relive the magic

relive the magic that changed our lives forever. 1 week ago today.

enjoy...

first lord stanley's cup, now sir mario's city

That's right, Uncle Mario is now SIR MARIO.

This man is a bad motherfucker. A complete and total walking wall of awesome and a half.

From WPXI:

Prime Minister of Quebec, Jean Charest, announced that Lemieux will be one of 34 honored in a ceremony at Parliament.

First, we win the Cup. Now, the greatest name in hockey -- our Mario -- is becoming a knight.

If this shit doesn't make you LOVE the fact that you're from Pittsburgh, well, eat some herpes cake.

We salute you today, Sir Mario. Today and forever.

we march together

...Under the banner of victory.

It's still surreal to me, like the most amazing dream.

The Pittsburgh Penguins are this year's Stanley Cup Champions. Lord Stanley's Cup is back in its' rightful home, after seventeen long years. We toiled together, cried together, cheered and screamed, and it's now real.

I kiss the feet of Billy Guerin. I lovingly molest Geno and The Sex Hair. I throw rose petals before Sid. I cuddle Mad Max "Superstar" Talbot until he explodes into candy. I glorify eternally Rob Scuderi, Chris Kunitz, Marc-Andre Fleury, Craig Adams, Eric Godard, Brooks Orpik, Tyler Kennedy...all of them.

The warriors of Black and Gold. The victorious gladiators.

Tomorrow. Noon. Grant Street. BE THERE AND GREET YOUR HEROES.

MIRACLE.

armageddon.

Tonight.

It all comes down to this. One game. Sixty minutes of play. 3,600 seconds. The Pittsburgh Penguins have played 105 games since October 4, 2008.

Those 105 games, tonight, mean nothing.

All we have is the moment.

Fans all over Pens Nation are a ball of raw nerves right now. I can't even think of how tense the Pens themselves are at this very hour. We're all watching, waiting, preparing -- eating lucky burritos. Wearing lucky underwear. Making rally towels. Eating borscht. Watching highlights on YouTube. Watching the speech from "Miracle."



Great moments are born from great opportunity. And that's what you have here tonight, boys. That's what you've earned here tonight.

This is our night.

It is not our house. It is enemy territory. The odds are against us. Trash-talking is abundant. But the odds, tonight, mean nothing.

Do you hear me, Pens Nation? THE ODDS MEAN NOTHING. Our team knows that it is do or die. They know this. Together, right now, they stand in solidarity, the pain of last year echoing in their minds.

But this is their night.

The time has come for us to prove to the whole world that to win the Stanley Cup, to raise that 34.5-pound silver beast, to bring Lord Stanley home to the fans, the odds don't have to be in your favor. Tonight, against all odds, the Pittsburgh Penguins will prove this. It is their night. It is our night. It is Pittsburgh's night...Pittsburgh's time.

The network announcers can slip shit in against us in all their broadcasts. It doesn't matter. Those octopus-throwing jagoffs that are Detroit fans can lay their faith in the geezers that compose their team. It doesn't matter. The NHL can "accidentally" release Detroit Red Wings Stanley Cup Champions apparel. It doesn't matter. Because tonight...tonight...we will prove them all wrong.

I am sick and tired of hearing about what a great hockey team Detroit has. SCREW 'EM! This is YOUR time!

Now go out there and take it.

Ladies and gentlemen...CHINA JACK!!!

HOLY MOTHER OF GOD.
CHINA JACK LOVES THE PENS BROADS!!!

with a little help from my friends

Damian at Pens Universe is incredible.

See the full size at Pens Universe.

that's not my name

this came from jim&randy from WDVE mornings

SCF Game 6 – Not For Those With Heart Conditions or Emotional Disturbances.

How far are we gonna take this?
The question is not how far. The question is, do you possess the constitution, the depth of faith, to go as far as is needed?
-Boondock Saints

Today as one Pens Nation (bandwagoners conveniently filtered themselves Saturday night), we face that heinous, gut wrenching thought that we’ve attempted to ignore since this SCF series was determined. That thought had up all waking up this morning with a healthy amount of Game Day nerves with the occasional gag reflex making itself known. Some of you reading this still haven’t decided if this is a good day or a bad day. This single thought has consumed some of us, leaving only expressionless shells of human beings.
That thought:
Detroit winning The Cup in OUR house, OUR temple, OUR sacred ground…again

If that wasn’t enough to send your stapler across 3 rows of cubicles while projectile vomiting, this will:
Marian Hossa skating The Cup for a victory lap around Mellon Arena.

Now, before I go any further: Please release all hostages, put down the cyanide capsules, and divert the prison shanks from your necks. They’re just thoughts. People who kill themselves because a thought MIGHT become a reality aren’t worth the poisoned Kool-aid they funneled.

Going through the day dwelling on this will only make you a walking Herpes blister. You know everyone it thinking about it, but they’re too polite to say anything. Of course, you could always bring up this crazy little thought of impending doom. But it’ll only make you that awkwardly depressing person who no one will ever talk to at work again. Ever.

While I cannot alleviate those thoughts or reassure you with a visit to a psychic, I can offer you a horse pill of some knowledge derived Valtrex.

The most important thing going into Game 6 is coming to terms with Game 5. Trying to repress memories of Game 5 will only lead to the development of facial ticks and/or hulk-like reactions to the color red. I’ll even go first: My name is Munda and I watched Game 5 in its entirety.
The first 10 minutes of Game 5 the Pens game out with guns blazing, and it was exactly how we all imagined they would storm The Joe. It was just a matter of time before Pittsburgh had the first goal of the game. We all were salivating in anticipation of that lamp lighting up signaling a sudden peppering of black and gold clad fans jumping up from a sea of red waving those terrible towels until their arms went numb, screaming louder than any Detroit fan ever could.
Boom. 5 minutes until the end of the 2nd period and every second is crawling slower than the previous. You find yourself on your knees in front of the T.V. offering your first born in exchange for the Pens killing of the Kunitz penalty. Just 15 seconds until a successful kill and the chance to come back for the 3rd with some dignity. Zetterberg.
Some how some one or some thing did something and the Pens were taking the ice for the 3rd trailing miserably 5-0. Garon was standing between the pipes with MAF on the bench. That little voice that was telling you the Pens will turn their shit around and take no prisoners like they did in Game 6 against Philly, is silent and convulsing after downing a bottle of drain cleaner when there was 4:20 left in the 2nd. Just when you start to accept that the Pens aren’t winning Game 5 with Dupuis and Adams rolling out the red carpet with a 5-3 for Detroit, it hits you:
Osgood could very well leave this game with a Stanley Cup Final shutout.
There’s no way the entire Pens Nation has enough simultaneous bad karma to let Osgood cheese his way to the locker room with that goose egg to his name. Apparently, Pens fans are some dirty motherfuckers as far as the Universe is concerned.

[(Finding out there’s no Santa Claus + Witnessing your parents performing Tooth fairy duties + seeing a cute little bunny totally obliterated on the side of the road) ÷ the morning after your 21st birthday] X Walking in on your parents having sex = Feeling after Game 5


Being down in a series is not a new concept. When the Pens are down 3-2 to Detroit in a SCF series, we may lose some loved ones to PTSD.
This is not 2008. This is not the same group of boys. This is not the same series.
THIS IS NOT DETROIT’S YEAR.

