Habs lose 5-1 in Pittsburgh, and Marc-Andre Fleury and Peter Budaj, who was in relief of Carey Price, almost came to blows for some reason, and which was one of the more interesting parts of the night I suppose, along with, if you’re a Pens fan, Evgeny Malkin doing the quick step.
An even more interesting thing would’ve been a Ned Flanders goalie mask stuffed into Fleury’s smiling mouth.
It was a blowout and it’s sad. I was hoping for a bigger blowout. Something so huge, so shocking, that it might even force Marc Bergevin to panic.
Although he’s probably been trying for months to make moves but teams just aren’t all that interested in the moveable objects.
Douglas Murray, Francis Bouillon, Rene Bourque, Daniel Briere, Andre Markov, Raphael Diaz, Brian Gionta, Travis Moen, and George Parros just aren’t that popular with other teams for some reason.
It’s a head scratcher.
The team’s been ill since the beginning of December, back when it was only sort of freezing outside instead of feeling like we’re living on a friggin’ iceberg. Stores were gearing up for the big Christmas rush. The EGG line had been on fire up until then. The team had been fighting for first place in the east.
Life had been good. Then they started winning while sucking. And sucking when losing.
It’s been a walk on the mediocre side mostly since, except for that stunning and miraculous night when the team put it all together against a great Chicago team and thrilled us to no end.
It was a night to love. Brought back to another time, to years ago when the team was great, the joint was rockin’, and on a personal note, I had more hair.
But the Chicago game was then. A one time deal. We’ve cleared our eyes and heads and have come to the realization that the team needs serious fixing and management hasn’t done a thing in the fixing department.
No trades. Guys rarely brought up from Hamilton and when they are, they’re on the ice less than the anthem singer. The defence, aside from P.K., is slow and full of holes, like a pin cushion rolling along a table.
The coach can’t decide on set lines except for ones with guys who don’t deserve to be on set lines. Some play like they’re on morphine. Others have energy and take bad penalties and can’t hit the net. And the captain is shorter than Danny DeVito.
The team is sick right now, and instead of management giving it first aid, they stand nearby while the patient coughs up blood and prepares to meet its maker.
Everyone knows the Habs are in trouble. And now they play on Friday (against Detroit) which conflicts with my beer night at St. Hubert’s Chicken.
But I’ll watch it, hoping they put it all together and trick me once again into thinking they’re going good. Because the night after that, when the Caps show up, they’ll almost certainly stink again.
It’s been tough being a Habs fan for the past couple of decades.