Wings extinguish Flames 4-2.

After a rest period of no fewer than 2.5 light years, Red Wings hockey returned tonight with a visit by the Calgary Flames to the Joe.

--How fitting was each of the Wings' four goals tonight? Zetterberg with his Flying Circus comrades, then Lidstrom, both of whom were previously goal-less in the young season, scored absolute Miss-Universe-with-real-cans beauties of goals, then Franzen scored on an otherwise indescribable Franzenesque chance off Kiprusoff's person. Kinda makes me regret the decision to tell B earlier in the game that Kipper always plays against us like he has a chip on his shoulder... Oh, and how about that last one from "I still have a purpose here" Man o'Lantern? Happy early Halloween, kiddos.

--Jimmy Howard looked absolutely on point tonight. While naysayers and worrywarts fret about sophomore slumps, he's kicking ass, taking names and probably nailing your girlfriend...in your girlfriend's dreams.

--In reference to Ruslan Salei's net-lifting, I have just one thing to say: Maybe we should kiss again to teach him a lesson about obvious. If you don't know, now you know.

--Anybody fascinated by the concept of time travel should probably get in touch with Mark Giordano, as I'm pretty sure he visited 1956 and stole Elizabeth Taylor's eyebrows.

--Speaking of pretty, anybody else still a little skeeved out by Mickey's talkgasm over seeing a helmet-less Kronner early in the game? I think it went a little something like, "Oh, my, that's a beautiful sight..." followed by some grumble-sighs, but it's all mostly fuzzy and redacted in my mind's eye. Something about a switch flipping to prevent the ol' PTSD from reoccurring...

--Jarome Iginla must dislike playing us.

--Yeah, it goes without saying on this site, and yeah, I've written several odes to the guy explaining exactly how I feel, but it's a new season, and I've gotta say it again: There will come a day when we no longer see Homer's upset face jabbering at opponents between whistles. Until that day, I move that FSD establish a permanent Homer Iso-Cam so we can watch him go through the motions of being Tomas Fucking Holmstrom at all times.

--Curtis Glencross is challenging Mason Raymond for TSO's favorite "Could Be a West Virginian" name. Negative points for not having a full name comprised of two first names, but bonus points for having a compound surname that sounds like either country directions ("I think she lives out on the bypass, at the glencross") or a country threat ("Imma cut that bitch if I don't glencross her first").

--Finally, since I know there are so many of you who found your way here because we're the top two Google results for "Doug Janik falls down" (check it, ingrates!), what about that time Doug Janik fell down tonight? Clock that one into the ol' spank bank, boys and girls.

Tonight's win felt fan-fucking-tastic. Let's do it again on Saturday against the Quacks.

Hero

You're fucking out!

...As in out of the playoffs! For now, anyway. I would rather have been dropping a hard Kenny Powers line after a win, but I think it fits tonight. Fair warning - I think Nat and I both were irrationally angry after this game.

So tonight's game was absurd. Maybe I'm a completely crazy fan, but this loss made me mad. You are battling for a playoff spot. A spot in the playoffs that the team you're playing can take from you by beating you. In this scenario, you are leading the game 2-1 at the start of the third...get outshot 15-4 in the last period and lose 4-2. That, to me, is a big sack o' horseshit. Where was the effort? I believe it was the good folks at Helm Street today who stated that this Wings team can be the best team in the league for about 20 minutes, and it's a pretty true statement. The second period? Amazing. Third period? Oy vey. My timely observations, with a few questions sprinkled in:

1. I'd love to hear someone who actually plays hockey on this (Chris from NOHS, Petrella, I'm looking at you, and probably others I'm forgetting ) - Was Jimmy kind of suspect tonight? He looked out of position a lot early, seemed to fight the puck a lot and have rebound issues. Maybe I'm crazy. Though I'm saying this, I don't think you can really blame him for the goals tonight....and this isn't pro-Ozzie-he-should-be-playing-right-now crazy talk. He shouldn't. Jimmy is our goaltender, for better or worse, and I think for the better. Jimmy just seemed shaky tonight.

2. I know it was mentioned a lot at the end of the telecast, but Hank, um, doesn't really look good. I mean, the guy is a warrior, so I don't judge. I think any of us would rather see a half strength Hank instead of, oh, I don't know, Jeremy Williams. But it is what it is.

3. Pav, Homer, and Franzen - Domination. Franzen looks great.

4. If only the Wings were in the East...

5. I can't even count for you the amount of swearing I edited out of this. This game was sad. It just makes you think - how can this team have a third period like this? NOW? At this point in the season?

I know I'm not even coherent right now so I turn it over to you the readers. Talk me, Brian, off my over-reactory ledge.

About last night

Watching that game sucked. And no, I don't want to talk about it.

Let's hope things turn around in St. Louis tonight. A few brief notes (I guess I do want to talk about it):

1. Ozzie played fine, but playing in front of this team, Ozzie needs to be super-human playoff Ozzie. And thats unfortunate.

2. Ville Leino does nothing well. At all. Unless you count not skating fast a skill. If so, sign me up.

3. Sure, you can get 40 shots on goal, but if 35 of them are harmless, does it really matter?

Bleh. Here come the Blues. Let's turn it around tonight, eh?

Did that first period really just happen?

Did the Flames just score 30 seconds into the game, while Zetterberg, Leino, Lidstrom, and Rafalski were all just standing by, leaving half the net unguarded and essentially screening Ozzie from viewing the play?

Did Homer really just get a penalty for "retaliating" against bullshit from Giordano? The entire audience at Joe Louis Arena saw what happened, as evidenced from the booing. The Scrappy Octopi certainly saw what happened, as evidenced by the fact that we both screamed obscenties and/or barfed blood.

Did Brad Stuart's power play goal really just get disallowed because Dan Cleary was "preventing the goaltender from moving inside the crease" because the fucking heel of his left skate was inside the crease? The fucking left heel?! Did that really just fucking happen? I mean, I'm pretty sure that the laws of physics aren't suspended to the point at which Kiprusoff cannot move to his left if Cleary is standing directly in front of him. I feel like I'm huffing fucking paint here. Since when are we calling this rule into practice for screening in front of the goaltender? I'm at a fucking loss.

Did the referee, standing directly behind the fucking net, really not just call a penatly on Kiprusoff for slashing the back of Homer's calf, causing him to fall down? Again, the entire chorus of spectators saw this go down. We saw it go down on TV. What is happening?!

Did Pavel Datsyuk just inadvertedly redirect the puck into our own net?

Is Todd Bertuzzi trying to set a record for how many times one can go offsides during one period of play? Thanks a mil for breaking up that great rush midway through the first, Bert.

I will give 15 years off my life for the following to happen:

1. The Wings have to get back in this game. They simply have to. This is insanity. They had some decent chances during the power plays, but what happened during the first is just some crazy bullshit. They cannot let this prevent them from coming out swinging in the 2nd.

2. Sometime very soon, can Babcock please break up the abysmal 2nd power play unit of Cleary/Leino/Bertuzzi?! How is this a good idea? Dan Cleary, I get it. He's gritty, and he's the replacement Homer for screening. But Todd Bertuzzi and Ville Leino out there with him at the same time? Leino has the speed of an Amazonian three-toed sloth, and Bert just does absolutely nothing on the power play; the most he's ever going to do is be the 3rd best person on the team for doing what Homer does and Cleary kinda does, which is be the boss at disturbance in the crease. Leino and Bert have no business being on the ice together; the only time this should be allowed is if the Wings win a grueling game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals. Then they can come out and celebrate together. I'll be ok with that. I'm not even comfortable with them coming out on the ice at the same time to congratulate the goalie after an ordinary win. It's just too much of a recipe for disaster. This unit needs speed and playmakers. Put another one of the youngsters out there and sit Leino and Bert. Jesus Christ, replace everyone with Helm/Draper/anybody young not named Ville Leino. Just give someone else another chance. I'm sick of seeing these three fumblefuck around out there on the power play; every time Datsyuk and Zetterberg vacate the ice, I give up all hope that something's going to get done, unless it comes from the blueline. Speaking of the blueline, why in the fuck is Derek Meech on the 2nd unit?!

Anybody game for taking some double shots?

Wings extinguish Flames; off-day suck-o-tash

The Wings doused the Flames last night in Calgary, with a final score of 3-1.

The Scrappy Octopi are split on our feelings during the game itself; Brian felt exuberantly confident that the Wings would win and at no point during the game did he question what the final outcome would be, while I, adopting a horrible veil of pessimism, remained nervous until Kirk Maltby rang a beautiful empty-netter between the pipes during the final minute of play.

Either way, how great did it feel that the Wings ended this horrendous, odd, complicated road trip on a positive note? Let's hope the momentum follows them back to the Motor City for their next game on home ice against Boston on Tuesday.

The atmosphere during most of the game was eerily tranquil, a stark contrast from the utter chaos of the Vancouver and Edmonton games. This proved to be a good thing for the Wings--the team only took two minor penalties, and the Flames' sole goal did not occur during either of their two power plays, allowing the Wings' PK to escape us fans' wrath for another day.

Henrik Zetterberg skated more fluidly and consistently than at any other point during this young season. Chris Osgood's break seemed to do him some good; however, he didn't face the most daunting of shots from the Flames, in terms of both quantity or quality (the Flames' total shots on goal = 21).

Also worth noting is Brad Stuart, who I felt also had his best game of the season thus far. He scored his first goal of the season and managed to keep himself in position when it counted, checking hard against Calgary, due to, I suppose, him finally removing his head from his sphincter before taking the ice. Good for him. If he keeps this up, he'll find himself permanently off my shit list.

Darren Helm had a HUGE breakaway in the second period due to his lightning-fast speed, reminiscent of his performance during last year's playoffs, and although he couldn't make the shot due to Jay Bouwmeester's interference slashing, it's great to see this guy do what he does best. More, please.

My main criticism of the Wings' performance last night is the power play showed signs of shittiness, a la last year, which is too bad, considering the signs of improvement it has shown of late. The Wings looked disorganized during much of the four power play chances they had last night. It's hard to understand how the Wings' power play can be so wildly inconsistent from game to game.

