You all know what I didn't shut this morning. And I know better. I do. Clearly, I've jinxed us. The possibility of the Wings not falling prey to this Trap Game are so slim, so very slim. Just start considering the scenarios now...the Wings-lose, BJs-win scenarios. And it's my fault. I know. Too much swagger. Too soon.
They played so well last night, so much deja vu (not the club) and remembering.
Two straight games of happiness. Two straight games to remind us of what could be, but that's all over. Three (games, not goals) is too much to ask and I know that.
It's imperative that we open the club car now. Don't clean it. Just open it and waddle up. Voox is there. He's been there all day and is incoherent. Kate will be there and she'll be optimistic but quick to remind you, me, all of us that mouths are not to be opened whore-style so early. Bill will have his graphs and he'll be hitting on my wife. Again. Rummy will be soaking in a tub, but it's not really a tub because we can't afford it. It's just a trough, and it's filled with warm PBR but he doesn't care. The old stand bys will show up: Gabe and AndrewfromAnnArbor. Baroque. Sully, JJ, Tyler and all the other 19 who've started their own blogs. Everyone will be there and it will be raucus and glorious.
And my dirty whore mouth will remain shut. Pets are in play tonite. Their survival is not required. Neighbors, remember them? They must understand that a medium-sized fire is not the end of the world.
It's a Live Blog, bitches. Early start, just like a playoff game. Because that's exactly what this is. God save us all. RSV.
But wait...it can't end there, can it? I just remembered. It's our last game against the Central, Gary's special creation. Our last game against our fake rivals, our last game as divisional partners with Shea Weber, who slammed Henrik Zetterberg's head into the glass last playoffs but was not penalized because Gary Bettman directed leniency because it was a Wing he hit and not Rosby or a Hawk.
So, I'm taking it all back and I'm opening my Whore Mouth wide, like on Cinemax.
Wings wrap this fucher up tonite convincingly. BJs lose, if that matters. And we start thinking about what matters most. LGRW.