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
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.
M
Favorite quote:
ReplyDelete"If that wasn't enough to send your stapler accross 3 rows of cubicles while projectile vomiting, this will:
Marion Hossa skating The Cup for a victory lap in Mellon Arena."