Somewhere, a beast slumbers.
We now know what Eric Staal must feel like when he sees Godzilla, because we’re seeing monsters everywhere.
We didn’t beat our biggest historical rival, nor did we beat the team that made us hate our lives last May. We didn’t even keep Michael Cammalleri’s many teeth behind his stupid mouth. Some people, annoying people, would have you believe that we’re not capable.
On top of this general negativity, longtime Penguins fans have been complaining about the fan experience at CEC. Looking at new arenas nowadays is basically just a lesson in how impressive facilities can go seriously awry when they are filled with the wrong shit. Between monster truck guy on the PA and awkward sound effects, people haven’t been feeling either of the first two regular season games at Consol. We assume the answer is somewhere, sandwiched into your bank account where your nacho budget used to be. Instead, you’re trying to sneak in some Tostitos in by the crotch of your pants and sluggishly hauling your ass into the last row in the highest balcony next to the SHOOOOOOOT section. Next time you bring up your PNC Virtual Wallet, tell us if you’ve figured it out.
Of course, it’s hard to say how you would feel if the Penguins had come back and beat Philly in overtime, or if Mark Letestu’s goal had stood as the game-winner last night. Maybe you’d say, “The public address made me want to drown a sack of puppies (slowly), but man, what a good night.”
Still, it doesn’t matter what building the game is being played in. What’s happening on the ice should be the main concern, and while ice is different everywhere, it’s not that different. Still, we have reason to believe that some complicated demons are resting in the CEC. These are the kind of demons that start in your head and end up living alongside you. They’re in the Pens locker room. They are comprised of expectations, flashing lights, and $$$$$$$.
But they’ll rest another day or two while we go to:
The Penguins didn’t beat New Jersey once last year. Not once. Now they have that Kovalchuk guy. And say we roast up a couple of fetal pigs and clog Brodeur’s arteries with their juices, we’d still have to face Moose while he’s licking his fingers on the floor of the locker room.
Most of Johan’s successes are indeed explained by the fact that everyone just has a massive mancrush on him.
If we manage not to fall asleep during tomorrow’s afternoon contest, it will be either because a.) we are waiting for the cameras at the Pru to train on Hedberg while he’s drinking some water, or b.) the Pens aren’t playing like someone put quaaludes in their Gatorade, as is often the situation against the Devils.
But this isn’t even a shot at redemption, or a chance at magic in one of the filthiest places on Earth. Something just has to change at this point. We will make it on our own until 4pm tomorrow. But somewhere, knee-deep in garbage, is the Monster and the Answer that must be found.