Sorry we haven't been around for the past week.
We've been playing golf with people like Henrik Zetterberg and Mike Richards, who have booked our datebooks full with tee times, and bought us many a cocktail in order to apologize for their behavior this season and playoffs.
We've been trying to get tee times with guys like MaxTal and Marc-Andre, but, like we said. Booked full. Quite the scheduling disaster.
We are both in Boston, Massachusetts awaiting the End of Time. In these trying times we ask you to rely upon your faith in Curry above all things. It is this belief that will get you through Judgment Day and to heaven, where it's always hockey season, and yet strangely warm, with no below-zero student rush lines. We believe this, and so should you.
For the Rapture, we will be traveling to Providence, Rhode Island, which, since it was started as a colony for religious faithful, might be the safest place on earth.
We encourage you to find religion before Jesus finds you.
Now, on to business.
First off, we mentioned earlier that we will be having some changes to the way PH operates, which will probably be for the better.
We will be seeking reliable individuals. Personal problems will be accepted.
We'll be posting an intensive application later in the week. Tell your friends.
Last night's game looked a little bit like a Penguins game if the Penguins had actually been able to shut out the Lightning. Which we all know they weren't. With that wishy-washy power play and bubbling anger. It felt like home. Except Tim Thomas is fat, but kind of good fat.
That shutout'll get you a Starter jacket, folks.
Jaromir Jagr could not be reached for comment. Seeing as Ray Shero has apparently never even met Jaromir Jagr, we're fine with him avoiding our calls. For now.
Oh, hush. Any excuse to use this photo is a good one and you know it.
Also, Sharks. We don't want to talk about it. Neither, we're assuming, do they.
The Sedins can stop it whenever they're ready.
We believe the End of Days will contain an endless rain of Swedes.
Sorry we haven't been around for the past week.
Red Wings lose in Game 7. Sharks fail to choke.
Jimmy Howard most likely drowns his sorrows in BBQ ribs and cornbread, specifically: a swimming pool full.
Professor Kronwall, obviously the hugest dickbag of the entire series (and possibly in the world if Tomas Holmstrom ever dies), cried the most.
But: let's talk about the Sharks. More specifically, let's talk about what a beast Joe Thornton finally was and what a complete creepy asshole he was to Pierre McGuire after the game. In his own Joe-Thornton-y way, he's all, WHATEVA WHATEVA WE DO WHAT WE WANT FUCK ALLS YA'LL.
Patrick Marleau was too sweet to say it like that. Instead he got the GWG and insisted that the press make him look epic:
Our emotional picks for the Stanley Cup are San Jose and Boston.
Everyone else doesn't deserve it.
Has anyone else been forced to sit through this commercial for "Blush Pittsburgh"?
The dude who worked on it apparently put it on Vimeo because it's something to be proud of.
As opposed to the creepiest, most disturbing thing we've ever seen.
We have been very lazy and bad lately but we have been watching hockey. Everything is interesting and frightening at the same time. It seems like nothing has stopped even with the Penguins out of the playoffs. We'd like to present to you, today:
THE CLASSY PLAYER AWARDS
MAY 11, 2011
First, we will bring you the LEAST CLASSY PLAYER:
Placing first is whatever young lady is taking photos of Patrick Kane while he is asleep, as much as we are tempted to give the award to Patrick Kane himself.
Alcohol is a tricky substance that can fool some people into believing that Club Trash isn't Club Trash. We're sure Patrick probably doesn't care all that much, considering that contraption he is wearing as a necklace, but bad decisions are bad decisions and we're sure he is very embarrassed and crying into his Proactiv, on the phone with his momma all like DON'T GO ON THE INTERNET. DON'T GO ON THE INTERNET. He didn't do anything embarrassing, other than sleep with a "lady."
We assume the "lady" has a fake tan and shops at amiclubwear.com, but she did exactly what we would have done, up until a point. If you see the dude you like, and you are available, and he plays hockey, and he seems into you, and you are okay with it maybe only being a one-time thing. . .whatever. Letting the photos get on the Internet was probably intentional though, and we don't wanna be the skank who twitpics things like that. Sooo. Girl who slept with Patrick Kane is today's Least Classy Player.
CLASSY PLAYER AWARD OF THE DAY GOES TO:
Jaromir Jagr, who scored a hat trick for the Czech Republic today. It eliminated the USA from the IIHF World Championships but. . .it was Jaromir Jagr. Can we even be mad?
He is also meeting with Ray Shero today to discuss coming back to play in a charity golf tourney with the 1991 Cup team. Everyone is having the same wet dream that he is going to put a Pens uni on and cause uterus-related hysteria much like Alexei Kovalev did, except score some more goals, but this has neither been confirmed nor denied.
How about that power play the Czechs ran though?
Jaromir is today's Classy Player.
It is a beautiful day.
The Washington Capitals are literally confused as to why they lost. We are literally confused as to why they are confused, and why they took it upon themselves to ensure that Tampa won 7 games straight. This has been the hot topic of discussion for the last several days, and we are very late on the whole thing. Last night, I tried to get a bunch of people to get excited about the Preds with me and drink Arbor Mist in a liveblog, but the lack of success to that plan shows me where America's priorities lie. By allowing this nonsense to continue, the terrorists will win.
Vancouver won last night in Nashville. Clearly the Arbor Mist was taboo. I painted my nails Preds colors. Barry Trotz did not have a good night. But the GoldOut is legit:
Our Preds for the Stanley Cup campaign is getting thin. What can we do? We might have to start setting things on fire.
The Bruins and the Sharks are trying for sweeps as we speak.
San Jose is down by a goal, but there's 20 minutes left. Killer instinct? Finnish goaltending tandem? IS THIS THE YEAR. EDIT: SAN JOSE JUST TIED IT HOOOOOO
Boston doesn't give a shit. They are up 1-0. Hartnell is a turtle.
what else to do.
get ready for that third round.
If Tampa Bay makes it out of the East, there is no god. Not that we haven't been preaching the death of god all season.
GO PENS (and preds) (and not-tampa-or-detroit)
So now it's our duty to say something about hockey that has nothing to do with the Penguins, we guess. The reality of it is that we've spent the past several nights crying into glasses of whiskey and looking at pictures of cats that look like Hitler on the internet; all pointless efforts to alleviate the pain of the vast, empty void that is the world of Penguins hockey right now.
It's a lot like Max Talbot's soul up in here.
So what's happening here...
Unless something crazy happens in the next few minutes, Boston is staring a possible sweep in the face. Assuming they take it tonight, that's a 3-0.
Typically, in the finals, if the Pens aren't there we'll root in-state. There are a lot of things that would alter this, like if the Jackets ever made it to the finals (LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL) but mostly it's true. But these are still semifinal games.
Tampa Bay is looking like they may sweep tonight.
We're kind of glad...
Not FOR them. Just for our own image. It's not like we got beat up by the class retard, at least.
As I write this, Detroit just went up 3-2 over SJS in the game tonight, but the Sharks are leading the series 2-0 and could still come away with the game tonight. Lols to Western games going on into the late hours of the night. We're rooting SJS not just for the series, but for the win. Maybe this will be the year they forget to choke.
Come on guys.
Vancouver and Nashville are just hilarious.
We want the series extended to five hundred games.
Preds for the Cup.
Anyway, try not to be too depressed, because soon we will get amazing photos from charity golf tournaments in which the boys wear ill fitting polo shirts and pants with horrible patterns.
Fuck the other teams.
The Pens got off to a slightly awkward start. Excuses started showing up everywhere for the state of the arena, the state of the morons in the crowd, why Marc-Andre Fleury was "choking" and why Malkin was "shitty." But: then the Pens picked it up. Crosby took over the fucking universe. Puck Huffers Staff was witness on November 27, 2010, where Sid got the first hat trick in the midst of his points streak, which lasted from November 5th to December 28th. It was snapped by the Islanders on the 29th. From that point on, things were shit. No one knows why. Probably something to do with legal hits to the head. Something to do with irresponsibility within the entertainment industry. WHATEVER COUGH WHATEVER
Fleury absolutely became the goaltender we needed him to be. He put the team on his back as Malkin also went down with a torn ACL and MCL. Then, every other center in the organization basically died. We skated an AHL lineup. We traded Alex Goligoski and some used shin pads around the deadline and got James Neal, Matt Niskanen, and Alexei Kovalev. Why Matt Niskanen was even skating in Game 7 against Tampa Bay remains a mystery, but we made some solid investments for the future. We watched guys like Chris Conner, Mark Letestu, and Dustin Jeffrey truly come into their own, and learn to play like their lives depended on it. But without Sid and Malkin, we all knew it was going to be hard. We saw Dan Bylsma coach a group of players whose major talents were perseverance and hockey sense rather than actual physical skill. We beat good teams, teams that still had their most talented players, with defense and just pure hanging on for dear life. Asston of shootouts--including four straight shootout wins in March.
