Seriously, Chicago Tribune?

So, the Red Wings haven't been doing so great lately. I mean, alright, they played pretty well the last few games, but... they didn't win them, as close as they came, and come playoff time, the real season, winning's what matters. Maybe you're getting a little disillusioned. A little frustrated. Maybe you're starting to turn your gaze elsewhere for your hockey needs (stay with me here) and this last week's epic-tacular bout against the Chicago Blackhawks caught your lonely eye.

Are you ready to become a Blackhawks bandwagon fan? They've written you a guide. Go, join their powerful, thriving caravan as it rolls towards its destiny. Patrick Sharp will be there with you, though he won't be looking particularly thrilled*.

Or maybe you're a girl. Here are four convincing reasons to go to games anyway, and a comprehensive guide to what you should wear once you decide to learn the ways of the puckbunny.

Chicago's real fan seems a little offended.



*I don't know, maybe that's just Patrick Sharp's face. I try not to look at Patrick Sharp too closely since last spring, because even though a lot of players are different people on the ice, I still have a hard time wrapping my mind around the thought that someone who looks like such a nice guy almost speared off Nick Lidstrom's balls.

But if he does look tenative about the situation in that photoshoot, it's probably because the author of the second article I linked is there behind the camera, drooling.

Go Wings.

Winning is nice

Winning is very nice.

I know that between flukey injuries and low goal production, Tomas Kopecky wasn't exactly a perennial favorite among most Wings fans, but he's well liked around our household, and it was a little hard watching him... be a Blackhawk... ugh.

And uh, Brad May. Yeah. Who'da thought?


Today is Henrik Zetterberg's birthday. Fittingly, it's also Leif Ericson Day. Happy vikings!

Ericson spelled with one S looks wrong now. Thanks for that one, Fabio.

Why Chicago Hates Detroit?

After what seems like an eternity (even though it was less than a week) the Red Wings have a game tonight against the Chicago Blackhawks. I have no idea who will be in the lineup because I never believe the speculations online until the game actually starts because Mike Babcock is a crazy fool and no one ever knows what the hell he's going to do next. I do know that Justin Abdelkader won't be there, due to the fact that he was sent back to Grand Rapids. *Insert angry comments from the general fanbase here*

Today I found a blog post where the writer made a list of all the reasons why Chicago hates Detroit. These always make me laugh and this one was no different. Here are the highlights:

10. The Octopus

Throwing octopus on the ice makes about as much sense as Detroit making a bid for the 2020 Olympics.

SERIOUSLY?! I would have thought that by now most people that follow the NHL would have at least grasped the general idea of this tradition by now. If not and you still need some help, go educate yourself. At any rate, we don't care if it "makes sense". We're gonna do it until the oceans run dry.

8. Consistency

While we hate to admit it, every Hawks fans would kill to have a franchise that's in contention for the Cup every single season.

This one actually makes sense.

6. They're...Good

There, we said it. But our Dad can still beat up your Dad. We'll be taking our puck and going home now.

This one he got right too. Except that I'm not really sure what he means by "our Dad can still beat up your Dad". I took it to mean the teams in the early days, and the last time I checked, 8 Stanley Cups are more than three.

4. Arrogance

The Red Wings walk around with the kind of swagger that would make Kanye West sick to his stomach with disgust.

Honestly, I haven't heard any arrogance horror stories about either team - except for maybe Chelios when he was in a bad mood, and that one... sort of falls on both of us. Anyway, there's nothing wrong with having confidence in your ability to be badass on the ice. I bet Blackhawks fans would kill themselves to have their team walk with swagger.

2. The Sweaters

Not to get all fashionista on you, but the Hawks sweater cannot be matched. Especially not by logo that looks like it's from Hot Wheels.

Right again. The Blackhawk's sweater can't be matched...in cultural insensitivity. (Oh wait, I forgot about Cleveland.) I'd much rather have a logo that looks like one of the greatest children's toys ever than one that's potentially racist.

1. Original Six

This rivalry is like a bad marriage that's lasted way too long with a spouse. What's worse is Detroit's put on about 200 pounds with a bad case of acne since the day we met.

Who's about 200 pounds with a bad case of acne?

Lol, he wishes he weighed 200 pounds...

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.

Chicago... blegh

Tonight, on a very special episode of Hockeytown Static, we talk about a disease which has affected the lives of billions of innocent children worldwide – cooties.

Because today, the Wings begin a series with a team that has two of the most cooties-positive players in the entire NHL – Chris Versteeg and Patrick Kane.

Kane at least seems to have gotten his under control enough that at least they don’t show up on his face anymore. He may beat the disease yet. Versteeg sings Fergie songs on camera.

I’d run from either of them on the playground.

The Wings had a hard enough time not catching anything from Corey Perry and Rob Neidermayer the last seven games. (I know how old Rob Neidermayer is. I don’t care. I know cooties, and the man has them. He probably caught them from Corey.) Their immune systems are tired. Pavel hasn’t scored in a thousand years. Abdelkader is busy fighting off the last of his own cooties. I don’t know how long they can keep this up.

No, seriously though, I’m not looking forward to having to watch 4 to 7 Blackhawks games.
- Their team is gross
- Joel Quenville is a major tool
- I’m actually not kidding about Kane and Versteeg having cooties.
- Scottie Bowman told them all our secrets
- My mom thinks Nikolai Khabibulin is cute (THAT CONVERSATION WAS AWKWARD)
- Did I mention the cooties?

There hasn’t been a single game against them this season that didn’t make me want to throw up a little, even the ones the Wings won. I hope this series goes fast. And in the Wings’ favor.

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.