Just … sad!
What a sad game and a sad ending for the Igloo (not that there could be a happy ending, but still. I said happy ending. Heh.)
Marc-Andre Fleury’s performance was sad, especially for a goalie of his caliber, but I’m not about to take the weight of losing this series and throw it on his shoulders like I’m dropping an elephant on a toothpick expecting it to hold the weight. Lots of blame. Lots of places. Sad sad places.
I yanked three gray hairs out of my head this morning, even though my hair stylist tells me I should just cut them super short with scissors instead of doing what I do, which is see one, freak, yank, weep. My point is that the game aged me so much I grew three gray hairs overnight. My heart aged in dog years. Sad.
It was as I feared. Cinderella is still the belle of the ball and I’m not sure who the Penguins are in this story. The step sisters? The stepmother? The mice that know how to sew? The pumpkin?
So much sad …
Know what else is sad? I can’t hate the Habs. There’s no Marian Hossa on their team on whom I wish harm. There’s no one I can stab in the voodoo doll crotch. They outplayed us and hell, I’m okay if they win the Cup.
But I’ll be sad that we’re the ones who have to give it to them and I’ll be sad they won it by beating a path through Pittsburgh during the Igloo’s last stand.
I’m not going to judge the entire season by one sad game. I’m not going to let the memory of this game hold more weight than all the other games combined, even though this game ended our season. That’s a disservice to our boys who fought too long and too hard for us to wash away the months and months of joy they gave us simply because of sixty minutes of sad hockey.
I wish I was writing a different post. I wish we won. I wish Fleury had been Fleury. I wish Mrs. Malkin had superpowers. I wish Max Talbot had been a hero again. I wish the Malkin Beast had been unleashed. I wish we scored four goals in two minutes and then they made a movie about it. I wish we had more time before all we have to watch are the Pirates. I wish Cinderella’s fat ass tripped down the stairs of the castle and landed in a fresh pile of horse poop.
I really wish I’d stop finding gray hairs.