If my memory serves me correctly, this is 2009. This is a team of men out for redemption and payback. This is a best of 7 series, not a best of 5 or 6.
Tonight, Detroit is in enemy territory. The circumstances surrounding Game 6 has ghosts emerging from the bowels of Mellon where they have been waiting since June 4th, 2008. Everyone who was rooting for the Pens that night has been shaking off goose bumps all day. If Crosby, Malkin, Staal, Letang, Fleury, and Talbot haven’t thoroughly puked up their guts at least once today from the thought of history repeating itself, then they have no business playing tonight. If they are not shaken to their core at the possibility of Gary Bettman inviting Lindstrom to come and get The Cup tonight in Mellon, then this team has learned nothing and don’t deserve it. But we know otherwise. I don’t think anyone doubts the Pens roster is a ball of nerves and vom right now. Some of us even feel this way and we just watch.

Tonight Detroit is out to repeat history like they deserve it and are entitled to The Cup for the second year in a row. That history has motivated a young team that lacked experience into a rabid, revenge-seeking beast that will continue to barrel through anything unfortunate enough to get in their way. 26 men have united into 1 beast that can only be stopped by a single thing: 34.5 pounds of silver.

They know what has to happen tonight. They know tonight is Do-or-Die: Part 2. Screaming about what they should have done in Game 5 won’t change Game 5. Subjecting people to listen to what you think Bylsma should do with the line up tonight isn’t worth shit. Superstitions and game time rituals will not change anything about the outcome of the game. These actions on make us feel better. Tonight, we are useless. The only ones that control the outcome of tonight’s Game 6 will be wearing black and gold and sending Phil Pritchard home early tonight.
Friday. Friday night.



Go Pens.
M

We will have our revenge.

We will enact our vengeance.

Time for a serious talk, kids.

Tomorrow, Game 6 of the 2008 Stanley Cup Finals at Mellon Arena, is going to be SCARY FUCKING SHIT. I repeat, SCARY FUCKING SHIT.

Lord Stanley will be in attendance tomorrow night. There is the very real, very horrifying knowledge that we might once again see the Red Wings hold him up high. Not much of a way around that fact. We're as faithful as any Pens fans out there -- the most hardcore Pens girls you'll find, we'd like to say. But we also have this grim knowledge in our thoughts.

But, as I've been saying since the end of Atrocious Game 5, the Wings are going to be in the Igloo. They're going to have to face us in our house. And, as a friend said to me, "These teams don't like road games." Game 5 is going to be a bitch. The Red Wings are going to fight, and fight hard. To beat them, we will have to fight harder.

You know that's what's gonna happen.

There will be a Game 7 in this series. I feel it. Being realistic, though -- our feelings are not always enough. Malkin is going to have to have an incredible game. Staal is going to have to have an incredible game. Crosby is going to have to have an incredible game. And Fleury (if Disco Dan even puts him in) is going to have to have a beyond-incredible game. (In my personal opinion, in the short time Garon was in goal, he did pretty well, holding off the fired-up Wings from scoring on a 5-on-3.) But we can do it. The Pens are Pittsburgh's Miracle Boys. They've got what it takes. Even a Wings fan mentioned to me a few games back "Holy shit -- Malkin's fucking FAST. You guys got him, and that scares the shit out of me. As long as he keeps playing the way he's playing, we could very possibly be fucked."

Yeah -- you're fucked, Detroit.

Confidence and keeping reality in check are something that has to go hand in hand heading in to Game 6. All the naysayer, bandwagon, fair-weather fans have already abandoned our boys. Even while out at the grocery store for a few minutes yesterday afternoon, I heard three people (all wearing Pens t-shirts and jerseys, no less) lament "It's all over for the Pens, they might as well have given Detroit the Cup at the end of Game 5, that was abominable," yadda yadda yadda.

Yes, it was abominable. It was abominable, embarrassing, and painful to watch. But -- did you assholes forget that the series became a best-of-three? There is still a lot of hockey left to play, dickbags. A LOT OF HOCKEY. If you're gonna count us out now, well, give me that fucking Malkin jersey, bitch. I don't own one because they're expensive as shit and you don't deserve to wear it because you're a fuckstick.

We've gotta keep the faith. There is no question about it. If you are so convinced that the Pens are done with for the year, then too bad. Give your Pens stuff to a real fan and watch some fucking golf.

We've gotta keep the faith. We BELIEVE. The Wings might get the Cup at home again...but not if our boys fight with all they have. You know they will.

LET'S GO PENS.

It's our time to fly.

From our Twitter friend LukeSchennGirl.
Go Pens!!! It's our time!

Red Wings!!! Yeah!!!

LET'S GO PENS!!!

Borscht make you STRONG like Geno

In the Name of The Malkin, The Gonch, and The Holy Sex Hair, amen.

Deadly Focus. Pens has it.

Detroit is gonna be in our fuckin' house for Game 6. Hope you scheduled that tee time, Osgoon.

(That's not a typo.)

Malkin dance party. Russian dance breakdown.

Shameless Twitter Plug

follow @nhldigest . Seriously, how can you NOT want free stuff?

He buried it. And it was good.

This is thanks to John W. The man is a BOSS.

Who wants some MAMA MALKIN BORSCHT???

I just about crapped my pants when I saw this on the Freak Show page over at 961kiss.com! Our very good friends Mikey and Big Bob posted Geno's favorite borscht recipe! I know what's for dinner tonight!


(from 96.1 KISS FM and the Pittsburgh Penguins)


Red Borscht



Pittsburgh Penguins star Evgeni Malkin loves his parents, Natalia and Vladimir, being here from Magnitogorsk, Russia,to watch him play -- in great part because his mom can cook for him. Just after scoring a hat trick in Game 2 against the Carolina Hurricanes, Malkin told the Toronto Sun that was the key to his success: "Every time before a game, I get great cooking. Great Russian food" (that day, a beef entree with soup).



His mom says (via the translation of Penguins sales account executive George Birman) that this is her son's favorite.


1 pound any kind of meat, cubed (approximately 1 1/2-inches)
3 medium baking potatoes, peeled and cubed
1/2 medium head cabbage, cored and shredded
8-ounce can diced tomatoes, drained
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
3 medium beets, peeled and shredded
3 carrots, peeled and shredded
1 teaspoon white sugar, or to taste
3 cloves garlic, minced
6-ounce can tomato paste
3/4 cup water
Salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup sour cream, for topping
1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley for garnish



Fill a large pot halfway with water (about 2 quarts), add the meat and bring to a boil, reduce the heat and cover the pot. Add the potatoes and bring to a boil. Add the cabbage and the can of diced tomatoes and cook until tender, about 15 minutes.



Heat the oil in a skillet over medium heat. Add the beets, and cook until tender. Add the carrots, the white sugar and the raw garlic. Stir in the tomato paste and water until well blended. Add skillet contents to the soup and bring to a boil, cover and turn off the heat. Let stand for 15 to 20 minutes. Taste, and season with salt, pepper and additional sugar, if desired.



Ladle into serving bowls, and garnish with sour cream and fresh parsley.



-- Natalia Malkin, via the Pittsburgh Penguins

The Wings are soooo last year.

And somebody should really get Nicklas Lidstrom a Kleenex.

It is apparent to me that the Pittsburgh Penguins are, as they say, a team posessed. We are out of our fucking skulls on the ice. Playing hard, hitting harder, and most importantly, scoring goals. Last night was some of the most insane hockey I've ever had the privelege of watching. Geno "I'll Kill You In Your Sleep" Malkin had as many hits as Brooks "Stay The Fuck Out Of My Way Unless You Want A Broken Neck" Orpik. Jordan Staal, Sidney Crosby, and Tyler Kennedy all scored goals under 6 minutes apart.


Wings = STUNNED.


It is very much time for these middle-aged, ginger, Eastern European child-touchers and their beached whale of a goalie to schedule a tee time. The numbers for the last game might paint a different picture, but if you actually sat down and watched at least 10 minutes of last night's game (excuse me, bloodbath), you'll know that it was the Pens who outplayed the Wings and not the other way around. The Wings' most impressive moment of last night was Brad Stuart's goal early in the 2nd which brought the Wings up 2 to 1...their last goal of the game.


