fuck your dreams

And as the national media slobbered all over themselves about how the Pens were “the team to beat” we knew it wasn’t true. It’s never true. Over the years in hockey, all of the injustices basically even out so that everyone gets exactly what they deserve. We fully believe the Penguins are still atoning hardcore for the storybook season of 2009. Every season after you are first imbued with the magic gets harder and harder. You can’t recapture that wide-eyed terror and thirst for redemption just for funsies.
And so we realize that the good feelings we had leading up to this game were just signs that our imaginations were running wild on us. The playoffs are fucking disgusting vicious and we, as fans, are playing with borrowed time and crystalline-fragile emotions by even paying attention. . .but of course we don’t know how to stop. We just have to stay out of that fucking delusion-snowglobe.

If you want to believe, we’re going to have to get out of this rut.  It’s worse because we saw it coming; it’s worse because we played like shit; it’s worse because we could see this scenario playing out in our heads a million times starting about three weeks ago.
Terror seed has been planted.  It’s a tricky plant to dig up, too.  Its roots go deep.

Apropos tweet of the night, in other words.

And nary a Tyra .gif to comfort us.

Quick hits:

The first period was like losing your virginity and having it not hurt.
That should have been the first clue that life was not real.

We did our best the rest of the game though to look like we didn’t even have any other moves.  Turnovers and poor defensive responsibility basically wrote the script for the end of this.  Just couldn’t stop the bullshit from coming.

It’s just so hard to contemplate.  It was like spending 40 mintues in a deep freeze.
It can’t be denied that Bryzgalov got his shit together between the first and second.  There were no more mistakes made.

We’re beginning to think–seriously consider–that the Consol Energy Center is totally, utterly cursed.  It was fun to say for the first season, you know, as kind of a funny joke or a scapegoat.
But we just don’t have a good feeling about it.
With the corpse of Lady Mellon finally eviscerated we fail to see why the hockey gods would be giving us any respite.
We feel. Like. The mother fucking Washington Capitals right now.
All the bells and whistles and nothing to show for it.

We propose a focus group initiative to figure out how to exorcise the demons from the Consol Energy Center.
First idea?  Has anyone tried leaving a gift bottle of scotch on its doorstep?
Has anyone tried doing a Blingee Mural all over the wall along Fifth Avenue?
What are the odds you can get a paper bag full of rainbow glitter into the arena Friday night and release it from the balcony onto center ice?
We’re not suggesting that you do anything that could be considered threatening.
But something has to change.
The spirit of this team seems like it isn’t fully Given to the game.
God help us.

Also by the way this picture is real and is courtesy of Getty.

Has anyone considered getting this girl’s grandma to a game, too?
Anything.  Something.

We hope the Penguins are thoughtfully passing around a bottle of Balvenie and having life-changing conversations, because god forbid we let this moment of reflection get away from us.

Part of us remembers that time when we asked Jakub Voracek to sign for us outside of Nationwide Arena from his tiny BMW or whatever the fuck it was and he didn’t know what to do with the Sharpie or what the ticket even was or where he ought to sign it.  He was very confused.  We like to think that Jakub is grown now and that he can sort of speak words in English and he has an adoring fanbase who will laud him for this OT goal and believe in his abilities.

Then we realize he is the fucking enemy and that Kladno must burn.

Don’t blame the Pens for hating the media after this mess.  The media is what makes shit like this bad.

Ooooh does it burn.  It better burn.

Dig deep, here we go.
Go Pens. 


About Zoë

from Fayette County, living in Boston, chronically fussy. Writing about the Penguins, the CWHL/women's hockey, and hockey/sports media criticism.