Braying Jackasses 4
You know, it's not often that I manage to get a few pals together on a Saturday night at the old "Friendnasium," and no one but me likes to call my apartment, and convince them to spend it lazing about watching the Oilers game instead of doing something a little more interesting and/or fun — so you think the least Edmonton could do in return is not, you know, suck shit. But, judging from the level and severity of tonight's shitsuckery, they must not have got the email declaring my intentions on time. Which is a shame, because I made sure to find the e-card with the most dancing unicorns you could possibly fit onto an average computer monitor.
Anyhow, Jesus god am I tired of watching the Flames beat the Oilers. And tonight was only made worse by the fact that the Oil seemed to be playing a fairly decent game: intensity was high, the hits were flying left and right, GG took it upon himself to make Chris Simon just that much more stupid with a little fist surgery to the base of his brain... it was all coming up Edmonton until we decided that the puck was in fact made from pure, galvanized polio instead of rubber and hence it should be deposited onto the stick of the nearest attacking Flame at every reasonable opportunity. I must have seen at least seven or eight giveaways in our own zone tonight, and two of them — both involving the regularly outclassed tandem of Jason Smith and Dick Tarnstrom, curiously — resulted in goals.
Roloson didn't seem to have much of a chance on any of the goals, but I still can't shake the feeling that to say that is total bullshit. If this team is going to make the playoffs, they need a goaltender who saves that fourth goal. Right now, we don't. And I wonder if we're going to make the playoffs at all. As I write this, San Jose has managed to "engineer a comeback" from a 3-1 deficit in Phoenix to tie it for overtime, just as Jim Hughson prophecized (incidentally, I enjoyed his overly florid commentary tonight; he was a lot more animated than usual, and I appreciated the fact that he made no bones about how completely retarded the refs were to not blow the play dead on a delayed Oilers call, even though we had the puck the entire time leading up to when we scored. Whuh?), which means we may not have merely lost to a hated rival, but also allowed the gap between eighth and ninth to be narrowed.
Seriously, are we going to make the playoffs with this team? On nights like tonight, it hardly seems we deserve to. And what will we do even if we do squeak in? Are we good enough to win one series? Maybe. Two? I sincerely doubt it. There are still a lot of holes in our game, kids, and I hope there's still time to fix it. Maybe we should do the novel thing and give Rollie a break by sliding Markkanen in instead of riding poor Dwayne into the ground like a stolen Hyundai.
Anyhow. No matter what, I think we can all take one thing away from this meandering half-drunk post tonight: I need a way less ugly couch.
Saturday, April 1, 2006
Posted by Chris! at 11:00 PM