The thing about that song is once you start it, you can’t stop.
Still I can’t let go. It’s unnatural. You belong to me. I be–
Okay. I’ll stop. But you’re totally singing it in your head now. Mwah-hahaha! I’m coining this the Boyz II Men virus. You’ve been infected. There is no cure.
This post is weird. I’m not drunk either. Just sad.
We’ve come to the end of the road for the Penguins 2011-2012 hockey season and we did it in one of the worst possible ways we could. To the Flyers. [patooie] [stabs the Hartnell voodoo doll in the crotch with a rusty shiv].
I have a lot of anger.
The only thing that would have been worse would be losing four games in a row to the Flyers [PATOOIE!].
So that’s my comfort. We scared them a little bit. We made them play two more games than they needed to. We wore them out a bit for their next opponent. We got in their heads for a moment in time.
And that is little comfort when they’re gloating in this fashion:
(h/t to Mikey for finding this)
Oh, the gut punch. It hurts.
Yesterday hurt. It was painful to watch. My father came over for dinner last night and as we chatted about the game I asked him if he watched it, as he believes he is a jinx and if he watches it, we’ll lose. Yes, my father, the minister who believes in the Bible and God and a higher power and predetermination is no different from any other Burgher who believes something as small as their eyeballs on the screen or their chosen seat on the couch will alter the outcome of a professional sporting event. It’s awesome.
He said, “No. After church I was on my way home from the hospital after visiting there and I heard the score was 4-1 and I shut the radio off. I knew it was over.”
I said, “It was painful to watch. And so frustrating. It was like trying to start a car with a dead battery. You keep trying and trying and turning that key and hoping and praying something would sputter to life, but then nothing happens. It’s dead. And you sit there and you cry and you sob and you shake your fist at the sky and WHY, GOD, WHY?! … WHY?!?!?! [blink] I need all the wine.”
I may have overreacted.
But isn’t that what YOU watched in this game? A team that kept turning the key — a team that wanted SO VERY BADLY for that engine to rev up so they could step on the gas and get going — and can we just stop for a second and talk about that? I think my least favorite phrase in all of sports other than “We’ll be back after these messages with Mike Milbury’s take on the game” is “they wanted it more.”
Ugh. Okay, yes. Maybe in a regular season baseball game or a regular season hockey game, one team might want the win more. Maybe they NEED the win more. But in the big games, the important games, EVERYONE wants it just as badly as the next guy. Hartnell doesn’t want to hoist the Stanley Cup this year more than Geno does. Wanting it has nothing to do with all the coaching, games, injuries, penalties, obstacles, calls, bounces, luck, practice, strategy, and mental toughness that goes into winning a championship. There are way too many factors — legitimate factors that create a championship team, that boiling it all down to “wanting” it is a disservice to our boys.
They wanted it, damn it. They wanted that car to start so badly so that they could run over the hated Flyers with it. They just couldn’t do it.
But let’s end the season on the bright side. The Pens made the playoffs. Um. They didn’t go out without a win. Um. Max Talbot and Letang (French for “Le Mmmrowr”) look like they made up. Um. We don’t have to watch Sid’s patchy beard grow in and transform him into a gross porn star. Uh. Jagr can kiss my fat ass. Uh —
Also, there’s no way the Flyers are winning the cup or I’m switching religions if they do.
I’ll call it the Church of Nutella. I’ll need some deacons, if you’re interested.