This game was fun to watch. It pointed out some flaws we need to work on but never concerned us too much with whether or not we would win.
Seriously, though, quit laughing.
We don't want to get cocky. (Unless "getting cocky" means something totally different, in which place, yes, please, bring on James Neal to administer the…cockiness? This is heavy handed at best, you guys.)
It's too soon for that.
There's a lot to talk about this evening, so let's just dive on in.
MOST LIKELY TO DIE FROM CHOKING ON DORITO DUST
Before the game starts, we have to remember a few things about where people are in the world of hockey. The past week has been such a whirlwind that we need to readjust to some ideas that never fully settled with us.
Guys. GUYS. It's okay.
Fat Rick is still alive. He's just a Rag now, remember?
And sure, NYC got rid of those giant slurpee cups but he seems to be getting by just fine without them.
From the looks of it, his grief is manifesting itself as cramming pudding cups down his fat hole until he passes out from lack of oxygen.
We'd still ride shotgun in his truck.
RUINER OF FACES, WINNER OF HEARTS
It's two seconds into the game when Tanner Glass and Asham decide to get into it. No one is shocked.
MAF with his head sticking out on the end there is the cutest little thing.
We were just happy to see it happen. It's been too long since we could get excited about a good 'ol fashioned brawl.
For the record, Tanner Glass sounds like the name of a child star. We love him endlessly for this and for the fact that he is a fucking tornado on the ice.
We learned a lot about him tonight, his studies about imperialism being the most exciting and confusing.
And that it's important to say the WHOLE NAME lest we think you are talking about an inanimate object.
Steiggy and Bobby, we missed you so.
MOST OUT OF CONTROL OBSESSION
James decided early in the first period that he wanted us to have a calm and happy evening and get to bed on time.
Neal gets off a "wicked" (bobby's word) wrist shot on a PP to put us in the lead early.
It was artful.
We know that you know that we often have unhealthy obsessions.
We now need you to know that our thing with James has reached a level where it can only be satisfied by the most sacrilege debauchery imaginable.
We just want to be open about this. Our sexual impulses are at an all time high during hockey season. Condensing it means it could get dangerous.
GOALS LIKE THIS DON'T HELP, MR.NEAL.
GOAL LEAST LIKELY TO MATTER
Callahan tries to be relevant.
Somehow manages to get a PP goal.
We wonder if Wheat Thins will pull sponsorship now that Fat Rick is there, ruining the team BMI.
Vokoun was fucking great this evening, but Cookie's disappointed father look is priceless in this moment.
Callahan quickly returned to irrelevancy, however, when he got a presidential teabagging.
And if that weren't enough to cast that Rags goal back to the hell from which it came, Niskanen sends one home, Crosby finally getting on the board with an assist, and we go into intermission 3-1.
ELIGIBLE FOR SENIOR CITIZEN DISCOUNT
We try to be diplomatic about age most times.
That being said, 30 is when you can start collecting social security, right?
Let's just ask the Rags, because everyone on their team is fucking ANCIENT. This is like the Assault of the Olds from the Red Wings all over again.
When, in the second period, Dupes racked up yet another goal on the withering Henrik, he was pulled in hopes that yet another Old could do better.
Olds are the worst.
(Minus Billy G.
We still want him to wear a robe and slippers and demand we pour him another scotch while he reads the paper. But that's different.)
LEAST MEANINGFUL CHANGE
Biron stepped it up a little. But really, when you're talking one old for another, things can't improve too much.
James Neal, with his perfect, angelic, grandmother-knit-sweater soul makes it 5-1 in the third.
LEAST DOCUMENTED GOALS
At this point we weren't sweatin' it.
Of course, we should always be sweatin' it, because the moment you take to congratulate yourself just may be the moment the Rags decide to grow a pair and act like they've discovered that this wasn't just a fever dream and was a real live NHL game after all.
Pyatt and Nash both get one in the third to make it 5-3. And then there are a few close calls to boot, but Vokoun locks it down.
There's currently no evidence of this, but this captured the way we all felt:
NO DADDY RUPP DON'T DO IT TO US
DON'T TOUCH US THERE
NO I JUST WANTED TO TELL YOU ABOUT MY DEGRASSI AUDITION
(Seriously. Tanner Glass?)
THE CREAMY FILLING WE ALL WANTED
Rags do the logical thing and pull Biron for the extra attacker.
Tanger sails it into the empty net with ease.
We play down the clock.
6-3. Pens win.
THE "WAIT WHEN DID YOU GET HERE" AWARD
We're not saying Tanger was ever bad.
We're just saying he owes us a redemption season to really make our love for him justified.
And DAMN if he doesn't look amazing out there.
Agile. Smart. No longer the head-case of yesteryear.
We're in love with it.
Not in a sexual way, because we still don't get that aspect of it.
But Tanger is really looking good.
ALL GROWN UP AND WELCOME TO MOVE IN WITH US
We've never gotten the whole sexy-Crosby thing either.
But really, Mr. Crosby, where did you learn to give that look?
ALT THREE STARS
1. Tyler Kennedy. Can join Letang in the category of looking fucking amazing this season.
2. Fat Rick. Same as Jakub from yesterday. Call your mother.
3. Tanner Glass. Really exceptional.
Also, we won't bore you with details of a small porn star obsession, but if you are familiar with the work of James Deen, we are open to creating conspiracy theories that James Neal is the same person. Best Day/Night job combo ever.
If only it were always a game a day.
Our patience is shit now that games are back.
Already amped for the next time.