Sit down kids we are going to tell you a story. We have provided the mood music for those of you who do not live inside our sick and twisted minds.
Before this game there were no answers, and frankly we still don't think there are answers. . .merely a sloppy, sticky mess of feelings and concentration shoved into the cracks of what was once a sinking ship.
We've got the bilge pumps. We've got a skeleton crew of good officers who will be here til the bitter end, even if it means going down with the ship.
Funny thing is, you might not be able to be at your best until you've been at your absolute, rock-bottom, disgusting worst. This wasn't the Pens' best game ever simply because it wasn't the Flyers' best game ever. Your best game ever is when you meet an immovable object, a team that is every bit your equal, maybe even better, and you churn out a win based on perseverance, poise, and defensive ability.
Maybe that game will never appear in this series, because both teams have proven themselves to be totally fucking insane around each other. They might be great teams on other nights, with other matchups, but something in this series is goddamn poison and it's probably going to come down to who drinks the least of it.
The way this is going, no result will surprise us.
But we have just a sliver's worth of belief to hang onto. One heartstring. One tendon.
Get nasty. Ruminate. Do some shots.
We barely remember anything.
Click to make it bigger.
Pens scored 8 unanswered goals.
But it started really fucking bad. Pens were in all kinds of penalty trouble.
Evegnei donkey-punched the Flyers after they scored first on a goal that had everyone who had ever loved Marc-André Fleury vomiting.
Niskanen had a big-time goal--his first career playoff goal.
But then the Pens got in penalty trouble seemingly at random. No reason for it. Just went insane. Still calling that the high-stick penalty on Cooke was bullshit.
But then the Pens went on a tear. It just happened. They were playing the Flyers the right way. Their heads were in it, and somehow, miraculously, they started playing defense. Simply by not making mistakes. It started by keeping the puck in the offensive zone. It went to another level from there--the Flyers were fucking frustrated. They showed it and they paid. Pens power play woke up in a big way. No idea how to explain it other than everyone went to bed last night believing that they could do this.
Hidden story of this game was Kris Letang losing his shit and slowly finding it.
And the equally hidden story of how we hadn't even realized Paul Martin had been injured.
We feel bad for Ben Lovejoy for being a major fuckup but we know he can get past this.
Unbelievable effort by both Despres and Brian Strait tonight to hold the blueline together with their own special glue.
Bunch of pics in no particular order:
Matt Niskanen's mullet clearly contains hidden and special powers hitherto unknown on this earth.
Imagine Jordan Staal's swagger as he goes to bed tonight.
Pure swagger as he puts on some sweatpants, burps, and brushes his teeth.
Pure swagger as he takes a piss before bed.
This. Is. Swagger.
Malkin scored one last fuck you at the end, and it was 10.
10 big ones.
No matter what happens, the Penguins have proven that they still know what it means to walk together.
They've just gotta do it again.
One game at a time, gentlemen.
Also, unrelated, but Zac Rinaldo acted a fool and apparently this is a habit of his.
Via some biddies on Tumblr:
What is this we can't even.
The notes also prove that there is a terrifying, secret Tumblr community that will literally discuss in detail Zac Rinaldo's "hairlessness."
There's something just frighteningly unsexy about people that take teaser pics of themselves undressing in bathroom mirrors.
show us your dicks, Philly?
Friday could be a beautiful day or a sour one, but we as fans got our minds back for a bit and we're going to hunker down, dig in, and try to take what comes with grace.
Please nobody go to jail.
On Friday, the Ginger Beard runs free,
Stay up to see if the Kings can pull off a sweep.
We love you.
We're riding this to the end.
Let it wave.
You can turn the depressing music off now.
But remember: it gets really, really, really, really bad sometimes before it gets better.
Sometimes you even die inside.
Chances are we've lost all access to our humanity at this point.
It's playoff hockey, guys.
I died a thousand deaths tonight. Screamed with the force of a thousand orgasms. My landlords gave up and just watched the game so they knew what the cursing/shrieking/ceiling banging was about. Uncle Jordy with the Hatty in orange vomit hell was poetry. Friday the rollercoaster ride crests again. Sanity was lost a week ago. Go Pens.