I’ve had some really fun times with the writers from opposing teams here on FanSided. We’ve exchanged the hockey smackola and made a few bets…(Tim from Blackhawk Up, you PUSS in boots…where’s your sharpie tat?) And I’ve made some cool friends, as we’ve all thrown ourselves in the Twitter blender on any given night following our teams.
My new friend from Cardiac Cane is a transplanted Ohio gal in North Carolina. Had I not been neck deep in mourning and recovering from NHL seasonal playoff death disorder, I would’ve arranged a bit of the hockey boxing. But I’m still in black, can’t box with this veil and I’m too caught up in my own melancholy to give a hussy shit.
From what I can tell, The Canes are on the cusp of “near” NHL seasonal playoff death disorder. Unlike us, they have hope. They have every reason to believe that the sun will come out and playoff ice will be in their near future. Their numbers aren’t as bad. NHL hospice hasn’t been suggested, local church ladies aren’t leaving casseroles on their arena steps. We’re already going to grief counseling (R-Bar, Arena District) and thinking of this coming October. We’ve had all the baked spaghetti and chicken a la king we can handle.
The Canes’ winning means life-blood. Staying put…playoffs. If we win, it means a possible glimmer of a Frankenstein thing. Jolt of electricity to a dead body…maybe it’ll get up and skate around or maybe it’ll just move it’s hand, give us all hope and then burn the castle down…who knows? In theory, this should be a good ol’ good one. One fired up hungry team and one with everything to prove…both teams will no doubt be emotive and it does not take a medium to predict a few dust ups. Plenty of watching the game thru Plexiglas tonight.
Only time will tell…Jackets do some storm chasing tonight, 7pm in the eye of the storm, N. Carolina.
Yeah, and in case anyone missed it…as if…we dropped our 1,899Th game last night to the Kings. Actually it was 7 for us. It just felt like that. Our cannon didn’t even fire at one point when we did score. Omen? Does that cannon have a broken heart as well? Did the operators lose faith and just go home? Or were they in the food court getting a dog and a brew? It was Rick Nash bobblehead night, and we all feel relief that thousands of those mini-Rick dolls didn’t make their way over the glass and in smithereens on the ice…