Bahahahaha

After a back-to-back buzzer-beating weekend, I was pretty convinced that the Wings' luck had been all used up and that I would have to sit through the world's most miserable Penguins game I've seen since June, and maybe even ever because at least then I didn't have have to stare at Brian Engblom's mullet during intermission. Though I did have to listen to Pierre Mcguire. It's kind of a lose-lose situation, I guess.

if mcguire and engblom traded hair, my life would pretty much be over

BUT - if the Red Wings are going to keep doing what they just did, I don't really care what network I have to watch it on. They won 3-1, which would have been higher on both sides if both goalies weren't ridiculous (which for Jimmy I was pleasantly surprised and for Fleury I was unpleasantly unsurprised). And speaking of goalies, I'm probably the hundredth person to put this video up, but look me in the eye and honestly tell me you're already sick of watching Howard pull Crosby away from Bertuzzi (which was probably a good thing for Crosby) by his face.



Lindsay got a text message that this was happening, ran away from dance practice to the big screen tv in GV's fieldhouse, right in the middle of a group of kids studying (which made them all leave), and then sat on a table in front of said tv to watch Versus replay it. I'd worry that she's getting a reputation over there as "crazy hockey girl", but it's a big school, so she's probably got another solid year and a half of hijinks left before complete strangers start calling her out on it.

The win has us in 8th spot, four points ahead of Calgary. This is a spectacular day to be a Red Wings fan.

Groundhog Day

Today is that magical day when Bill Murray movies are showing on eight different channels and we wait with bated breath for an ugly rodent in Pennsylvania to tell us that it's spring everywhere except Michigan, where it's still going to be cold, bleak, and unfortunate until the middle of May.

still winter, bitches

On top of that, tonight the Red Wings play a west coast team until two in the morning, whereas tomorrow the Red Wings play a west coast team until two in the morning. And given what we've come to expect from the broadcast team at FSD... well, I'll be honestly surprised if we don't get at least three groundhog day jokes.

Heres hoping Todd Bertuzzi gets a birthday hat trick so that we can all go to Arby's and get some birthday curly fries.

And maybe I should clarify, because this seems to be happening a lot lately - if he does get a birthday hat trick, I want the Wings to keep the lead until the game is over. Not over like there's two minutes left. Over like all the players have retired to their respective dressing rooms and have disrobed and showered and are giving interviews to the assembled media. All the way over.

You listening Red Wings? You have to play the whole game until it's over.

Or you'll make me cry.

Team Canada orientation camp

There probably aren't going to be any Red Wings on Canada's final Olympic roster below the coaching/management level, but I still feel the urge to follow that team.

Mostly to see if this line remains intact all the way to Vancouver.

All we need to do is get Iginla's name changed to Stills and we're in the money.

This is not the lame summer-boringness I had intended for our 100th post

Lindsay and I don’t do so well during the off-season. It’s not that our lives stop without hockey as much as it is that the ways in which we try to trick our minds into thinking that hockey is still there occasionally interferes with our daily lives, if not our sanity.

Which is the only explanation I can give as to why I paid to see The Love Guru in theatres twice last summer.

We’re keeping busy when we can, looking for jobs (and looking, and looking, and looking…), getting sunburned, watching the Tigers (Marian Hossa dug a deep, deep hole in my heart last season, and Placido Polanco is filling it with delicious free roast beef)…

But among these normal and relatively mentally healthy activities, we’ve also been lamenting off-season moves, giggling at prospects who don’t know English very well yet, speculating about whether Sidney Crosby has a teddy bear, and, even though it’s only been out for a day, already finding reasons to bitch about next season’s schedule.

And I secretly get excited every time I hear one of Ken Daniels’ Brighthouse cable commercials.

I know that the Red Wings have the shortest off-season in the NHL this year, and hockey-related things have been happening all over the place, but I feel like I’ve just spent the last year in a strange place where no one cares about hockey and no one probably ever will.

I suddenly feel sorry for all four legitimate Nashville fans, because that’s their reality, and I’m only imagining I’m there because I’ve gone delirious from the heat. And the fact that our landline is down at the moment, so I’m posting this from a Starbucks. Being on dial-up is one thing, but whose phone line dies if they’re not in a blizzard or about to be murdered?

And I still have no idea what the crap is going on with Jiri Hudler.

But I’m not even sure if Jiri Hudler knows what’s going on with Jiri Hudler.

I guess this is a regular feature now?

Maybe it's a little lame, but you know what? Already for this blog I've drawn Chris Pronger's floppy skates in MS Paint, dedicated half an entry to how much Luke Schenn looks like a young Christian Bale, and contemplated Henrik Zetterberg's horoscope. Lame is what we do here.

So welcome to Wtf Wednesdays. I guess because last week's ice dancing segment was such a hit.

Sadly, I don't have anything that even comes close to touching the awesomeness that was Marian Hossa in that shiny silver shirt. I don't think anything really can. So I'll take a complete shot in the dark here; nothing to lose -

I can't possibly be the only hockey fan who wasn't aware that in juniors, one of Sidney Crosby's nicknames was Baby Legs, can I?

Baby Legs? Yes. Baby Legs. I went "wtf". And I sort of wish I'd known this last May.

Maybe the name is warranted. Here's a video of the then-future first round of the 2008 draft about to watch the Finals at the Joe. Tell me that at 2:50 they're not discussing Sidney Crosby's calves being small compared to someone else's. Because I'm pretty sure they are.



I mean, I know that some athletes probably want to be aware of how other, highly successful athletes are working out and taking care of their bodies, but I'm not sure my first reaction to "I just met Sidney Crosby" would be "Let's check out his fine legs as he's walking away."

But hey, if that's what Stamkos & Friends want to do, well then, who am I to argue?

Well that makes me feel better about life

for the time being, anyway.

If you're reading this, I'm sure you know what happened. And you probably feel a little better about life too.

Granted, the Penguins were in a position where I'm not completely shocked they were bowled over. That doesn't matter. I still feel better about life.

12:30 is a god-awful time to start a hockey game. And on a Sunday. Do you have any idea what time I stay up on Saturday night, NBC? No, of course you don't. Because only old people watch network tv, and at 12:30 on a Sunday, old people are just getting back from church and/or Denny's and are ready to spend three sedentary hours watching a professional sport.

My bleary, sleep-deprived eyes didn't matter - the entire city of Pittsburgh told me with riotous boos when Marian Hossa got anywhere near the puck. The sound made me happy to be alive.

It's four in the morning now, and I don't have anything else intelligent to say. Here. Laugh at this picture of Sidney Crosby looking put out:

That is not a happy face. But at least it's a clean-shaven one. I was a fan of many things concerning the 2008 Stanley Cup playoffs, but Sidney Crosby's pedo-stache was not one of them. For one, to be able to grow a pedo-stache you should be reasonably old enough to warrant the 'pedo' moniker. Sidney was not. For another, I am a girl and my playoff beard was coming in less patchy than his was.

So... is Ozzie our backup goalie again? I'm cool with it; if he's going to play better with a little of the pressure taken off him, then by all means Tyfus* for starter. I would just, in a world where people make podcasts about the playoff goaltending situation in the first week of February, like it to be given to me straight. It won't shatter my world or anything. I'm one of those insufferable little fangirls who would support Chris Osgood if his GAA were higher than your school's valadictorian's GPA and he got sent down to the ECHL by the farm team, but if Conklin's our starter for now, I'm willing to pretend I've never looked at his playoff record and roll with it. I am not, however, willing to listen to five different anylists and 10 different bloggers a night try to find some sort of mystical pattern in Mike Babcock's 'wait what's going on here?' goaltending rotation. That just makes me want to hit things.

(*I realize that Typhus is a terrible, contageous disease spread by parasites, which has killed uncounted people over the centuries, but that's what Lindsay's been calling Conklin for the past six weeks or so, and I've sort of grown attatched to it. Tyfus it is.)

So much for my denial-based sense of zen-like calm

I was back in Livonia this weekend, doing French homework (did you know that in French, "le mieux" tacked on to the end of a phrase means "the best"? Guess who's last name is no longer used in my household), and braving my parents' dial-up internet connection (I know) for one of my favorite parts of the All-Star festivities - AWKWARD STYLIZED PHOTOSHOOT PORTRAITS!! Last year we were treated to The Throne:

*insert Masterpiece Theatre theme here*

This year? Disembodied heads emerging from the void:

Nice hair, Stamkos

I'm not sure I want to imagine how creeptastic Datsyuk would have looked in this.

Which brings me to my actual topic - the ASG dropout suspension. I haven't really read anyone else's opinion on this. I probably won't. I'm trying to maintain my denial-based sense of zen-like calm surrounding the entire issue. This is how I get through finals week coinciding with the playoffs. But I digress...

If Sidney Crosby wants to show up to the All Star game broken to have his picture taken and reinforce his role as head tool of the NHL media, more power to him. But keep in mind that unless he's living a secret double-life, there's something Pavel and Nick both have that he lacks.

No, the answer is not "mad skillz", nor is it "Stanley Cup rings", although I'm thinking a lot of people reading this might try to argue one or both.

I'm not BFFs with any of the Red Wings, and for all I know, the whole team spent the all star break doing drugs with hookers in Bermuda - but between the two of them, Nick and Pavel have two wives and five children - families, families who don't get to see them everyday because they spend a third of the season in another time zone. The fact that Crosby lives the sad, isolated life of the deified superstar shouldn't really be held against the Red Wings.

So, Gary, if you want to punish two of the best players in the league for preferring to spend time with their kids rather than showing up to your media circus to get their toenails painted up in the Bell Centre press box with Sidney Crosby and his dad, I guess that's your prerogative.

Since Columbus isn't fast approaching us in the division, ahead of us in the league, historically apt to break our players' faces, or going to stir up bad memories of playoff series past (nor have they been beating us this season), there's no real sense of honor at stake in this game. Only 2 points - 2 points I'm not crazy about having to watch my team struggle so hard for - but 2 points I daresay the Red Wings can, just this once, afford to lose, should they lose them. I'll be ok with this game. But the principles involved still make me more than a little outraged.

Have fun with your power-trip, Gary. I hope it makes you feel as tall as you thought it would. Just be careful - if you do, in fact, manage to successfully run the league into the ground, you'll have to find some other way to get that giddy, all-powerful feeling you get when you screw over the Red Wings.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go wash again. It's been a whole day since I agreed with Pierre McGuire, but I still feel unclean.

Will the ASG crazyness never end?

Sidney Crosby is out with a knee injury. Martin St. Louis is in. I pretty much dumped Lucky Charms all over my bed when I read this. If there was anyway to make more people angry about the All Star Game, this would be it.

It's getting to the point where you can't really call it an All Star game anymore. No members of the defending Stanley Cup champion team, no "Sid the Kid"... what's next?

My personal opinion? Replace the entire Eastern Conference team with the Detroit Pistons. I would watch Rip Hamilton try to score on Luongo all day... that right there would be some serious entertainment.