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Abel to Yzerman

So Very Tired.  Exhausted.  Done.

Good morning.

Gather the family because Dave Guralnick has a present for them.  Go on now.  Go get ‘em. 

Ready?  Ok.


Hudler seems to be enjoying himself, eh?

This “rivalry” is turning into something more.  It’s evolving into a hate-fest, and that’s how it should be.  On the ice, of course.  There’s also something going on here, on this site, that we’ll address when this series is over.  Statements are being saved and specific ones won’t be forgotten. I won’t let them just fade away.  But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

But we live ahead of ourselves.  It’s how we roll.  So, let me just throw this out there real quick.

One more win and the Red Wings win their fifth Stanley Cup in 12 years.  Their 12th overall.  One more win and there can be no denying this Dynasty.

One more win and Stanley skates in Pittsburgh, held aloft by a superstar who returned when he felt he could contribute, held high by a future Captain who continues to define playoff leadership.  One more win and the Cup will be skated slowly, shaken at the rafters of Mellon Arena as boos cascade down on him all because he lived up to the cliche that “the Cup is the thing.”

Yes. If given the choice, I’d rather see this thing end on Tuesday in front of that crowd, than on Thursday in front of 20,000 Wing fans.  The reason for that is not to rub it in but to just get this thing over with.  Take no chances.  None.  We don’t need a Game 7 in our lives and the Wings are thinking exactly that right now.  No. Game. 7.




Guralnick again.  Holy hell. What a picture.

It’s a good thing that I took that little break after Game 4.  And one of the reasons I did was because my instinct was to start blasting.  Two barrels. Split but equally venomous.  Babcock and Datsyuk.  Uncle Mike led us on.  He played the 25 year-old vixen to our teenage boy hormones.  He’d innocently flash us some skin, knowing full well the torture that came with it.  Then he’d cover it up and wag a finger at us…not yet.

Fun to look back at now, but on Friday (or was it Thursday? I have no idea) morning? I was highly pissed.  He knew all along Datsyuk wasn’t going to be in there but he let us wonder, let us hope.  Is it possible that in a situation like that a coach even considers for one second that a huge number of fans are hanging on every word, every report of Datsyuk’s health? 

Hell no.  There is absolutely no chance of that, nor should there be.  He lies to us.  So does Tick Tock. So did Datsyuk and anyone else who went on record.  Blatant.  Dirty. Outright lies.  And once again, it hurt when they fibbed, but glancing behind us now, we dig it.  As usual.

I didn’t think Datsyuk had it after his first shift and said as much in the Live Blog, one of the most prolific ever, I might add.  A term for the ages was created last night as the 19 was transformed into a Band of Bitches.  Unreal.

But I did say it. I said he looked slow and I was concerned that his impact would be minimal, that perhaps having him in the lineup would only lead to greater fatigue from Zetterberg as he’d have to cover for Pavel when…blah, blah, blah.  I know so little.  It’s proven to me again and again.

He didn’t dominate but he was awesome.  He drilled Malkin.  He set up Buckets.  He skated hard when he had to. Back checked all game and dangled when he could.  80 percent Datsyuk.  I’ll take it.

Sidney Crosby continues to show his true colors.  Take a minute to compare him to Zetterberg. Compare them in every way possible.  Their actions on the ice, off the ice.  One’s petulance.  The other’s maturity.  Think of the influence each has on their team.  While Hank Zetterberg takes the slashes and stores them away, saying little, getting up with a grimace but no retaliation…Thid falls to the ice like he’d been hit with a taser, sobbing. 

Like many of you, the thought of that spoiled punk lifting the Stanley Cup literally makes me sick.  If I never see that, and I mean ever, I’ll be happy. 

But it could happen.  And we have to know that.  If Detroit lets up one bit, it could happen on Thursday night in Detroit.  If the Wings let up, Sidney Crosby…the face of the NHL, Gary Bettman’s fantasy boy…will be posing for the picture of the year, the image that would send disgusting shivers up Little Gary’s spine, if he actually has one. 

The Wings have to know the kind of effort required to finish this thing.  And I believe they do, just as I believe they will.  I honestly think that Tuesday is it.  But nothing about what I think matters in the least.  The only thing that matters is how prepared the Wings will be, how the leadership in that room takes over.


“A lot of the older guys said something, it wasn’t just Nick—Drapes and Malts (Kris Draper and Kirk Maltby) and some of the older guys,’’ Kronwall said. “I don’t think it was anything in particular, we just talked about staying poised and doing what we need to so out there and just stay patient and we’re going to get our chances.’

I’m sure there was more.  I’m sure there was discussion about the “tired” remarks and the thoughts from esteemed writers like Helene Elliott, gushing and babbling happily about the “end of the Wing dynasty.” 

The Red Wings, as a team, may be running out of time. That’s another gut feeling.

Of course, her gut said something different after Game 5.

Revived by a day’s rest and the return of Pavel Datsyuk, the Red Wings reduced the Penguins to a bunch of petulant 2-year-olds Saturday while moving within one victory of claiming the Stanley Cup for the second successive season.

Whatever Helene.  We have a phrase here that has seemed to fit this postseason perfectly.  It goes something like this.


Speaking of…I’m being as patient as I can. I’m waiting.  But when this thing’s over there are going to be more than a few of those to go around.  One more game and we’re going to dredge up and remind some folks that Vladimir Konstantinov is off limits. 

60 more minutes to an undeniable Dynasty.

One more game. 

1 to a Dozen.


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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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