When you woke up this morning, it probably didn’t feel like hockey was coming. It was warm and sunny, after all, and unless you’ve been lucky enough to have your finger on the pulse of training camp all month, it all felt like a faraway dream, experienced through Pens Report and Twitter, which is obviously insufficient to the genuine article–the reality of hockey. Preseason hockey feels like the real thing, after all. It’s been a fucking long summer.
The sun went down tonight, though, and it got a little chilly.
Those chills are up and down our spines right now.
PEOPLE ARE PLAYING HOCKEY IN THE NHL AGAIN!
PRAISE CURRY (of the Hamburger Freezers)
or Brad Thiessen, whatever suits your tastes.
So, we settled down tonight feeling a bit perplexed, but all the better for it. How could this possibly be real?
Well, it was clearly so real that it was bordering on the unreal. Look wat the cat dragged in:
jesus, Jimmy, your soul is as full of doughnuts as Chris Osgood’s was of lard-covered bananas and deep-fried cheesecake. We’re glad you could come tonight.
Steiggy and Errey had to blow off some steam before we could get down to business, so they heartily glossed over the “absence” of Max Talbot, as if he had simply failed to show up one day for 10th grade chem lab.
As if all the bad karma had left the room based on that remark, Chris Kunitz buried it.
We had our first Vesa Toskala moment of the season, in which the net ended up on top of Fleury, and there was a brief scramble to restore sanity.
It was during this time that we negated the whole exercise at the PH Mansion by having our houseboy find Cal Clutterbuck’s wedding photos for us. Mistake.
Also emerging this time is the knowledge, for those of you who weren’t already in the know, that Joe Morrow is a.) seriously talented and b.) adorable and c.) 18?!?!!?
This year’s draft class: makin’ it happen, somehow, against all odds that this generation is full of failures and egomaniacs. Joe Morrow has the Most Solid night. Or at least, makes Stieggy and Errey very proud that they have a play to telestrate.
Then, all of a sudden, there is a reference to the African wildlife.
“Why am I laughing?” inquires Errey to the American public.
PH will use the hippo as Bob Errey’s spirit animal until further notice. Blingees encouraged and required.
In the second period, we had a welcome realization: Gene is fucking alive, guys. He’s alive. He is skating like a monster and scoring Monster Goals. Welcome to 2009? Maybe? We’ll see? But man it was beautiful.
We probably forgot to mention that throughout the time, the Red Wings were pretending like they did shit. Kronwall had some goal in the first. Fuck chronology, we’re too good for it.
We were too busy paying attention to guys like Joe Vitale getting us all excited. It was like making out with us after the date and then not sleazily inviting yourself indoors, Joe Vitale. But we forgive you.
Then, once upon a time, the Pittsburgh Penguins power play and Matt Niskanen had a brief rendezvous which resulted in a surprise pregnancy:
THE DOCTORS SAID IT COULDN’T BE DONE
BUT BY GOD, WE NEVER GAVE UP HOPE.
The Red Wings showed up in gang formation, trying to assault the child:
We barred the door and held them off through the night.
Tomas Holmstrom will feed elsewhere this eve.
In short, this game probably should have counted. If solely for these faces:
Such dysphoria. Is that even Gene? Or is it his highly-paid body-double? His skin was looking unusually clear tonight.
IT HAS BEGUN. . . . . .
sort of anyway.
We will continue to bring you these non-awards style recaps until opening night in Vancouver, and you’re going to fucking like them, right? Right.
IMPORTANT SHIT GOING ON DOWN HERE ABOUT THINGS WE’RE GOING TO BUY YOU OR HAVE BOUGHT YOU
We’re just getting around to sending out the Hair League prizes, because we’re bad at things. Rest assured, they are appropriately hair-themed and coming to you very shortly, certainly before opening night.
As for right now. . .
If you feel creative, please write us a brief description of a Penguins or NHL-inspired mixed drink or other alcoholic concoction (my personal latest creation was the bourbon raspberry parfait) and leave it somewhere in the comments of any post on the site before puck drop on October 6th. We will issue reminders, as usual. In return, you’ll get something tacky and possibly wine-related if we pick yours as the Ultimate Best Alcohol.
We’re The Most Fun. We kill that which isn’t fun.