Brilliant response by reader [Claire]
The world has sent us plagues, and the Pens have overcome another game out of 82. The first little flicker of hope inside the Consol Energy Center burned up through the ice, under Rick DiPietro as he prostrated himself wondering why he is in actuality made of styrofoam.
The NHL has consistently been mixing up the meanings of what is right and what is wrong. Confusion is just the way of hockey. In split seconds, worlds are created and destroyed. Empires crumble, dreams get just a little bit bigger or a little bit smaller. Euphoria and chaos. Philosophical conversations will be had in Escalades and custom BMWs leaving the players’ lot this evening.
(Photoshop suggestion: Curry as Shiva? E-mail it to us.)
Is it in good philosophical taste to have an awards show at such an important moment of life evaluation?
. . .Well, fuck yeah.
THE PALACE YOU BUILT IN YOUR SOUL, SLOWLY ERODING AWAY
The first period left you with little faith. Almost none could be discovered. Godard drops the gloves, tries to get the boys energized, and it works, but then the Isles discover what happens when you put the Pens on the power play. Six minutes nearly back-to-back in the first period are spent with the Pens wafting shots around, making ill-advised cross-ice passes, generally being pussies.
We’re not even sure the press showed up to take pictures of this game.
These may have been snapped by a self-sufficient strand of Blake Comeau’s dignity that escaped from the locker room:
Really pivotal moment of the game, Associated Press.
Kunitz and DiPietro begin a sloppy love affair. DiPietro will later try desperately to touch Kunitz’s balls.
Some wraparound. No one remembers it.
Somewhere in there Cooke got 2 minutes for being beautiful.
THE INTERMISSION YOU DREADED
Another intermission, another 20 minutes gone where you didn’t know who was who or what was what or if anything good would ever happen to you ever again.
You sacrificed a small pack animal and ate a Funfetti cupcake at intermission, and if you didn’t, you damn well should have.
Somewhere in the ether, the blood that has been spilled to get to this point starts awakening all kinds of complicated energy.
Where is the kick in the ass we all need?
BEST PREMATURE GOOD FEELINGS
Fun fact: Talbot’s line started every period today. The second was no exception.
The Pens start out looking anemic, leaking all over the place like the embalming fluid out of Daniel Briere.
Someone hits a post on what could have been a textbook redirect into a wide-open net. You hate everything.
Mike Rupp hates it more than you do, though, and makes a conscious decision to go out there and fix things.
GOAL THAT MADE YOU NOT ONLY PREGNANT, BUT PROUD TO BE ALIVE
Mark Letestu beats two Islanders to a puck behind the net and chips it to Tangradi, who brings it out in front and takes a look at the net.
A little known fact is that Eric Tangradi is trying to breed his own half-human, half-baby-ox army of awesome.
He finally decided it was time to spread his seed.
Ladies, give birth. Watch the horns.
THE AWARD WE CAN’T COME UP WITH A TITLE FOR BECAUSE WE HATE EVERYTHING ABOUT IT SO MUCH THAT IT IS BEYOND THE ABILITIES OF ALL WORLD LANGUAGES
Everyone knows this was not a hit to the head.
In the replay, note that Comeau is able to keep his head from hitting the ice when he falls and appears to be looking up and alert. He even is on his knees briefly before lowering himself to his stomach. Yeah. You were probably wondering holy fuck, is that guy okay? Replay clearly shows that it was a shoulder check. Tang is immediately ejected for an illegal hit to the head, which carries a 5 minute major and game misconduct. K.
Everyone plays some 4-on-4 while Josh Bailey sits 2 minutes for roughing after attacking Kris Letang following the hit.
He comes onto the ice after the penalty, stays out for the first PP unit. Comeau is apparently well enough to assist on the goal.
Talbot is killing the rest of the major penalty when he gets hauled down at the Islanders’ blueline. No call. Isles come back and score another:
Oh look it’s 2-2. Blake Comeau has another assist. He must be really hurt.
MOST COMPLEX EMOTIONS FELT TOWARDS A TEENAGE SWISS MAN
One of the better efforts for the Pens power play this evening. No clue. Pens get some 5-on-3 while he’s in the box and completely fail to do anything meaningful with it. Or any of the penalties this kid took all night. Maybe if we sacrifice the small pack animal in Graubünden, the power play will be more effective. Someone get on that.
Well there was the time that Sid kept missing the net and the time that Cooke thought he and DiPietro were playing bumper cars DiPietro was a really bitchy date to the amusement park and the time that the power play failed a bunch more times.
Brent Johnson stood tall.
Here is a photo from some indeterminate point in the game to illustrate this:
Stoned Comeau in the slot. Comeau scores there, we personally kill his family and suicide at center ice in CEC following the murder. Only sort of kidding.
Engelland takes some penalty with just over two minutes left. Survivormode kicks in. It is the most beautiful PK since the beginning of time. But then the clock is almost out. It wasn’t meant to happen in regulation. A commercial break scrambles its way across your screen. Oh god.
Early in the OT period Jurcina goes off for some random penalty that somebody else actually committed and there is a lot of yelling, and doom.
You can’t say that you have a good feeling. The Pens are controlling the puck but it amounts to wide shots and DiPietro stoning Crosby and you’re just really upset. . .but. However. There is an ending to this madness. There is medicine for this fever.
Thank heavens for this.
Home is safe. For the first time this year, home is safe.
PERSON WHO WILL IN FACT WIN HIS NEXT GAME
Andrew Hutchinson or whatever his name is
ALTERNATIVE THREE STARS
1. Mark Letestu – beast
2. everyone at CEC who didn’t boo – you know, the six of you
3. Brent Johnson – thank you very much sir.
Quick tunraround to Philly tomorrow.
Hair League page will receive updates on Sunday.
Much fucking love.