***

On a miscellaneous note, I hope everybody had a happy Halloween; I actually meant to post that on Halloween, but alas, the Scrappy Octopus was charged with ensuring that her six-year-old nephew Megatron had a fantabulous night. The collective Scrappy Octopi participated sparsely in Halloween festivities: I donned my standard cat ears and whiskers for like the millionth year in a row (me = abjectly, miserably, fucking lazy when it comes to Halloween), while Brian, far surpassing me in awesomeness, adorned himself in his Winter Classic jersey. Touche.

***

Now on to the above-referenced suck-o-tash: George Malik had this, and you may want to take a deep breath and/or a handful of quaaludes before proceeding. In said story, everybody's favorite hemorrhoid, Mike Milbury, claims the following (hit of ether, please):

October 30, CBC Sports: Please don't wax poetic about Hull and Howe and Shore. Today's players are bigger, stronger, faster, better conditioned, better coached and with better equipment. The players of the 50s couldn't keep up. And there’s so many of them that you don't need to consult the standings to name a bunch of them. Kopitar in LA. Bobby Ryan in Anaheim. Duchene and O'Reilly in Colorado. Toews and Kane in Chicago. Stamkos in Tampa. Kovalchuk in Atlanta. Gaborik in New York. Parise in New Jersey. Crosby and Malkin and Fleury in Pittsburgh. And on and on.

But it is in Washington where the new generation’s poster boy resides. Hey, Alex Semin, Nick Backstrom and Mike Green are all stars in their own right, but the lightning rod is Alex Ovechkin.

The attraction? He is the next Mr. Hockey, the newly-defined Mr. Hockey. The computerized, twittered, facebooked, instantly gratified and accessible Mr. Hockey.

That just happened.

Look, I would be remiss--and totally full of shit--to try to downplay the kind of superstar that Alexander Ovechkin already is, not to mention the capacity of his star power to grow as his accomplishments continue to increase.

But I hate, hate, HATE this need that our culture feels to try to (A) hastingly proclaim the next big thing, the next prodigy, the next legend, combined with (B) the uber-annoying effort to rewrite history in a lameass attempt to substantiate the predictions and proclamations we've prematurely projected in an attempt to convey our genius in being the first to spot the next legend of our time.

Ovie has accomplished much in his young career, to be sure. He puts forth tremendous, sometimes seemingly un-human effort, game after game, and his ice work is beautiful and awe-inspiring. His capacity is the kind of once-in-a-lifetime talent that forces hockey fans of all teams to pause and take notice because we all love the game, and above all else, Ovie exudes unfettered passion on the ice, reminding us of why we fell in love with hockey in the first place.

Conversely...

...when a full-tilt dumbass like Mike Milbury thinks he can anoint Gordie Howe's long-deserved and long-acknowledged title onto the world's current superstar, two simple thoughts immediately enter my mind: (A) Who in the fuck does he think he is? and (B) Kiss my ass.

Mr. Howe lives and breathes hockey. Not only is his professional career the longest-spanning of any other hockey player in the history of the League, his work off the ice, along with his late wife, has helped so many young people explore their dreams.

I understand that Mr. Milbury, despite being middle-aged, may not have the appreciation for Mr. Howe that we die-hard Wings' fans have. I, for one, am 23 years old, so I never had the opportunity to watch Howe play during his prime.

But just because something is in the supposedly far-away past does not negate its importance or its significance. Mr. Howe was also a once-in-a-lifetime player, stacking up records that no one even dreamed could be touched until the arrival of Wayne Gretzky.

Perhaps equally as important as his athletic accomplishments is his very un-celebrity demeanor. Howe is classy. He is unassuming. He exemplifies quiet grace. Countless times, I have watched documentaries on the NHL Network about Gretzky, which, ultimately, show Gretzky surpassing Howe's record for career goals, and Mr. Howe graciously appearing with him at a press conference and praising Gretzky's accomplishments while understating his own.

The Red Wings organization's aura of unpretentious, quiet accomplishment begins and ends with Gordie Howe; the ego-free stars who have emerged in the time since Howe's departure have all followed in his footsteps, maintaining unassuming dignity despite the Wings' dynastic run over much of the past two decades.

I suppose it's because the stock footage of Howe's talent exists solely on black-and-white reels that Mike Milbury doesn't understand why the generations since Howe's heyday haven't snatched the title of Mr. Hockey away from him and capriciously offered it to any handful of newcomers who have shown extraordinary promise.

Because we know better. And anybody with more than two functioning braincells knows better.

Those of us who understand this can add this latest goodie from Mike Milbury into the fat stack of ridiculousness that comprises the Milbury experience, including, but not limited to, being too much of a dolt to manage Charlie Wang's faltering Long Island enterprise, being best known during his playing career for assaulting a fan with the fan's own footwear, and making my ears bleed with his mindless blather each and every time I'm forced to watch a hockey broadcast on NBC.

Mr. Howe will always be Mr. Hockey. End. Of. Story. Perhaps it would do Milbury some good to lay off the peyote before coming to work.