I got home last night just as the Red Wings and Oilers went into overtime -- I'd watched the first period and a half at work, gone out for a couple beers (doing the old cell-phone monitoring the whole time), got home, turned on TV, saw Red Wings score to win, immediately turned off TV in a fit of disgusted cursing, shaking my head at the confused-looking Dwayne Roloson on the screen.
So, five minutes ago, I flipped over to Covered in Oil and, uh, the Oilers won. The Wings' goal didn't count. Good DID triumph. I feel a bit stupid and befuddled, and full of bile that suddenly has no actual reason or outlet.
It's been one hell of a weird playoff season, and we're what, five days in? The mantra in years past has always been "there's no fighting in the playoffs," but both the Sabres-Flyers and Senators-Lightning series look likely to end with someone getting shanked in the prison yard. Last night's Senators-Lightning game was one for the ages: 12 goals, umpteen fights, Zdeno Chara destroying Vincent Lecavalier -- and looking, for just a moment, ready to permanently put out the lights. I wonder if the image of Big Z straddling him, cocking a fist the size of a smokehouse ham, deciding whether or not to land the killing blow, is gonna end up making VL a bit nervous the rest of the series. Really now -- Vinny's a big lad, but what on earth made him decide to throw the first punch at Zdeno, who for once didn't look just giant, but also crazed? (pic here)
I went into the postseason with a number of certainties -- halfway through the first round, only two are left: New Jersey's really good, and the Predators are screwed without Vokoun. Oh, and the Red Wings are douchebags, but that's one of those universal truths.