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Abel to Yzerman

I’m A Wing Fan.  I’ll Damn Well Panic When I Feel Like It.

Can someone remind me if I’ve ever told Mike Chen to STFU?  I seem to recall that I have.  If not?  It’s time.

Mike…don’t tell me when to stress about my Wings.  Don’t tell me when to panic and don’t tell me it’s not time to drink in the street.

It’s time.  In fact, it’s high frigging time.  Why?  Because I’m a Wing fan and that is what I do.

I stress about the Wings losing two games to such an average team.  That saddens me because it reminds me of the last time the Wings lost to an inferior team only that time the Cup went away and holy Hell that sucked long and hard.  It bothers me when Detroit loses to teams like that because, in the case of the Bitter Bitch Blues with their whining, sobbing, begging for validity fans?  In that case it’s all about effort and heart and a lack of hate.  MF please.  How the Wings don’t come out and lay waste to anyone those first two games is beyond me.  Haven’t they waited all summer to take out some frustrations?  The fact that they didn’t do that makes me curdle a bit.

I worry.  I worry about goaltending Mike. So don’t you tell me I shouldn’t. I don’t give a flying foxtrot of a fu** if it’s early October or late March.  When I see goaltending like that on consecutive nights, from our starter AND our backup?  Yeah, that makes me want to stay out drinking all night with guys I’m supposed to hate then come home and fight with my wife, drink some more, go to the police station in Birmingham, get picked up by my boss, then go to work like four hours later still frigging TANKED. 

I’m concerned Mike.  After two games, the PK is killing my soul…it reminds me of the scene from Rocky III.  On the beach.  Balboa’s being a little sissy, whining, moping. Mick’s dead.  Apollo’s pushing him.  Fat ass Paulie’s out of control and can’t stop bitching.  He’s on the verge of quitting.  But damned if little mousey Adrian (who’s all hot and seductive after Clubber propositioned her ass that afternoon in Philly) doesn’t break out the big guns and challenge Rock’s manhood.

You don’t do that Mike. You don’t accuse The Stallion of having no sack.  But you can definitely pull that on the Wings.  Uncle Mike’s got to turn the penalty kill into something symbolic.  He’s got to prove to the Wings that continued failure in that area is making people believe that Darren Garcia was actually wearing the winged wheel that fateful night in Denver when he was arrested for successfully soliciting Patrick Roy.  Ok, it wasn’t Roy. I think it was Mike Keane.

The PK stresses me Mike.  If you’d watched the 82 game, star-studded, soliloquoy of suck known as our penalty kill last season? You’d understand.  Clearly you didn’t witness any part of it.  Clearly you believe that with all that talent, all that character, that frigging destiny that belongs to us and all Wing loving families everywhere? You’d think the PK would be fine and dandy, Mike.  But it’s not.  It’s just not.

Fans stress me the FU** out Mike.  All fans.  Wing fans. Fans of other teams. Stupid people. Smart ones.  All of them.  I stress because if the Wings don’t right this leaking boat I’m gonna have to find another way to irritate the masses.  That makes my calves hurt just thinking about it.  There hasn’t been a day on this Gore that A2Y wasn’t completely and absolutely and justifiably obnoxiously arrogant.  Due to what Mike?  Due to my literary gifts? No Mike.  No.  We’ve been able to sustain our arrogance because of the Dynasty.  Any sign that of that Dynasty going away gives me bed spins.  After two games?  Well, obviously the Stockholm Suckfest indicates a phrase right out of the Delicate Genius Playbook:  Dynasty Denied.  Or Dynasty Deferred.  Or You Can’t Have A Dynasty When Your PK Sucks So Frigging Bad.

I stress about players tuning out coaches, about goaltenders who can’t regain playoff form. I worry about groins and backs and concussions.  I stress about empty seats and improving rivals.  I rack and stack every one of those bitches every day Mike.  And sometimes, when I’m weak, I stress about it.

It’s what we do as Wing fans Mike.  But here’s two bits of advice, actually three.

1.  STFU…just on principle and because I literally love to tell people to do that.
2.  Don’t tell me when to stress.  It’s a life choice Mike.  And it’s my birthright as a fan of the greatest team in hockey.
3.  Don’t worry about my team.  Because, despite all the worries and the concerns of volatile and unstable fan base, we’re still looking at a team that has precisely 36 more Tuesdays until the Cup comes home.

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About Abel to Yzerman

Welcome to Abel to Yzerman, a Red Wing blog since 1977.  No other site on the internet has better-researched, fact-laden and better prepared discussions than A2Y.  Re-phrase: we do little research, find facts and stats highly overrated and claim little to no preparation.  There are 19 readers of A2Y. No more, no less. All of them, except maybe one, are juvenile in nature.  Reminding them of that in the comment section will only encourage them to prove that. Your suggestions and critiques are welcome: wphoulihan@gmail.com

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