicago. I want to be excited, because it’s the playoffs, and Wings are up two games to none, but I find it really hard to get excited about watching a hockey game in an arena full of Blackhawks fans.

I saw one today, at 1:30 in the morning, outside of the MGM Grand parking garage, still in his jersey, staring out despondently at the passing traffic. If I hadn’t been sure my friend, who was driving, would backhand me for making a scene, I would have reached over, laid on the horn, leaned out my window, and yelled something about his team having cooties.

Oh thank god.

Looking back on it, that was an exceptional game. Watching it was occasionally painful. Like when the score was tied. Or when the Wings were killing off ten-minute 2-on-8s. Or when Chris Pronger went out of his way to get out of position so he could start jobbing Homer.

But the Red Wings won! And we've been waiting all year for Helm to pull off something like that breakaway goal. Everybody talks about how fast he is, but you don't really realize it until you watch him take off like that. Good lord. That was nothing short of spectacular.

Of course, the giddy jubilation I'm feeling is somewhat tempered by the thought of having to play four to seven games against the Chicago Blackhawks making me throw up a little in my mouth.

Now for some reason we're watching Boston and Carolina go into overtime, prompting the following conversation:

"I totally didn't even know Rod Brind'Amor was still in the NHL."
"Rod the Bod?"
"What?"
"That's what they called him."
"Him? Ew. Why? He's..."
"No one ever called him 'Rod the Face', Lindsay."

Well. They didn't.

Lucky number seven?

The word pukey just came out of retirement. I don't know what the hell that was, because I'm asleep right now, but I know that it wasn't anything good.

I've heard a lot people talk about how much they love game 7s in the playoffs, because I guess they're intense or something, but I don't know - the prospect of watching creepy old-man Neidermayer try to take on Datsyuk is maybe kind of funny, as an abstract thought, but it's not exactly my idea of an awesome Thursday night, especially not during what might be the last Wings game of the year.

Maybe that makes me a bad hockey fan, but I don't care. I'm a Wings fan before I'm a hockey fan; one of those terrible people who doesn't care how boring the games are so long as the team wins. But anyway, we're not out of it just yet. Both of these teams can remember the taste of going all the way, and I guess we're about to see who wants to taste it again the most.

Apparently Justin Abdelkader's new nickname is "Abby". Am I a terrible person for giggling at that? We had a kitten named Abby once. She was fluffy and adorable and we said things to her like "Abby can has nummy chicken? Om nom nom nom".

But who am I to judge what they call the kid - since mom couldn't actually say Abdelkader, we just called him Waffles.

Still no coherant thoughts

I waited for something to come, but by now I'm thinking that I just lack the ability to say anything intelligent about last night's game. It's like my whole range of communication has been reduced to a series of grunting noises and expressive faces.

I guess it's for the best. That way if I met Chris Pronger in the street, he would understand what I had to say about him.

Of course, reading this didn't really help with my non-coherent English problem. I'd say something snarky about it, but when Scotty Bowman says he thinks Patrick Roy coaching the Avs is a good idea, my response can only be "What?"

"He's done a good job in junior," Scotty? Really? Didn't he order his son to go to the other end of the ice and beat down the other goalie? I... what?

Game 6 is tomorrow at the ungodly hour of 10pm again. I'd love to be able to make promises to everyone about how the team isn't going to go and lose two straight, but my predictions usually end badly, and anyway, the only promise this blog has been able to keep so far is that the posts would drop in quantity and quality once Grand Valley let out for the summer. I'll believe we've got this series in the bag when the Wings are smiling their way down the handshake line.