Please Coach, may I have some more?

It is a thin gruel indeed, but sweet, nourishing gruel it is nonetheless.

Hit it.

The Highs:

See? I told you he would come! Ha-ha! He's gonna bring us food, and water, and smite our enemies: Ah, the sweet innocence that is The Other Brodeur saves the day.  I've heard tell of a newly fomented "goaltender controversy", the dreaded scourge of happy locker rooms league wide.  Let's see...Snoopy out with chronic facial puckitis, which leaves us with Ebola Boy and Mike "Eli who?" Brodeur.  No controversy here.  Go with the guy who can stop a fucking puck.

All right, you balls of pan drippings, I want to see Crisco coming out of those pores!: While I'm not sure who, or what convinced them that hockey was a speed game (my money is on Cici and 23 rectal electrodes, in that order) but I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen them skate that hard this season.  That number is one.

Son, if you really want something in life, you have to work for it. Now quiet, they're about to announce the lottery numbers: Kovy, Regin, Shannon.  By gawd they were beautiful to watch. Kovy's absolutely sick puck control on Campoli's winner damn near brought me to tears.  A beautiful, giant, whirling, crashing (No!  Really!) ball of puck controlling goodness.  They were downright fucking ORGANIC.  If this were still Craig Hartsburg's team, this of course would mean they would never appear on the same line ever again.  Let's hope CiCi is smarter than a brick.

I thought you said you broke their spirits?  You broke NOTHING!: Sooner or later everyone will get the memo on Matt Carkner and he'll suddenly find all of his erstwhile dance partners replaced by trembling, urine soaked piles of cowering equipment.  Luckily for us, Donald Brashear doesn't know how to read.

The Low:

To the hydrofoil!: If ever you needed further proof that Sean Avery is nothing more than the cowering maggot hiding under the dogshit caked onto the bottom of your shoe, consider this: he was at his yapping, diving, spearing best only after Carks had two pummelings of ragamuffins on his evening's resume.  A third would have meant an automatic game misconduct.  Just for future reference, Matt, it would have TOTALLY been worth it.

The Creamy Middle:

Late in the third, with the score still even at nothings, I amazed myself with the realization that at that point, I would have been completely satisfied with a loss.  Yes.  That's right.  I, the rabid, hypercritical despiser of suckage that I am, would have been completely okay with our sixth loss in a row.  Why?  Because they, and by "they" I mean "everybody", busted their freaking asses.  And that's all I've ever wanted.  If we're going to lose, then for the love of all that is holy, make sure we kicked some ass on the way down.  And that's what I saw last night.  So I'll ask this again.  Where the hell has that team been hiding?

Up Next:

It's Father's Day in January, as the boys and their sires visit La Belle Province to take on the Mighty Mice in a Phone Booth.  The nice thing about playing the Habs on a Saturday night?  Mother Corps might actually deign us with an HD signal.  Oh, and hey loogit!  The Captain might play!

Behind Enemy Lines:

As usual, Four Habs Fans.  To paraphrase HF33, there are probably other Canadiens' blogs, but I don't care.

Go Sens.

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