It was all Pens from then on out. The Penguins found the momentum shift, grabbed onto it, and rode it for all it was worth. I believe they'll be riding that momentum all the way up to the point where Sid is cruising around the ice with Lord Stanley held aloft.


This series has a completely different feel now. It's become a best-of-three. It's not last year, kids...this is not the 2007 SCF. Just look at the Pens. They look nothing like last year. And it's been said that the team that wins Game 4 of this series will be the team that takes Lord Stanley for a joyride. You all know who won Game 4 last night.

Let's go Pens.

Attention Zetterberg:

Nurse them wounds, sucka.

Burn it down.

Let it be known to one and all that we here at Pens Broads absolutely despise bandwagon, fair-weather fans. This topic was already discussed by your friend and mine, the always amazing Damian over at Pens Universe, but I'd like to take the time now to let off a little steam concerning both tonight's Game 4 and the Bandwagon Pestilence.


"We lost the first two games, waaaaah, the team looked horrible, boo-hoo, if they lose the Cup this year I won't watch them anymore." "Fleury's been letting in such stupid goals, he's a terrible goalie." "I'm wearing a Pens shirt but still don't know what an icing call is! Look at me, doesn't this Pens shirt look AWESOME?" Does this sound like you or someone you know? If so, the following course of action is most appropriate. Take yourself or that somebody that you happen to know to the pinnacle of the Highmark building and fling yourself off.


Seriously.


If you're a true, bred-in-the-bone Pittsburgh Penguins fan, you'll love them and be absolutely batshit about them even if they lose the Cup this year (which, you know, isn't gonna happen. Pens in 7). How many teams have made it to the Stanley Cup Finals two years running? How many teams have talent that has the entire hockey world abuzz? How many teams have Evgeni Fucking Malkin? We are THE BEST TEAM IN THE NATIONAL HOCKEY LEAGUE. It pisses me off to no end to hear this whiny bitch-and-moan from people who don't even really understand a damn thing about hockey to begin with. These bandwagoners are the type who are only in Pens fever because we made it to the final -- it's almost a given that they did not watch a single regular season game. The extent of their Penguins knowledge is that a big fluffy penguin is our mascot. (By the way, his name is Iceburgh, you assbag fairweathers.)



Two scenarios for the fakes out there. One: we win. Their reaction will be something along the lines of "OMFG I KNEW IT I LOVED THE PENS ALL ALONG I REALLY LIKE CROSBY AND THAT FRENCH DUDE WHO PLAYS GOALIE." Two: we lose. Reaction on their part? "OMFG I KNEW IT I HATED THE PENS ALL ALONG I REALLY HATE CROSBY AND THAT FRENCH DUDE WHO PLAYS GOALIE."


You know what? I'd rather you not watch hockey than pretend to be a fan. Having limited hockey knowledge is fine -- I mean, everyone has to start somewhere. Enthusiasm for the game and a love of the Pens is fantastic and I encourage it completely! However, having limited hockey knowledge, and having no desire to learn anything about the game, and only watching games because you think it makes you look cool is a dumbfuck move. Go watch cheerleading.


And now, on to more serious matters.

I hope the Child-Touchers have all paid their insurance premiums for the month, because I say with all certainty that the Pens are going to curbstomp the shit out of them tonight. We're still fired up from Tuesday's gigantinormous 4 - 2 victory, but we've also got the deadly knowledge that tonight is, as they say, a must-win game. And once again, they're in our house. With our fans against them. Penguins fans aren't called the greatest fans in hockey for no reason. One of the primary reasons we are referred to as such is that we don't have octopi keeping our genitalia warm throughout the first 40 minutes of play. (Must be the tentacle-suckers. Probably the only sexual stimulation a Wings fan ever receives.) The Igloo is a powerhouse of energy, it's unstoppable and irrepressable. There is no other venue like it in the league.



And they've gotta get through it again. Doubtful? That's what I said.



In the immortal words of China Jack, the Pens continue to dominate. We will dominate tonight, dominate game 5, game 6, game 7. And all you fair-weathers out there can eat a bag of herpes cake.


LET'S GO PENS.

The Malkin, The Gonch, and the Holy Sexhair, ahhh-men.

Pensblog is incredible. Just so you all know.

We got that BOOM BOOM POW.

Spit shine your shoes, Mabel!  Pens victorious, 4 - 2 over the Creepy Child-Touchers...I mean, Red Wings.

Unfortunately, due to that pesky little thing known as responsibility and having to hold a job down, I missed the first period-and-a-half.  But thanks to the wonders of t3h intarwebz, I was able to catch up on what I missed to entertain all of yinz for this morning.

Kris Letang scored in the first, bringing the Pens up 1 - 0, but the Child Touchers' Johan Franzen brought it right back with a PP goal, tying the game at 1.  He then went home to masturbate while watching Sesame Street, because that's the kind of terrible, horrible man that he is.  Kris Letang, conversely, saved kittens from a train wreck then donated eleventybillion dollars to starving orphans in Africa, because that's the kind of sex-hairy, wonderfultastic man he is.  Mad Max Talbot blasted one past Chris Osgood as well...Babcock furiously began calling every Giant Eagle in the immediate area, hoping to score a box of jelly donuts to console his lil' puddin'.

The second went scoreless.  We pummeled them mercilessly.

And, being good Pens fans (as am I), we know you watched the 3rd.  Empty Net goals.  No trouser-cradled seafood on the ice.  'Twas a thing of beauty.  I'm pretty sure Henrik Zetterberg is still checking his closet for Geno at night...Helm is most likely searching for Detroit-area physical therapists...all in all, it was an amazing evening.  Our boys came out on top.  

The only ones in Pittsburgh who are fearing for their lives at this point are the jelly donuts.  Betcha any money Osgood is cruisin' in his child-toucher van, trying to score some sweet raspberry-filled donut delights.  

Is it Thursday yet?  I needs me some more brutal hockey smackdowns.

This is not the team that played, and lost, the first two games of this series.  This team was on fire, this team owned the ice.  I like this team.  This team can stay.  BTdubs, Red Wings, former steelworkers can kick way more ass than former autoworkers.

One final thought for the day:  You can't spell "Asshole" without "Hossa."

Red Wings, prepare to get SERVED.

Today smells like war.

The series is on the line -- Penguins down by 2 to the ginger cult of the Red Wings.  I think one of the Wings' most frightening tactics is the fact their fans have this strange sort of seafood fetish.  Come on, who carries a fucking octopus around in your trousers until the start of the 3rd?  Well, it is Detroit.  Shrug.

Word on the street is that both Datsuyk and Draper will be back on the ice for the Wings tonight (as will Lidstrom, who has been playing and has seemed to make a full recovery from his rather hilarious inury).  I wonder how Henrik Zetterberg is feeling, after getting his skull smashed in by Geno Malkin the other night.  Mama must have cooked up that borscht extra strong.

Sidney Crosby has been looking strangely flat on the ice, but we here at Pens Broads expect him to make a complete recovery and will expect many sweaty, shirtless locker room interviews from not only him, but Geno and, of course, Kris Letang: the Sex Hair himself, the Letangabana Boy, or as Amanda likes to call him, the cause of Instant Mayo Panties.

I mean, come on.  The Pens got tha skillz to pay da billz.  You don't see Chris Osgood scoring hot hot action like this, do you?

And now, on that sloppy, borscht-flavored note, I bid you farewell until tonight.  Raise your Ahrn high, boys and girls, because IT'S A HOCKEY NIGHT IN PITTSBURGH!

Oh, and I almost forgot: