Have you ever been to one of those low-life motels where you check the sheets for bugs and are afraid to take your clothes off? That’s where I’m at now, in California’s Napa Valley, a few hours north of San Francisco, and where the front desk guy, between spoons of rice, finally got me hooked up with the internet.
So now I know the Habs lost 3-2 in overtime and were outshot 38-26, all to the worst team in the east, the New York Islanders. I also know that it was Carey Price who kept it respectable for the Habs. I also understand that I’m quite pissed at this feeble outcome.
Carey Price is back, that’s understood, I think. But the rest of the team isn’t. They’re still holding on to a playoff spot by the skin of their teeth, all because they got lucky that teams trying to catch them also lost. Such a pathetic turn of events. Imagine if these other teams had won? With us losing to such a lousy team? Is this the Montreal Canadiens I know and love? Not by a country mile. Not by all the lettuce in the Napa Valley.
If there’s bugs in my bed, so what? I’m just leaving my clothes on.
After meatloaf at Denny’s, I wandered over to the only bar I could find, a dismal, poorly-lit, dirty, stinking, lowdown bar with a bunch of greasers laughing and drinking triple shots of bourbon and wearing cowboy hats as they swore and talked about workin’ and fartin’. But I enjoyed my $2.75 pints of Bud and now I feel it’s my favourite bar.