Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Level-headed and looking to Thursday

I'm awake. I had some nightmares of what I just watched at the bar last night, but I'm up and ready to take them down. I still hate me some Ducks and people in Anaheim, but I'm able to begrudgingly retract the notion that I hope all the players on the team die a slow and miserable death; I suppose that was harsh.

The Wings played sloppy for two periods and let the Ducks score two bogus goals that Osgood really didn't have much chance to stop. Corey Perry should never have been allowed to hang out untouched in front of the net, as he was on goal number two, but Ozzie played alright as far as I could tell. The Wings, on the other hand, didn't. This was a game six, stomp-on-their-throat situation. How in the hell did this happen?

It really is impossible to fathom. A possible series-ender, and the Wings lay an egg. And, to top it off, that team full of goons went after Datsyuk, injured-Rafalski and Hossa (among others) in what had to have been the cheapest, most blatant bullcrap of the entire playoffs. Yay, you won the game. Leave our players alone.

If I keep my head in a good place, I can get over this game and know that the Wings will come through in a game seven at home. They just will; it's in their nature. You have to go back 15 years to find the last game seven loss, and that was at the hands of the Arturs Irbe-led Sharks in 1993-94. They will win this game; I know they will. It's just the possibility of the Ducks coming out on top and taking the series with one fell swoop that keeps me on edge. If that happens, it will be the worst playoff loss in Red Wings history. If that happens, don't expect me to take it like an adult.

And there's one little tidbit I have yet to mention about Thursday night's game: I won't be able to watch it. I already have tickets booked to see Third Eye Blind in concert at Hampton Beach tomorrow night, and I'm completely torn. The last time I had a chance to see Third Eye Blind was on October 27, 2006. Yep, game five of the World Series between the Miracle Tigers and the crappy St. Louis Cardinals. Even though I had originally bought a ticket, I sold it and stayed in my dorm room to watch the game, which the Tigers ultimately lost 4-2 to end the Series and their magical season. I regretted not seeing 3EB in concert, but only because the Tigers lost. Now, I face an eerily similar situation with a team I care much more about. What to do?

I plan to go to the concert because when I didn't go three years ago, my team lost. My hope is that the tables will turn and all of the universe will be right again if I do go to the concert. I'll have somebody text me updates as often as they can, but I think I'm going to have to let this one be decided by the Hockey Gods, who couldn't possibly let a team of goons like the Ducks prevail over the Wings for the second time in three years. That's just absurd. I send my pleas to the Detroit locker room: please don't let this season go to waste. Don't lose this game. Take it from these scumbags and move forward. You. Are. Better. Show them.

3 comments:

Tyler said...

I'm in the same boat as you. Unless someone covers for me at work, I'm screwed. Whatever happens happens I guess.

That's crazy that you'd have concert tickets on the last game of a Tigers' world series and a Red Wings Game 7. Do us all a favor and get tickets for something in early February so the Lions can make a Super Bowl.

Penny Kittle said...

And I was hoping you'd be texting me! I am out to dinner with folks here in Nova Scotia, so unless they have a TV on in the bar, I'm screwed. They're all Sydney Crosby fans here anyway, since he's from NS, and those Penguins certainly delivered tonight.

I'm with Cam: come on Wings! Game 7 is there's.

Chris Moore said...

Fuck work, fuck 3rd EB (saw em, good, but not great, certainly not game seven great), we need as much positivity as we can get. And by positivity I mean watching the Wings in the fetal position sucking your thumb with an empty fifth of Jack Daniels next to you, vomit all over the floor with the dog looking at you like he's now the man of the house and will have to provide for you from now on.