I got nothing (remix).

The Wings lose to the Maple Leafs, 5-1. Fuck. Me. Sideways.

1. At least it wasn't a shutout.

2. At least Dan Cleary got goal #100.

3. You know how I was trying to be all cute in the last post, saying how entertaining it is to come up with verbs describing how the Wings destroy their opponents? Well, I had an awesome one ready for last night's game. And now I'm not going to get to use it because this is the only time the Wings play the Leafs all season. Boo. Me = overeager asshat.

4. Last night's plethora of games may have been the weirdest yet. Not only did the Leafs unexpectedly give the Wings the business, but the Pens got shut out by the Sharks, and the Ovie-less Caps scored 5(!) goals in the 3rd period against Florida to win, 7-4. Also, approximately 5,437 people got injured last night, including, but not limited to, Pittsburgh's Kris Letaint Letang, Carolina's Cam Ward, Toronto's Mike Komisarek, and our very own Jason Williams (broken fibula). At this point, Kris Newbury and/or Jeremy Williams get called up? Maybe Ken Holland stages a Snatch-inspired rendezvous to steal Jiri Hudler back by trapping him in a burlap sack in the middle of the night and returning him from Moscow? (Homer could reprise the role of Brad Pitt's Mickey. I mean, really: Have you heard him speak?)

Maybe this is the universe's way of paying it forward for my being such an asshole. Maybe I shouldn't have laughed as hard as I did while watching Tomas Kopecky (the self-appointed next Tomas Holmstrom) get the puck literally taken away from him by Craig Anderson's stick during Friday night's shootout. Maybe it's a sign from the universe, telling me that delighting in other people's misery and abject failure shouldn't be my favorite pastime. Perhaps I should revoke and renounce the scrappy nature of this blog. At this point, I'll do anything--almost anything, barring getting my face eaten--to ensure the Wings' success. What do you think: The Saintly Octopus?