It's not safe.
It's never been safe.
Welcome to the trials of our time.
The game begins and Bortuzzo fights some dude off the opening faceoff which feels like a delicately-worded, poorly-timed love letter.
Clarkson scored early on. Pens had a little bit of something going but Hedberg was a brick wall. Still, it didn't feel like the end of the world.
The Clarkson goal should have been seen as a bad omen, but one goal is rarely cause to completely change course. To jump into the freezing river in an attempt to find the land beyond the veil.
Johan is our favorite but seriously fucking SERIOUSLY
Kovalchuk on a 2 on 1. Yeah right. Disgusting shot. Vokoun can only save us so many times.
This whole image is really a metaphor for the game. When the black butterflies cometh, according to legend, the soft sobbing you think you hear from behind that locked door becomes real.
Clarkson got another on the PP in the second on the Penguins' only shorthanded time of the game. James Neal cross-checked somebody. He scored later but it ended up not mattering.
We blame the voices.
Pens need to get physical or something. Really getting beat up on super hard by teams that are willing to punish them physically or beat them with speed. Not all hockey is fucking beautiful.
Listen quietly for the sounds of the heavens exploding above us.
Maybe it's Asgard. Or maybe we're fucked.
Kim sent me the following messages in the third period:
Eating roses. She would know. She was live at CONSOL. Proof:
Anyway–roses? Let's let the fine artists at Blingee.com take this one. Keyword search:
More or less how the Pens should feel right now.
We don't play again until the Senators come to town on Wednesday. That's probably going to be ugly, too. Not in the sense that we'll lose because of course we're never losing again. But without some anger we aren't going to win these close ones at all.
We'll be waiting at the fringes of the wormhole.