For weeks I worried that I’d miss the big Habs-Bruins game because I’d be zooming across the country instead. Maybe missing the game that was going to be the biggest and finest of the year. The one where we win it for Max and for the standings and show those Bruin bastards, once and for all, just who’s boss.
It was going to be a beauty, one for the ages, and there was a chance I’d only be able to read about it.
Damn. I could’ve kicked myself for deciding to travel on this day.
But I saw it allright.
For two periods I sat in Chili’s pub at the Calgary airport, watching in horror as the Montreal Canadiens imploded before our very eyes, and for much of the third I caught it on the plane to Ottawa, declining the little three-dollar ear thingys because there was definitely nothing I wanted to hear at that stage.
Seven freaking nothing. The team and fans embarrassed beyond words. The big game. Carey Price yanked. Cam Neely chuckling in the Bruins’ management box. Way too many penalties to even think about making a push. Scott Gomez? Yeah, right.
It was a most disgusting and disappointing display by the Canadiens at a time when they needed to come out with guns blazing. Guns blazing? Hah! It was more like those little pop guns I had when I was a kid with a cork on a string.
Yes, I worried long and hard that I’d miss it. I suppose there’s a lesson there somewhere.
The only jam I saw above the din of a packed Chili’s was Paul Mara giving it to Mark Recchi. He’s the only Hab I respected tonight. The rest of them….I have no words.
When I left the bar it was 5-0 and when I got on the plane it was 6-0. And then it became seven. The three and a half hour trip was long, extra long, and I wanted to punch the guy in front of me who put his seat back.
I’m ashamed of my team tonight.
Have arrived in Ottawa after a long day of planes and hockey insanity. Good night.