coffee

motherly love.

Before we get started here, it is important that we point out:

The Staals; They are bothers. If we had been playing the Sutter Drinking Game, we wouldn’t have lived to tell this tale.
Now that we’ve got that cleared up and out of the way, let’s continue on with the show.

MOMENT YOU BARELY REMEMBERED BY THE END OF THE GAME BUT MAN WAS IT SHITTY WHEN IT HAPPENED

Everything looks like a normal game. We’re in the Canes end, livin’ it up, Steiggy is talking about complete nonsense of hockey days past, the press interns are off getting coffee for their bosses in the box. Everyone is completely unsuspecting when in an instant the puck is on our little slice of the pie, and 42 seconds into a game, Sutter puts it in almost effortlessly. It’s a clean shot, it’s a pretty show, and lord knows it was a horrifyingly depressing shot. 

Oh God. 

This is going to be what happens?

Press hasn’t caught up with the game yet, but we can’t blame them, because we’re still burrowing in the fridge for the least warm can of those PBRs we put in there 5 minutes ago.
The new Joomla editor comes pre-loaded with a folder simply titled “food.” 
We’ll be using those free images when press misses their call of duty. 

milk
Mr. Sutter, you will heretofore be referred to as “milk.”

Shortly after this goal, the team seems to take out all of its frustration on Skinner.
TK and Engelland team up to give him about 10 seconds of absolute hell.  
Good job boys; no one is innocent when the other team scores in the first minute.
Give ‘em your worst.

MOMENT YOU WERE GLAD YOU DIDN’T TURN OFF THE TELEVISION IN THE FIRST MINUTE

Don’t get us wrong, we’d never turn off a game to save face, save that one time in the 2009 playoffs when Detroit was killing us in a game and we decided to leave the house in the second period, drive two towns over and listen to Mike Lange call the game from a Dairy Mart parking lot.
But there is some part of us that knows it would be deeply satisfying to turn on a game, see the other team score, and be able to just turn off the television and call it a night.
But we don’t. Because that game may end up being this game.
MAF has redemption on his mind
He makes some sick saves, including one on Corvo that everyone was pretty certain was hitting some net.
He holds back the forces until everyone gets it together.
Eventually, it pays off.

Malkin makes a sick pass to Kuney, who promptly puts it home.
Malkin gets homesick, decides to join the puck.
He’s cute, so no one tells him it doesn’t count double.
Tie game for most people, but we let Malkin think we’ve pulled ahead.
A few minutes later we distract him with cake and tell him the Milk scored again.
This gets him angry.

THE STATE OF THE UNION AWARD 
Everyone realizes that it is the job of the President to ensure national security.
When it comes to the Pittsburgh Nation (est. 1758, when Pittsburgh was officially named a separate entity from the United States and allowed to govern itself free of influence from the national government and other, more terrifying places such as Philadelphia and California as a whole)  Mr. Kennedy is here to protect us. 
About two and a half minutes after Kuney ensures the tie, Mr. President nails it home.
We know we’re supposed to use the food folder, but for this one, let’s bring back a classic:

Presidential Service.

BIGGEST THREAT TO HOMELAND SECURITY
Not too shortly after the Nation has secured itself once again, things get chippy on home ice.
MAF makes some good efforts, keeps the puck outta the twine.
Then, wrong place at the wrong time, Dwyer chips it in over MAF’s shoulder.

We guess his mother didn’t tell him his face would freeze that way.
We asked her to remind him last night.  
As we were leaving.
Her house.
Cause we fucked her.

MOMENT YOU THOUGHT IT WAS 2009
The same beautiful puckwork and recovery and willpower and love and tenderness and hard work we showed Dywer’s mother showed up mid-second period. 
The teamwork was truly inspirational as Cooke, Michalek and Malkin work to beat the puck into submission (like we did to Dywer’s mom) and although their artwork didn’t end up in the net, Sidney Crosby isn’t on the ice as a showpiece; he knows how to pick up trash.
He takes all that hard work and escorts it into the net.

We haven’t seen teamwork that gorgeous for a while.
Such pride.

GOAL WE DON’T CARE TO REMEMBER SO WE WON’T
bread
Someone’s got jokes. 
Ha ha ha mister funny guy.

LUCKIEST WHISTLE 

Crosby, Malkin, and Kuntiz do it again, this time in a slightly messier fashion, letting the puck fly in as the whistle blows nearly simultaneously. 
If we were betting women (we are) we’d have wagered there was a good chance this wasn’t going to cut it (we lost $10).
That shows us for doubting our team.
Luckily this was the nail in the coffin.
No way we’re giving up another goal when we’re leading in the thi-

THE OH SHIT AWARD 
bun
Jokinen can only be displayed as carb-based items.
It’s not even our doing, it’s a system error.

THE MOMENT YOU COUNTED YOUR LUCKY STARS
 There were two, to be precise.
 


Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd it’s ours.

INDIVIDUAL AWARDS

MOST APPROPRIATE DISPLAY OF EMOTIONS

Keepin’ it classy and not full of rage and spite at all. 

ALT THREE STARS

1) MAF
 
For bringing the appropriate amount of dramz, and for getting back into it one step at a time. 
Also, shootoutz r hard.
Just ask Justin Peters.

2) Danny Boy’s tie

Niceeeee.

3)  The food folder

For bringing delights. 

 

So, it was a hard game to watch and a fun game to watch and in the end, it brought out everything that we love about hockey. We look forward to more games like this in the season, so that we can scream and flail and generally make the people in our lives terrified of watching hockey games with us.
We hope the people in your lives are fearful as well.

Tomorrow we have a fun game comin’ at you, possibly a new Sunday feature, depending on how you guys feel.
Stop buy and give it a look, it demands your input.

Kisses. Enjoy.
Like we did Dwyer’s mom.
Go Pens. 

Kim

About Kim

I bleed Pittsburgh but also blood and I need that, so please don't cut me.

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