Petshark: Talking Stick
Entries with the tag: fourth line
That's six. I hate to think what the farmer's new bride would do to the person who crossed her six times, but I'm sort of relieved that the Sharks got this out of the way. If they were mystified about why they lost again, after doing so many things so much better, well, it could not have happened any other way. Once they lost five, the sixth loss was going to will itself into being no matter what. That's a good thing, it means that this season isn't last season, it's more like the two seasons before the 2011-12 black hole.
TJ Galiardi, Adam Burish, and Martin Havlat... What in the world happened while I was testing out America One Sports? When I said the Sharks should just play their game, just go out there and do what they know how to do, I wasn't including Todd McLellan in that freestyle instruction. On the other hand, putting that line together touched on something I've been wondering about for years now: why have a traditional fourth line?
In this time of speculation and rumors, this last week before the NHL trade deadline, I’ve become obsessed with signs. Not zodiac signs, though that could probably help if I really believed in them. Will Nash end up in LA? Will it matter? Do the Caps miss Boudreau yet? Will Doug Wilson make another move? Will the Coyotes catch the Sharks tonight? There are signs to read, but I don’t know how to read them.
One of the cats went missing. It was the night of the Sharks game in Detroit. It was not one of the friendly pet cats, but a familiar furry face nonetheless. He’s been on the ranch for nearly ten years I think, the wild tuxedo cat named Fred. I felt unaccountably guilty. Even if I was sure a coyote would come calling, Fred was so wild I could not have done anything about it, short of camping out overnight.
This made me look up the definition of “Cassandra complex.” I was glad to discover that it is not actually future vision. It doesn’t even apply here because I don’t know what the heck I’m predicting. I’m a terrible prognosticator. Some friends asked if I had lotto numbers for them anyway. Gotta love friends who know how to ignore that you’re batshit crazy.