SAN JOSE SHARKS 2 - 1 DETROIT RED WINGS
To be honest, I don't want to write this at all. Not only do I simply lack the motivation to physically type, I refereed a battle royal between my two grandmothers and our family's cat to decide who would fill TTD's Game 5 recap void. This turned out to be a terrible idea because the cat won, and then he wrote this ridiculous thesis on Iron Man 2 which totally blew the whole movie for me before I saw it, and probably most important, it had nothing to do with the game. Fucker watched the game, too. Least he could do is mention the Wings inability to win crucial faceoffs or battles along the boards. Or Doug Murray resembling Guy #3 on the human evolutionary chart. Instead he turns in a 48 page hand written novella that included a disgusting fan fiction tangent where Scarlett Johansson births the world's first "cat baby".
Now I'm stuck here by myself, having said nothing about the season finale until two days later. And I'm not ready to accept it.
I always do this. I let the shock buffer me from the sensation of reality for a few days until I see another hockey game, and then it hits me like a sack of wet gophers*: The Red Wings won't win the Stanley Cup, and I won't feel the cocaine-laced rush of a Wings game for another five months.
* This hit comes from the blind side, makes contact with the head, occurs eons after I've passed the puck, and escapes without consequence.
Final thoughts ...
- Rafalski's turnover gaffe that led to the winning goal is an image of horror that will stick in my brain forever. It will be joining the ranks of a young Osgood clearing the puck up the boards, Scott Neidermayer's fluttering turd goal, the overhead replay of Kronwall hitting the crossbar, Draper's broken face, and Manny Legace's regular face.
- As mentioned above, losing the board battles was a reoccurring theme in this series. The Sharks seemed to win them all. All of them. I don't know if that's anywhere close to being accurate, but that's probably because it's been over 24 hours since the final horn and that's a shitload of time to do nothing but drink antifreeze.
- I want there to be a record this: the Sharks won this series, not the referees.
- I won't be able to handle an announcement of Nick Lidstrom's retirement, if that's what we are given in the coming weeks. My body will reject it and vomit it back up in the form of jumbled Spaghetti-Os letters and a mysterious, not-previously-consumed pint of liquified goat horn.
It feels ritual to close out the coverage of a hockey season like you would the season of a TV show: with a cliff hanger!
Will Brent make it through the summer alive, or will his lack of knowledge of the Pakistani people lead to his imprisonment and ultimately a gruesome death?
Will Bruce MacLeod return our emails inquiring a joint venture into a nation-wide wafflehouse chain where we make surprise visits to random locations and perform sketches in which we transform his previous blogs into slam poetry?
Will The Triple Deke and Nightmare on Helm Street finally tie the knot?
Am I pregnant? And are YOU the father? Well, why not?
I don't want to go into the "thank you"s and whatnot like we're done doing anything. We'll be busy and around these parts with new stuff in the coming months, so don't go permanently galavanting off to your Tigers blogs just yet.