The power play, was, unequivocally, a disaster. But we were like FUCK IT, what are we even supposed to do right now?
We engaged in some ridiculous war with the New York Islanders that should have never been permitted.
Our team skated way too many minutes, bumped their heads way too many times, and was eventually wore down. Chris Kunitz caught on fire, then disappeared at some indeterminate point in April. Niskanen got a goal before Neal. If you expected the lineup to really click the way it does when a team actually does training camp together at random in March with the amount of injuries and other strugs, you were stupid. So, so, so, stupid. Arron Asham almost got the team going by himself, and he is fucking Arron Asham. What happened? We all know what happened. Seriously.
We put up a fight, but there was a time when it had to be put to rest. Either that, be part of a "Caps in 4 (or 5)" scenario that no one wants to be a part of.
Roloson didn't Varlmaov. He Halak'd. The Lightning pulled a Montreal, and we looked like tits.
Crosby and Malkin have a lot of time before camp to get to 100%. It's a new day. A muggy, cloudy day, and all of a sudden, we're rooting for the Preds to take it all. What on earth. That, or San Jose, or Boston. Tampa got the Caps for round 2. Scuse us while we lol.
Think of James Neal in his postgame, more or less fighting back tears.
We know it's not a perfect world, but in a perfect world, he's going to be streaking down the wing in October, and Sid is going to feed him with a pass, and he's going to bury a perfect wrister behind some asshole in a Flyers uniform. Everyone will scream and high-five and hug. It'll be hockey again.
Right now, we just get to ruminate, but it's not forever.
With the first-round exit by the Muskrats, we have some rebuilding to do in our back office as well. We will be in touch.
season wrap up some time tomorrow.
All the love in the world, and sometimes you just fall down anyway.
best team ever.
we'll be back.
Tonight we present you with yet another one-act play to be acted out with your friends. This time it is not suggested that you be drinking, it is required by law (internet law only, void in all 50 states.) In this play, you are the star. Act accordingly.
To start you off feeling a little better about this, watch this video and let it numb your mind.
Watching one of these things make its way across my bed was the only reason I am not hanging on a necktie from my closet door.
Enjoy those same perks in your life.
The sun wakes you up from a glorious sleep sometime in the early morning. You momentarily aren't sure where you are, or why the hell your bed is so uncomfortable and small. Looking around, you realize that you are in your childhood home. Confused, you make your way to the living room to see if you can figure this out. Sitting on the couch is a vaguely familiar figure from your childhood, dressed in white.
Why hello there, champ!
It's been a few years, you know. You sure have gotten big! How'ev you been, scout?
I brought over some Lucky Charms for you, buddy. Go have yourself some with a nice cold glass of milk.
As odd as it is, you agree. Lucky Charms are the shit, so maybe this morning won't be so bad. The day is starting off pretty good. When you get to the kitchen, however, another familiar presence is sitting at your table in a speedo. It's that Pucell jagoff that used to clean your pool in the summers. You haven't seen him in years, but he looks pretty much the same as he did when he graduated from the class below you, despite being two years older.
What the fuck are you doing in my kitchen?
(Through a mouth of Lucky Charms) Aw, hey. What's happening?
Aw, these are the last of the 'Charms, man. Sorry about that.
You're kidding me.
PURCELL shrugs.Into the room walks another familiar character. You are, at this point, pretty sure this is a really weird dream.
Hey there Tiger. Been awhile!
What, exactly is happening here?
Well, we're just waiting for everyone to finish their turn.
You try not to think about what is happening and figure your alarm clock will wake you up soon. You look into the box of Lucky Charms and find some marshmallow dust at the bottom, which is pretty awesome. You tip the bag into your face while you wonder if you could fly in this dream if you tried it. A door opens in the hallway, and out walks another familiar character.
Hey there, Killer, how's it going? Is everyone here?
Can everyone cut the shit with the nicknames? What the hell are you all doing here? Where is my family?
Well, hold on just a minute there, buckaroo. (Nods towards MILKMAN) You're up, cowboy.
