Victory in the U-S-A Coincides with Wings Failing to Roast Ducks

The good news from last night? Team USA won the Gold Medal in the World Juniors Championship game against Canada, triumphing 6-5 in an overtime thriller. Truth be told, we watched the end of regulation and the approximately four minutes of overtime instead of watching most of the first period of the Wings game. Coincidentally, we switched back to the Wings game just in time to witness both of the Ducks' first period goals. Sigh.

A note on Team USA's victory: What a game. Seriously, I haven't seen that fast-paced and competitive of a game in...I'm not sure how long. Both team's defenses played extremely tightly, and play intensified during the third period, with little stoppage until the Americans got called with one of those irritating penalties resulting from a player being shoved into the opposing goaltender by another member of the opposing team. The Canadians scored two goals within a minute of one another late in the third period to force an uber exciting overtime.

A small taste of Olympic fever next month? Sign me up for being super excited.

Now, on to the Wings/Ducks game. We've seen the Wings put forth apathetic efforts in their recent losses; we've also seen them look tired and lethargic. But it's been a while since we've witnessed a game this utterly sloppy. My thoughts, as categorized thusly, in an attempt to begin formulating some sort of logical recap format:

The bright light at the end of the tunnel turned out not to be a train...at first.

In a game in which your team loses 4-1, you've gotta give the best moment of the night to the goalscorer, Valtteri Filppula. Filppula is still "getting back into the groove", as I dubbed his New Year's resolution; it was apparent tonight in his sometimes uneasy skating and handling. His goal, however, on an errant rebound from Jonas Hiller, was a temporary momentum-changer; it's too bad the Ducks scored shortly thereafter to distance the score by two points. This was Fil's first goal since his return five games ago.

I've hit rock bottom. Where's the whiskey?

Choose your own adventure:

1. Saku Koivu notches career goal #200...shorthanded...against us.

2. Brian Rafalski is on the ice and is in some way culpable for all of the Ducks' goals tonight.

3. Corey Perry (bleh) scores a goal after every player ever piles in front of Jimmy Howard.

4. James Wisniewski graces us with his presence with John Keating on FSD+. His day-glo hair singes my retinas.

5. Wings achieve their first loss to the Anaheim Ducks this year in a shitshow of a game.

Scrappiest moment of the night:

When Todd Bertuzzi straight up body-slammed Bobby Ryan. Worth at least 500 points in my book.

Players who didn't piss me off:

1. Valtteri Filppula because he scored the lone goal.

2. Nicklas Lidstrom, who notched an assist on Fil's goal and made crucial defensive moves.

3. Patrick Eaves, who was thisclose to burying a nice breakaway chance.

4. Mattias Ritola, who also created a decent scoring chance.

5. Ville Leino, who watched the game from the rafters.

Players who need to wake the fuck up:

1. Pavel Datsyuk. Although he also earned an assist tonight on Fil's goal, he was largely invisible for most of the game.

2. Brian Rafalski, for the abovesaid.

3. All other defensemen not named Nicklas Lidstrom or Brad Stuart.

Pearls of wisdom from your scrappy grandma:

How do you expect your team to win when they spend 99.9% of the time getting dry humped through the neutral zone?

Once you know, you can never go back.

Well, well. There is something both Derek Meech and Doug Janik excel at, and it's called getting their asses handed to them.

Also, ice melts in Southern California. I know, right? I was as shocked as you are.

Finally, it's nice to see we can still slip into the old patterns of giving a shit for the final 10 minutes of regulation. Because, you know, it would be a shame to squander the game in its entirety.

It's TWENTY-ten, and I've packed my game face.

We at The Scrappy Octopus turned over the calendar yesterday and, after getting over our epic but much-deserved hangovers, performed an ancient, spiritual ceremony to cleanse both our physical and mental selves of the toxins of the year past. In other words, we collected the following items, grabbed the closest metal barrel, and lit the motherfucker ablaze:

1. Our Owl City CD. (Just kidding. There's no way we'd torch this. We're getting into this all-natural trend and trying to avoid ingesting excessive chemicals, so we use "Fireflies" as our own panacea for impacted bowels. Works like a charm.)

2. Our first-aid kit--because we're fucking sick of injuries, and we're outlawing them. I'm not going to try to make a joke here because this isn't funny.

3. Our stalker-esque diary we've maintained, chronicling our unrequited correspondence between ourselves and Georges Laraque. Ever since we stumbled upon this website and realized that the love of our lives had been so close, and yet so far, for so long, we've been unable to sleep at nights. So many restless evenings, I've found myself pacing in a dreamlike state on my widow's walk, wearing my very best prairie cult frock, performing an interpretive dance of the fury that rages both in my heart and in my loins for Mr. Laraque. I've written him many times, setting my words of passion and truth onto parchment with my finest quill pen set, only to get in return, at first, mere silence, then a stern warning from Mr. Laraque's alleged "legal counsel", and, finally, a formal writ to cease and desist from the proper authorities. Sigh. Such is the rollercoaster that is love. Alas, we're moving onward and upward, the details of which shall be discussed anon. Now that I've set afire the record of my blunders of the heart, maybe I will be able to achieve a peaceful state of mind once more.

4. Our Stanley Cup Finals 2009 gear. Yeah, it qualifies, even though it feels like a lifetime ago. Gone in the fire--now it officially never happened.

5. All whistles have been sent to the furnace. Got a problem with it? Intend to blow me.

6. The memory of Tomas Kopecky ever playing for the team. Why now, of all times, to choose to forget about him? Because he hasn't done shit for Chicago. I know, it seems counterintuitive, but trust me: The way my petty brain works, if he had been succeeding under Q-Factor's tutelage, I would vow never to back down and never to get scared.

7. Wait, Claude Lemieux was on a figure skating show? And he almost won? HilARious. Balls, I must have forgotten that already. Thank Christ for my lame but apparently crucial "Octopus Ink" to remind me of all the things that have pissed me off in my time writing here. To the fire!

8. Once upon a time, I publicly proclaimed that I fucking hated Ville Leino. I was wrong. My tortured soul confused "hate" with unadulterated, animal lust. (Yep, this counts as discussing it "anon".)

9. I once posted a photo of Finn the Whale on here. I apologize profusely. Never again.

Tonight, the Wings play their first game of the new year in Phoenix; most recently, they trumped the Avs at home with a 4-2 win on New Year's Eve. Mr. Leino himself netted a goal, and while I don't want to toot my own horn, I would like to say that I got a direct Tweet from him after the fact saying that he credits his good luck with wearing his lady's favors beneath his armor (read: he totally had the panties that I sent him on his person).

A few New Year's resolutions on TSO's part:

1. To write more consistently than we have over the past month or so. The fact that we won't be tripping off candy cane highs and eggnog lows should help.

2. To figure out finally how to pronounce Mattias Rittola's name. For shame, I never know if I have it correct.

3. To reenact this with Vilster (Did...did they just say what I think they did? It couldn't be...):



4. To live to see Nicklas Lidstrom score a goal. I'm beginning to believe Johan Franzen Halley's Comet Jesus Christ will return sooner.

5. Can January be the next April?