all our grace is wasted and gone

What an NHL season. June 15, 2011, and nothing will make sense anymore. There was probably a time when you thought that the Stanley Cup-winning goal was going to be scored by like Chris Conner or something, but those days have passed, and we now know who was worthy, and who was favored by all of the intangible powers, this season.
Like any good Stanley Cup Final Game 7, the resemblances are all there between what's going on inside your soul and some of the latter sequences in The Return of the King. We've been here before. Sauron made that goddamn mountain and we fucking climbed it and now it's just a battle of wits. Right? Right.


What has made this season feel different from other seasons past is that there was a perceptible struggle of good versus evil throughout. . .and not just in the sense of "players we like" versus "players we don't like" and media stupidity running rampant, but really--as we have said many times, god died this season. For realsies. People were severely injured in senseless fashions, in high-profile ways. We sat in wonder as the way the game was played seemed to turn over on itself yet again, favoring a bit of a brutal edge this go-around. Everything seemed a little bloodier, hit a little harder. This season was predicated on anger, the kind of anger that only brews when the sane portion of North America is forced to watch the fucking Chicago Blackhawks and Philadelphia Flyers in a Stanley Cup Final.
As much as we hate the Canucks, this is much better.
What the Bruins have tomorrow is a chance to reawaken Justice in the continent.

In other words, bring that shit.
And Tim Thomas is still America.



Do it for Frodo.
Go Bruins.
Go Pens.
Wow, Luongo is soff.
etc. etc. etc. forever