No, no you are not glamorous, not at all. Not tonight.
You see, things were so good.
But, if you’ve watched the Pens for the last couple of years, and if you’re familiar with the Sharks, you knew it could only get bad somehow. It didn’t get bad quickly, as it often does, but it was a slow build to Bad that left slivers of hope in the deepest recesses of a rumkugel.
Patrick Marleau’s fantasies persisted. You know in this moment he’s wearing a gray merino wool sweater next to the Christmas tree and saluting a kitten. It is very akin to Tyler Kennedy’s pony goal celebrations.
In the same moment that things became possible, they became less likely.
The Sharks executed “play one terrible period, then act like that never happened and make everyone in Pittsburgh shit their pants” with gusto and perfection.
We knew the death shot was coming when Malkin got stuck in some chocolate on the way to Greiss. Here is said death shot from Ryane Clowe:
Fleury and Greiss were the story of the game. Greiss came up tall in the end. It happens.
More or less.
Alternative three stars can all be found in aspects of Deryk Engelland’s face: