Untitled

Figuring out how to start the first post I've written in nearly three months is the blogging equivalent of debating whether to wave to someone you kindasorta recognize because you know that you'll most likely have to do that thing where you pretend like you were batting at a bug or attempting to take flight and NOT, in fact, claiming you know a complete stranger.

I couldn't even think of an appropriate title, so I'm leaving it "Untitled," hoping especially that you'll think of distracting mancreases (How does it feeeeee-eeeeeel?) and decide that you're still in love with us after all this time.

So, uh, yeah, hello again, friends!

Brian and I sincerely hope everyone has had a bonerific summer. I decided it was probably time to get back into the swing of writing after three things occurred: (1) HBFF Neuie pointed out that her Starbucks will start selling pumpkin spice Frappuccinos TOMORROW, which means fall is right at our (back)doorstep. (2) Another Neuie-inspired joint: The phrase "at least [insert number] Scrappy Octopi" became a term coined for when something happens really infrequently or happened long ago, such as "Todd Bertuzzi has been forced to gum it out for at least four Scrappy Octopi." (3) Someone informed me that even Google had turned cynical:

First things first: Because there's nothing we dislike more than unresolved bidness, we have something to say to the small faction of Wings' fans who jumped ship and cheered on the Hawks during their Cup run: See that big X in the upper-right corner of your screen? Please click it. Note that there's a tag on here entitled "I fucking hate the Chicago Blackhawks" that's as old as the site itself. Rivalries exist for a reason, and I'll give you a hint: That reason isn't so that we can jump on the newest, glitteriest bandwagon that shows up once our team is down for the count, even if said bandwagon happens to include Patrick Sharp and Jonathan Toews, who are OMFGCOPTERSOCUTE.

Now that we've gotten that out of the way, here goes--we're gearing down and keying up for the 2010-11 season. A brief (as if we'd spend more than 30 seconds on a list? puh-leeze...) list of things we are excited for heading into this brand new season, in no particular order:

1. Aaron Downey's slated appearance at training camp. OK, so this statement clearly applies to only 1/2 of the TSO staff. But the news that he was extended an invitation is cause enough for celebration. Dance party, anyone?

2. The re-signing of Helmer and Abdelkader, hereafter referred to as more fuckyeah than you can shake a stick at.

3. Long-term blog BFFs Petrella, Discher, and Hollis have joined forces by forming a triumvirate of mythical proportions. This includes rolling The Production Line and the Red Wings podcast now known as The Production Hour into one uber-conglomerate of awesomeness.

4. Welcoming Marty Turco to the Central Division.

5. Watching the majority of the Wings' roster pop their Geritol and hobble onto the ice using their canes in an old-fashioned race to the top of the West. Be careful not to choke on your horehound lozenges, boys! (This is the time of year when we most remember why we try not to pay attention to MSM. Attention 2011 NHL Yearbook: Pointing out that Bert is "showing some wear and tear" is akin to pointing out that the sky is blue and Roger Sterling is a silver foxxx. Duh.)

With training camp and the preseason mere weeks away, what are y'all most excited for? What's lit your fire and keeping you awake at night? Is it pondering the future successes of our goaltenders? Is it imagining the number of times Doug Janik falls down? (Brian's fave.) Is it vigorously debating whether Ruslan Salei looks more or less like a Craigslist personals' enthusiast than Ville Leino?

Let's go, Wings.

Summertime and the living's easy...

And by "summer," TSO clearly means the area between approximately March 15 and October 1, when output from us is marginal at best and shiteous at worst.

I take full responsibility for our ineptitude as of late: Thanks to various members of the Wings' family Twitterati (I'm looking at you, Baroque and Andy), a burgeoning sense of shame and colossal failure resides in my soul. In fact, to quote one Baroque, "Allegedly you have a blog. It's been staring out of cyberspace with sad neglected puppy eyes lately." Combine that with Andy's, "Yeah I seem to remember you used to have a blog that used to be my favourite.." Also worth noting are the various "You're alive?!" exclamations we receive when we roll out of our burrows and surface on Twitter--kinda like varmint.

Maybe this is what deadbeat parents feel when a judge throws the book at them for failure to care for those whom they have brought into the world.

On second thought, maybe this is reason #9,246,821 why I should never procreate.

And now, because we still aren't completely at terms with Wings-less hockey continuing in June, we present you the following:

TSO Summer Survival Guide

1. Naked dance around the maypole to celebrate the triumphant returns of Lidstrom and Homer, and in Homer's honor, a night bonfire, complete with singing odes of joy into the night wind.

2. Tune in to the remainder of the SCF and cheer wholeheartedly for anyone who does anything vile to anybody on Chicago's roster. A-ny-one. The tag "I fucking hate the Chicago Blackhawks" has existed on this site practically from the start, and it overshadows any other grain of relative hate we typically feel for Pronger and semi-hate for Carcillo.

3. Start a Facebook movement: "Ville for Conn Smythe." We're so proud of the fact that we supported him from day one.

4. After the SCF have concluded, pass our time in various ways, most notably attempting great feats we've never had the time nor the inclination to do before, such as picking up Finnegans Wake...

5. ...and promptly putting it back down after half a page.

6. Finding a new go-to hairstyle for humor's sake now that fecal loaf Patrick Kane has ruined the mullet for all of us. My suggestion? The pompadour. Because what's more amusing than a hairstyle worn by Elvis that kinda looks like an asscheek? I don't know the answer to that.

7. Further my foray into the quotidian by becoming more of a gardening boss than I already am, releasing my rage one clump of topsoil at a time. In related news, the other half of TSO will probably commence searching for a new significant other whose true-age is not 75, whereas yours truly will be looking into retirement as a snowbird. Anybody know of a great condo in Tampa?

8. Finally get to clean out that TSO spam folder, which means learning of the inheritance owed to TSO, from when TSO's older, scrappier cephalopod ancestors found sunken treasure. Also, ascertain if the guy who promises, "I will pay you for clicking your mouse" knows what he's in for. Oh, and get that TSO bank account in Dubai straighted out.

In all seriousness, thank you to every single person we've met, conversed with, celebrated with, had a beer with, and hung out with, be it in person or online. Hanging with y'all on Twitter, conversing with everybody on TSO and other blogs, not to mention the H2H experience--it's made this season truly unforgettable. It's one thing to be a fan of the greatest franchise in professional sports. It's another thing to be friends with the greatest fans in the world. Thanks for everything you've given us over the past season and have a great summer. I mean, we'll talk lots over the summer and everything...if when we emerge before October.

TSO's 20 tips to Steve for great success as GM

So, Steve Yzerman is the new GM in Tampa.

As I witnessed a bit on Twitter today there was some, um, mixed reactions. It's a bit sad, sure, but I think in the end we're all in the same boat - it stinks to see him go, but we're happy. We support him. Best wishes, Stevie. We celebrate you.

Along the line of being supportive, we here at TSO would like to offer up Steve some tips on winning favor with the city of Tampa. As you may know, Tampa is a big time retirement city chocked full of retirees. So, Steve, here are TSO's tips to win the favor of Tampa fans and endear yourself to the fanbase (items with an '*' are courtesy of Nat):

1. Make the stadium smell like mothballs.

2. Opening night puck drop done by Matlock.

3. Opening night national anthem courtesy of Angela Lansbury*.

4. All games start at 8 p.m. to accommodate Wheel of Fortune and the early bird special at Denny's.*

5. More specialized team logo merchandise. More specifically, team logo catheters and Hoverounds! (Catheters given away at Fan Appreciation Night.)

6. Move all team-sanctioned activities to local American Legion*

7. Tweak the Toast of Hockeytown concept to "Bingo with the Bolts!"*

8. Make the stadium more accessible to fans by somehow making sure people don't have to walk 15 miles to the stadium. Barefoot. In the snow. Uphill both ways.

9. Christmas charity donations to needy tots involve bundles of Susan B. Anthony dollars and horehound lozenges*

10. New specials in the concession stand involve tapioca, Geritol, and free Polident samples*

11. Intermission entertainment will be live feed of Larry King

12. Ice Girls in old school throwback poodle skirts*

13. Season ticket purchase now includes complimentary burial plot and team logo-embossed casket (logo headstone extra)*

14. Offer free clinics in name pronounciation so they can not refer to Russian players as "Reds" or "them commie bastards"

15. Revamp 3rd jersey to be old school actual sweaters, crocheted by the Red Hat Society*

16. Charity food drives will now accept only self-canned food

17. Give octogenarian Lightning fans a renewed sense of purpose and self-worth by bringing in Chris Chelios to be Steve's right hand man*

18. Rig the Jumbotron to include the Weatherbug application because you need to be aware of post game weather. You know, so you can know whether to ride your Rascal with the top down or not*

19. Onsite orthopedic hip surgeon. This speaks for itself.

20. Turn down that damn music, you hippie sound guy!

So, there you have it. We know Steve knows hockey, so hopefully these tips can provide him some direction in the things he may not know as much about.

Best of luck, Steve!

Let's make sure this is adequately bloated.

I'm pretty sure somewhere Dany Heatly just demanded a trade.

So the Wings have staved off elimination for another day, winning tonight fuck you-1. A statement game that San Jose didn't seem to care about. And why should they? They are up 3-1. The Wings have to win three in a row, an extremely tough task against this San Jose team. Who knows if they can pull it off, but it was nice to watch the effort tonight. It's good when you can see your team move up and down the ice with ease and know that they can pretty much do whatever they want on the ice. We've not seen that Wings team often enough through the playoffs; I'm glad it happened tonight.

Since we've received some feedback stating this site doesn't provide much in the way of game analysis (and we at the Scrappy Octopus take all complaints seriously), allow us to provide our take on the game:

The Sharks shit the bed. Oh, and Joe Thornton acted a fool. Great leadership, guy.

So there you have it. It's simple when you break it down scientifically. Now, the Wings still have a huge hole to climb out of. It's going to be hard. McLellan is an amazing coach. Marleau, Thornton, Pavelski, Blake...it's a talented group. All the right role players. It's going to be a tough road. Tonight, however, the Wings started the first step in that process - they won tonight.

Three more guys. Oh, and Nat wanted me to quote her on something: "Abdelkader's fight was very Downey-like". Her words, not mine (though I feel her on that one). I'm pretty sure if Abby's right would've connected, it would've killed a guy.

Go Wings. Let's get this done.

"I don't want to talk about it."

So said Homer in his FSD interview during the first intermission, specifically in reference to the garbage goal we coughed up to San Jose in, literally, the last seconds of the first period, after playing a commandingly strong game at both ends of the ice.

And that's how I've felt during this entire series.

Because how can we really talk about it?

Take yesterday's game. Yeah, we killed off all six penalties, had a chance at a penalty shot, scored four goals (one of which was overturned), all of which were scored by our typical postseason rockstars, and managed to show up in the faceoff circle. So, what the fuck happened?

Various people during my workday ask me how the Wings are doing during playoff runs. Smart move by them, as it's really all I'm capable of discussing during the spring months. My new-ish coworker is a complete and total sweetheart (yeah, yeah, my polar opposite--the joke pretty much makes itself); she has absolutely no interest in hockey, but she always makes a point to ask me how the games go.

In order to express my angst, I've sketched a little interpretive ditty of each conversation thus far following each game in Round 2:

And then...

And, in anticipation of talking to her tomorrow:

And yeah, for those of you who don't already Facebookstalk me, I am actually a purple troll with unkempt pencil hair.

I have no words to describe adequately and completely how I'm feeling right now. Angry? Of course. Frustrated? You bet. Nervous? Sure.

Despite the Wings' lack of cohesive play at various times throughout the season, I was in no way, shape or form mentally prepared to watch them give up the goals they gave up last night. I'm further in no way, shape or form prepared to deal with being down 3-0 in the series against a team that I've lambasted as a disappearing act the likes of which are incomparable unless Marian Hossa's present. It's such a scary set of numbers, isn't it? What does this even feel like? How is it that the Sharks have capitalized on every single instance of the proverbial "letting our feet off the gas" in this series? This is the composition of TSO's current existential funk.

It's amazing how far a 3-0 series deficit and a white-hot team like the Sharks can foster hatred in the heart of someone who already hates plenty as it is. Do I have any real reason to hate San Jose? Not especially. There's no equivalent of cockface extraordinaires Matt Cooke or Georges Laraque or Chris Pronger on the team to whom I can easily point and jeer, "Yeah, look at all those assholes at the HP Pavilion, cheering for that motherfucking prick." Speaking of the HP Pavilion, it's amazing how much the denizens of Silicon Valley show up for that team. Aside from the superlame shark jaw motion they do to rile up the team (because what's more invigorating than seeing someone munch his/her entire arms in your general vicinity? A whole bunch of nothing, that's what.) and the superlamer Styx-esque sound effects they play after announcing the names of goal-scorers, I have to tip my hat to a city that gets behind its team. Furthermore, the team as a whole has refused to get shaken up, even when down 3-1 for much of yesterday's game. And for fuck's sake, the laser-haired Todd McLellan is a former Babcockian acolyte. There's so much NOT to hate about this team...

...but I do, anyway, for the time being. Sorry if you disagree, kids, but perhaps you're stronger people than I. Right now, there's little more I hate than San Jose. Major-league genocide? Yeah, that's probably worse than the Sharks. People who cram their religious views down other people's throats? Yeah, they suck at life a tad bit more, as well. Uninvited rimjobs? Welllllll...that might be pushing it.

For crunch time during the last series, I put on my Pollyanna hat and professed my staying in my proverbial seat until the final seconds of Game 7. Obviously, the same is true for all of us in this situation, except instead of knowing that our team's fate will be determined in 60 +/- minutes from the first puck drop, in our only good-case scenario, we have four sets of 60 +/- minutes to endure. For residents of Hockeytown at Large, it means an awful lot of nail-biting, whiskey-guzzling, nipple-clamping, tears, and cheers until time runs out in Game 7. Hopefully, there are more cheers than tears.

P.S. One final thought on last night's game: I would have bet Patrick Marleau's eyebrows against him scoring the game-winning goal last night. One of the fine details that chaps my ass the most about this series is the fact that Marleau and Thornton have each scored game-winners against us after being mostly invisible for the duration of the postseason. Fuck me sideways.

I cannot write intelligently about this right now

Round one - Fin.

Up next, San Jose. Sirs, you don't want this. You really don't, I promise. A Red Wings team playing like they did tonight....You don't want that. You really want to play Pavel Datsyuk when he's in "Fuck you, I'm Pavel Datsyuk" mode? You want playoff Hank? You want '70 Goals' Heatly trying to break Jimmy? You want to deal with a slightly competent Todd Bertuzzi?

The answer to all those questions, of course, if no. The Sharks can't like this tonight.

Wings nation gets to go to bed happy tonight. A great game in every way. Max effort from, oh, everyone. Even the worst players for us on the ice tonight were only above average instead of 'I just jizzed in my pants' amazing. Bryzgalov was great tonight in facing 50 shots and it wasnt nearly enough.

Fuck yes. Go Wings! I can't even begin to write something intelligible about this game yet. Thursday can't get here soon enough.

Game Sev--Can I actually type the rest?

Last night I had the weirdest dream: I was the co-proprietor of a Red Wings blog, only I hadn't written a thing for it in nearly two weeks. I awoke in a cold sweat, my heart racing, my hair matted to my face, and I began forlornly crying out to the night winds.

Somewhere, I like to imagine, mine and Homer's night howls crossed paths.

This is what happens when your life--specifically, all the things that serve as buzzkills to your life--plants itself in the way of your more awesome pastimes.

And here we are, friends, at an all-or-nothing crossroads: the brink of the detested Game 7. How did we get to this point? More to the point, how is it that the Wings--a team barreling through the home stretch of the regular season like a pubescent boy with a fuck pass to the girls' locker room--have managed to find themselves pushed to the brink by a team that, for all its grit and grind and gusto, has not been insolvable for the Wings when the Wings pack their A-game?

In short, I have no fucking idea.

I watched the games just like the rest of you. I saw the Wings lose Game 1 in a close rout. I cheered during Game 2 when Hank sent curly fries and wet dreams to all from the high desert. I watched the Wings play a lackluster game last Sunday and again come up short, only to tie up the series once more with Jimmy's first career playoff shutout in Game 4. And on Friday, my drunk ass celebrated the Wings taking the lead in the series for the first time yet with grab-assing and drowning my hoorays in Jameson.

And then Game 6 happened. The Wings had a chance to close out the series at home. And they didn't. With a few short exceptions, there was little to no sustained pressure or coherence in the Wings' play, short of the first few minutes of the first period.

The few short exceptions:

1. Pavel Datsyuk, the ultimate playmaker, was responsible for the Wings' first goal due to his amazing vision on the ice. Fucking spectacular.

2. Henrik Zetterberg had one decent chance when he battled along the boards behind the net and plowed to the front with the puck.

3. Patrick Eaves played briefly like he remembered how awesome he was during the regular season for a couple of shifts during the Wings' various penalty kills during the second period.

4. Justin Abdelkader has played this entire series like a kid who belongs in the big house, and for that, we love him all the more than we already did.

But all in all, it wasn't enough. We can easily pick out goats from Sunday's game: Brad Stuart, despite scoring on the beautiful pass from Datsyuk, committed irreversible mistakes. Furthermore, I believe I caught Johan Franzen's face on a milk carton recently. And our penalty kill on Sunday? About as successful as karmic justice laying the proverbial smackdown on Marian Hossa. And didn't you just fucking know that the streak would be broken as soon as NBC flashed the graphic at the bottom stating we'd killed 19 consecutive penalties in the series?

So, what do we do now to bide our time until go-time tonight? This is the point in the post where I typically lighten the tone with a mindless video or a list of facetious tenets about our experience as Wings fans. But it just doesn't feel right.

I know I'm far from alone when I say that I'm not ready for a Game 7. I'm especially not ready for a first-round Game 7 in a series in which we've watched our team alternately play balls to the wall, then like a bag of ass. I lay awake until almost 3 a.m. last night, the nauseated knot in my stomach growing from a tangerine to a pomelo. (Impressed? Don't be. I don't know what the fuck that even means.)

The boys at The Triple Deke made one of the most honest and succinct points about the way many of us (my hand's raised here, too) initially react with our team's backs against the wall:

Go back and read some interviews or watch some video on some of these guys' reactions to getting knocked out of the playoffs and tell me it was because of "heart." Did Stuart fuck away a turnover because he doesn't care, or because of bad decision making? I think I'll take the latter....All too often I'm seeing trash comments that those same people dog on other team's bandwagon fans for, and it's embarrassing. I can be as pessimistic as the next guy, but dammit I don't act like I'm better than the fucking team.

Reading that post was the verbal equivalent of taking a deep breath/Quaalude/choose your own panacea. I tend to prepare myself for the worst-case scenario in order not to be disappointed--or wrong--in the face of said worst-case scenario. But after reading TTD's calling-out of babycrying, I had to ask myself: If we give up believing in our team before Game 7 even begins, what does that say about our fandom? Tonight, we'll gather our lucky charms (in this case, I'm pulling out the #19) and gear down for a great night of hockey. I refuse to leave my seat and exit the (proverbial) arena until the clock has run out, whatever the result may be. Otherwise, what the fuck is the point?





Let's go, Wings.

Finally, a complete game

Tonights game was an actual playoff like effort for the Wings, so that was nice to see. You're not going to get a great deal of insight tonight, as it was a pretty stellar effort by everyone involved. Helm flew around and played like playoff Helm does. Zetterberg played like playoff Hank. Pav had more shoot. Jimmy looked great. Kronwall didn't drink before the game and looked good (prior to the game, I thought the best we could hope for was "not a total abortion", as he's been for the rest of the series; which sucks to say because I love Kronner). The biggest disappointment was that Drew Miller did not pound the shit out of Vernon Fiddler when he had the chance. So instead of intense post game recap action, I will give you a run down of the ridiculous shit Natalie and I do during the game:

1. Watched Jeopardy during the first intermission. I ran the MLB category; she outsmarted me in everything else (as per usual).

2. We also tuned into a bit of the Ottawa/Pittsburgh tilt; as we had a vauge interest in that series for reasons only we comprehend. Anyway, Alfredsson pots a beautiful one timer goal where a super acrobatic Fluery ALMOST made the save. My comment:

"You know who also would NOT have made that save? Regular season "I don't grasp lateral movement" Ozzie"

A good time was had by all.

3. We got irationally mad at Mickey for babbling on like a drunkard about the Filpula non-goal. Natalie was especially impressed with the crowd chanting "bullshit" though; as we're both big fans of rythmic swearing.

4. I've now taken to yelling "DOUGHY!!!!!" everytime Jimmy makes a save; or even chanting it when he's on a roll. Thanks for the image guys from The Triple Deke and Serven. But seriously, wow. Whatever works. I love Jimmy. Its nice to have a goaltended you KNOW can steal a big game when you need him to. Jimmy is intense, he loves what he does, loves Detroit.....my next jersey? Probably Jimmy. I really do love the kid. So yelling "DOUGHY!!!!!" I mean in a totally endearing way. Just wanted to get that heard before the jury.

A great, great game tonight Wings. Congratulations on your shutout Jimmy. Lets all do this again Friday.

Its the god damn playoffs....

....play like it. Not fucking good enough tonight sirs.

This was, however, the perfect cap for an unadulterated dumpster fire of an afternoon. So thanks Wings for putting forth little effort after period number one. Thanks for making the Phoenix power play look like the 80's style Oilers.

But seriously - not good enough. By most everyone (everyone not named Nick, Hank, Pav, or Homer). Biggest slack ass of the night award:

Johan Franzen

Seriously guy, I love you, but I think you set our ginger movement back about 50 years tonight (I began to wonder if gingers in fact do NOT have souls). You could not have possibly played like any bigger of a wuss tonight. Crash the net you bullish mule fuck. YOUR GOOD AT THAT.

Too much to talk about here. I'm sure Nat will put forth something more intelligible tomorrow.

Stop! It's the mothafuckin playoffs.

Playoffs.

Holy fuck.

It's finally here. All those months of agony and ecstasy, pleasure and pain, boners and buzzkills--and now we get to do it all over again.

It's a great day to be a hockey fan.

More specifically, it's a great day to be a Red Wings fan. My favorite Red Wings hat is perched atop my desk for all to see. (I triple-dog-dare a horrible Pens' fan to stroll in here and say a word--one. fucking. word.) Jerseys will be worn on casual sex Fridays. Red will be worn on every other game day during the workweek. Brian will be holding down the Winged Wheel in Atlantic City this Friday, sporting his jersey and always-awesome red stubbly pre-beard.

We're pulling out the big guns for the postseason, and we hope you'll join us. That's right: Get out your talismans, voodoo dolls, nipple-clamps and electro-powered boxsprings and come along for the ride.

First things first: Following the Olympic break, we instituted a creed here to get us in the zone for the final stretch of the regular season. Now, with a few tweaks and additions, we present you the following:

The Even More Newly Minted TSO Creed: Uber-Special Playoff Edition
1. We believe in the power of the 19th consecutive year the Wings have made the playoffs.

2. We believe Pavel Datsyuk, Henrik Zetterberg, Johan Franzen, Valtteri Filppula, and Tomas Holmstrom are on a white-hot roll and are just warming up, for sure.

3. We believe in the power of Jimmy Howard, rookie extraordinaire, to stop pucks with his aura. (Do the pucks even touch him?!)

4. We believe it's now Dan Cleary's lot in life to make Brian James look like a complete jackass. (It's working!)

5. We still believe in Mike Babcock. Period.

6. We believe in the unmatched awesomeness of our blueline, as well as our forwards who own both ends of the ice. (If someone's reading this who doesn't believe in that, I will fucking KRONWALL your ass.)

7. We believe in Patrick Eaves notching a Gordie Howe hat trick at some point during the Wings' playoff run. (And, since shootouts are a no-go, there will be no #Eavesing of oneself, only of others, which is not only tolerated but wholeheartedly encouraged.)

8. We still believe in the kill.

9. We will always believe in dancing with Lord Stanley in June. Period.

Game 1 versus the Phoenix Coyotes is tonight. Moments like right now are when I most wish I had a DeLorean. Why? So I could travel back to nine months ago, before I knew that the Coyotes would even stay in Phoenix, let alone make the playoffs, and place some huge bets. It's as surprising as my realization last weekend, approximately 20 years late, that I rock at batting left-handed. (Don't laugh. I had a painful childhood. My therapist tells me it's ok to say that in the face of adversity.)

The playoffs are such a magical time of the year. In addition to watching the Wings do their thing, there are so many other fascinating matchups to track. Home crowds ablaze in team colors, players trash-talking the opposition. Lots of #FuckYeah to go around. That brings me to our Wednesday question this week:

Which non-Wings quarterfinal pairing (either Conference) most interests/excites/titillates you?

I'm sure that Brian's answer will be Pittsburgh/Ottawa because of how much he loooves Ottawa. [Insert eye roll, for the sarcastically-challenged.]

Other than the Wings, I'm most looking forward to watching the Chicago/Nashville series. Division rivals who both play exciting, tight hockey; however, both teams still have their textbook "What ifs?" hanging over their heads. Will the Hawks' offensive power be too much for the Preds? Or will Rinne stand tall and give Chicago a run for their money? The Preds are one of those teams that come on strong against tough opponents and scare the shit outta me every time the Wings play them. That being said, you know whose side we'll be on. (Sorry, K of C.)

What say the rest of you? Who are you looking forward to watching?

Finally, per the usual, some standbys to get us really, really pumped: