What was this game?
We have some answers, I guess. Not good ones. But answers.
Sometimes you have to take whatcha get.
MOST HORRIBLE OMEN
Everyone is falling. Wtf.
Why do we have to get drunk EVERY TIME WE GO TO FLORIDA?!
Incorrect, Sid. We do not skate on the walls. No, you do not need three more maraschino cherries, you are fine. No, no more Fuzzy Navels. Sid, come on. Why are you doing this to us?
OH WAIT WE FORGOT.
We hate you, Florida.
As much as we hate winter. We miss you, summer. You seem so far away.
I guess we can't blame the guys too much. We'd be shit faced as well.
Drunken giddiness gets the puck SO CLOSE to the Panthers net quite a few times. Penalties are exchanged. TK vomits on the ice and it looks like some good ol margaritas were the only thing in the tank. His friends help him to his feet. He weeps about everyone at the party hating him. We reassure him that WE still love him, and get him some Gatorade.
Everyone else is still having a MARVELOUS time.
They are still licking the salt off of their lips when this happens.
Sorry if that's unclear – the Panthers scored.
Apparently they are so unused to celebrating that they totally forgot how.
Look at those faces.
We have no words.
Luckily, James Neal is not the most socially apt member of the Penguins clan, and when Kris clapped him on the back and said "Hey man, we're going to do the bar thing tonight, you in?" he mistook "the bar thing" for something totally different.
Sure, he's a little confused when he keeps getting drunk texts, but he imagines that they are just nervous excitement texts and doesn't bother to respond, too concerned about not measuring up because he's heard these things are pretty hard.
When he gets to the arena, jazzed up on energy drinks and fresh from pre-test carbo-loading, he's in the best shape of the lot.
He assumes the fatigue on the ice is a result of studying fatigue.
He decides that he's in the best position to make this work, and gets one into the net for us.
Not suspicious of his teammates at all, he heads back to the bench woncering why everything smells like glass cleaner.
BREAKFAST OF UNRAVELING CHAMPIONS
If anyone has ever offered you endless mimosas, or any other fun times brunch drink, you know what a disaster it is to drink 14 of them with your hash browns.
The 'guins SHOULD KNOW THIS BY NOW seeing as they are GROWN ASS MEN but alas, when they see this sign, they start salivating.
First of all, Kris can't say no to anything rimmed in colored sugar. Brooks remembered something about strawberries being healthy, and assumed it would be fine. Sid saw that cute striped straw and he was sold – not to mention that when he asked the waitress if the whipped cream was low-cal, she snapped her gum and responded "sure, whatever you want, honey."
9 hours after getting kicked out of the establishment for draining the entire supply of margarita mix, they find themselves on the ice. There may or may not have been a couple dozen cocktails between the two events.
The marvelousness wears off real quick.
"Jesus fucking Christ can these lights get any brighter?!"
Needless to say, it's a disaster.
Because he is a dick, Dustin "Dicknose" Jeffery didn't tell anyone else on the team that he brought his own stash to the game – that innocent looking water bottle was just a cover.
His attention is caught when Vokoun heads off the ice, muttering something about going to get a pilsner and a chocolate orange. DJ laughs, brushes it off, but then his eye is caught by the giant machine over the ice.
When he can finally focus his eyes on the jumbotron and figure out the numbers, he can't believe it.
"Guys…is that a 4…what? Wait, seriously, seriously, Tyler, is that a four? Guys. What? Is that them? Like…the Panthers. Four? FOUR? Guys, what…"
He realizes what has happened.
"GUYS YOU NEED TO START DRINKING NOW."
He sees Chris gag a little at the idea. "No chance, man. That's what got us into this mess."
He sees the guys, all with their heads between their knees, and does what he knows he has to.
Good job, Dicknose.
We love you, sometimes.
He knows it'll take a few minutes to work, so he gets out on the ice and takes responsibility for bogarting all da booze – scores one to stop the blood from flowing.
As the average BAC of the team rises, things start to look better.
Everyone's got beer muscles.
I wish you could see the Martin and Kunitz goals that followed, but press dipped into that sweet, sweet nectar.
So here's sid, licking margarita salt from his lips, as mentioned prior.
The Panthers kick their goalie to the curb as well, but less for drunkenness reasons and more for general shittiness.
MOST OBVIOUS PROBLEM WITH THE PLAN
Everyone is still shithoused.
SADDEST YOU FELT FOR A TEAM THE MOMENT THEY BEAT YOU
While nothing is won with a whole minute left in the game, when the empty net happens you aren't really thinking it's totally yours to win anymore.
But when it's a hat trick…and like…two hats happen?
That is fucking SAD.
I mean, that type of sad where you actually feel embarrassed to watch it happen because you don't want a part in it. Kopecky…you didn't deserve to win. But everyone deserves a shower of hats for a hat trick.
Sorry your team/fans are total balls.
Escape when you can.
MOST UNQUESTIONINGLY DEDICATED TO THE CAUSE
Still unsure why he would need to pass the bar, but ready to do so for the good of the team nonetheless.
ALT THREE STARS
1. DJ. Deserves all the stars for his stealthy liquor funneling abilities.
2. Vokoun. Because we're sad when he's sad. Don't be sad, buddy.
3. Pens fans. Seriously. Sometimes it takes a sad, sad hat trick for another team to appreciate that you have the greatest fans ever.
It'll be summer here too, eventually.
And we'll have the cup to prove it.
Never losing again.