The MILKMAN disappears into the room and the door shuts. You are getting more and more concerned with what is happening here. You start pinching yourself to see if you can wake up, but to no avail. Unfortunately, this may be real. After some pacing and punching walls to see if you can wake yourself up, the milkman exits the room in the hallway and comes back to sit down on the couch.
Please tell me that everything horrible I am thinking is wrong.
Aw, Tiger, nothing bad is happening here! We're all just paying a visit. We just wanted to bring you here to have a little chat.
Remember that time you called me a douchebag at Amy's party?
As I recall you were double fisting PBR and saying that anyone who listens to anything other than Metallica is "totally gay."
Exactly man, that was totally uncool of you.
Remember that time you left a toy car out in the sidewalk and I fell and broke my entire delivery? That came out of my paycheck, you understand?
Dude, I was eight.
And that summer you registered for all of those free samples so I had to cart your fucking tiny shampoo bottles all over town?
You are a mailman. Isn't that in the job description?
I just like fucking your mom.
Out of the hallway comes your mother, smoking a cigarette, wearing a robe. She smiles at all of the service men in the room, before seeing you. She screams before running back into her room and slamming the door.
She was good, Tiger. She was good for all of us.
She taught me things no woman ever had.
An experienced woman, your mother.
You feel woozy. You fall to the floor as the milkman leans over you, whispering in your ear.
You never forget this day, Tiger. You remember this forever.
As the room grows dark, you mumble incoherently. You try to reach for something, anything, to begin the massacre, but the Milkman pins your arms down as the others laugh and laugh over the faint sound of your mothers sobs drifting down the hall. You will have revenge...you will...you...
UNTIL NEXT TIME.
SIDNEY CROSBY and EVGENI MALKIN are sitting on a balcony at sunset overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. They each hold an unidentifiable, fancy umbrella drink, and are wearing their most comfortable pajamas. Palm tress sway in the distance.
They can do this, you know. Without us.
I mean. I know they can, it's my team, it's your team. We know.
That's right, Gene.
SIDNEY CROSBY takes a deep breath, and looks out to the ocean. EVGENI MALKIN says a long string of sentences in Russian. This goes on for several minutes, while CROSBY twirls the umbrella in his drink.
Couldn't have said it better myself. That is, incidentally, my favorite sequence in Paradise Lost.
The sun dips below the horizon.
MARC-ANDRE FLEURY is standing in a darkened room that feels as though it is miles beneath the surface of the earth. He has his harpoon. As he begins to pace, he smiles, broadly, without restraint. The sound of roaring is heard--voices, heartbeats.
(Fade to black)
. . .you know, like dicks.
Sorry. No. In all seriousness. Most people thought this series would go to seven anyway.
Going up 3-1 and having two consecutive chances to put the Lightning away is more than we might have asked for, considering the depleted offense and stellar defense that for some reason takes drugs every now and then and looks ridiculous and asleep.
But, we don't hate. We believe in the integrity of this team to band together and win games. So much of the battle in hockey, in any sport, especially in a 7-game elimination series, is mental. Pens didn't show up mentally, sparking nine thousand (approx.) conspiracy theories and "reasons" (note the quotes) presented by dicktouchers on Twitter. ~*~*~* AFTERNOON GAME *~*~**~**~*~*******. Pens defense was weak. Chances weren't capitalized on early in the game. Brother Steven called the LDS Church and they prayed up some favors to Utah Jesus. Shut the fuck up.
Every game is do or die, every game should be treated as one that you either win or go home. Tampa forcing a game 7 from their home gives them all the momentum in the world. They are already cocky as all hell. They had their top power play unit on the ice time after time, regardless of how many goals they were ahead. They capitalized on every quality chance they had, it seemed. Our wins aren't going to be pretty, but we can do the same thing. A lot of growing up to do between now and Monday.
We're going to pull a Pens Report and just post music that we think is helpful, like we did last season, except it's generally allowed for us to do this since we don't get paid by the Penguins to blog about the Penguins or provide timely, relevant hockey information.
Cursed, going on the road, ain't nothing funny anymore.
Sorry for fake!cap. No stage play could do this justice.
Inspirational somethingorother to come shortly.
Washington could very well become the second team to advance, so put your eyes on that and become the biggest Rangers fan ever.
Or not. Whatever.
Take on all the guilt.
Today, we were bitches. Tomorrow can be different.
battle hasn't even begun when it gets like this.