Happy Days Are Here Again
Okay, I’m certainly not as happy to had as I would have been had the Pens still been playing. But I must admit that I can barely contain my joy at last night’s results. You see, after the Flyers eliminated the poorly-coached Pens, i was left with nothing else to cheer for in these playoffs other than the elimination of the hated jackasses from the other end of the state.
I harbored little hope that the Devils could do the trick. The Flyer “juggernaut” appeared to be rolling. They were so good offensively against Dan Bylsma’s disorganized Penguins that it didn’t even seem as if poor play by Ilya BryzgaLOLov could sink them. The Little Pixie Claude Giroux had morphed into “the best player in the world.” he was skating with a “rejuvenated” Jaromir Jagr, and both were protected by some kind of wild animal called a Fartsmell. They had The Elf, Danny Briere, suddenly looking like he was worth that huge contract. They had two punk rookies running guys like Matt Cooke used to.
The Flyers roared to a Game 1 win, and all was well in Comcast Land. But then something odd happened. This team of animals and animal wannabes morphed into the team they had dismissed in the first round. They became the disorganized ones. They took the dumb penalties. They let in the soft goals. They got outcoached, outhustled, out-everythinged. Why, they were so bad that many said that BryzgaLOLov had been their best player.
They found themselves down three games to one, and without their Pixie, their “best player in the world,” after he was suspended for a dirty hit. But they still had hope, playing in front of their crowd of morons, buffoons, and idiots in Game 5. Then, out of nowhere, this happened.
Oh, was that a thing of beauty. Somewhere, Paul Martin and Matt Cooke must have been smiling. The punk got punked. The predator became the prey. And Penguin Nation rejoiced.
But the fun was just beginning. Mere minutes later, BryzgaLOLov got the entire continent laughing at him (okay, so they were booing in Comcast Land) by allowing perhaps the most hideous series winning goal ever.
It surpassed Jon Casey’s infamous whiff on Stevie Y.’s blue line shot. I, for one, couldn’t stop laughing. I didn’t know it would be the series-winning goal, but I was hopeful. And, sure enough, that’s how it ended up.
And nothing could make me happier. The best press box occupant in the world, the petulant whining Jagr, the Fartsmell, the Elf, and the two brazen punks have been summarily dismissed from the playoffs. It’s certainly not as enjoyable as winning the Cup would have been, but today, I am smiling like a butcher’s dog.