My tormentor would hum the first seven seconds and pause, waiting for me to join in. And I did every time, belting out the “you are the magnet and I am….” and just as I’d get to “steel”, the bastard would hang up. Every single time.

None of that actually happened. I slept soundly. But I did wake up at 0430 on this beautiful Easter morning. Was I thinking about the true reason for this springtime holiday?

Cue the lightning, let me get that five iron.

That’s right. I woke up with BJs on my mind.

I’m starting to think we’ll be discussing that Central Division treat many, many times the next two weeks or so. You know by now how this will happen, or how it won’t. And it’s ironic that our first-round fate falls into the hands of the one team we know we won’t see: the bitter bitch Blues. And who will our friends from St. Lose be facing? Why, it’s the elimination queens. Yes, my friends, the team you’d forgotten about because the playoffs became an unrealistic wet dream around Christmas. That’s right shipmates, the Denver Dive.

Think about it. If the Dive win today, we get Anaheim. If the Blues win, we get Columbus. If the Blues lose, they stay at 8 and face San Jose. If they win, they’re up to sixth and get Vancouver. Here’s the thing we have to consider. What do the Blues want the most. Do they want to avoid the 1/8 so badly that they go balls out today in Denver? Are they starving for that matchup with Vancouver?

Or are they so stupid and so young that they don’t care who they play, that they actually believe they can beat anyone, anywhere? If that’s what they believe, then this afternoon’s game means nothing to them and they’ll lose. They’ll lose and we’ll have Anaheim.

But if they win. If they win, it’s BJs for us. And two thirds of you want that because my scientific poll from last night told me so.

And get this. If you really don’t want Anaheim, how does it feel today knowing that the groups of people who hate our Wings the most, who despise our innocent heroes with a kind of obscene sickness typically seen only in made-for-Cinemax movies filmed on location at state pens, have such significant impact on our short-term sanity?

Think about this in a way only a Wing fan can. Assume a conspiracy. Assume collusion and dirty deeds. Assume the Blues will lose because less than honorable men in towns like St. Louis and Denver want you to feel pain.

Of course, that’s idiotic. Despite their records against each team (2-2 against Vancouver and 2-1-1 against San Jose), the Blues absolutely would prefer the Canucks. Right? They want that matchup. They want that 6 seed. If you think a BJ is what we have to have starting Thursday, then you’d better hope for a desperate Blues team tonite at the Ass Can.

You want Columbus. Every one of you wants Columbus. The smart kids? They all want Columbus. The travel. The youth. The rookie, tired goalie. You want the BJ. Anaheim, despite their flop last night in Phoenix, is on fire. Columbus? Not so much.

Puck Rakers

Tonight, the Jackets played poorly in all facets for long stretches and lost their season finale to the Minnesota Wild, a team that had nothing to play for outside of a tee time. The final score was 6-3. With that, the Jackets completed a checkered stretch run.

In their last five games: They won one in a shootout, lost two in regulation, lost another in overtime, and another in a shootout. They are not heading into the postseason with a bullet. And they don’t look dangerous enough right now to win many marathon overtime games, for which the playoffs are known.

Man. Man, man, man. I’m with you. I know. I just am. Crap. Alright. But know this. As soon as I type it, we can guarantee the matchup you don’t want to see.

Nope. Not gonna do it. Give us Anaheim. That’s who we want and I’ve got my reasons bitches. Give me the Poultry. Give me Pronger and Getzlaf. Give me a matchup in the first round against a team that knows how to win when it really matters. For the next sixteen hours or so?

I want me some Duck. And if I’ve confused you, then have patience. We’ll explain it to you later. Let’s just say that superstition is a mean, bitter bitch.

Awww. How cute. Look at Daddy. Plastered in the Hasek at noon on Easter.

Don’t blame me. I didn’t ask for this. It’s simply how I roll at playoff time. Sanity? Not required.