Some days, it just isn’t worth getting out of bed at 7 pm to watch these things.
1. I guess I can see how they fucked this up. The Sabres are supposed to be bad, right? They didn’t give the Habs any trouble last time, hell, Huet had a freakin’ shutout. And they’ve been spending most of the season thus far eagerly lapping up the fetid dregs of the conference, letting various pundits snicker self-righteously about their dazzling predictive capabilities. Shouldn’t have let Briere go, should have let Vanek, and all that. So really, at least the Canadiens weren’t alone in assuming that these are no longer the Sabres of yesteryear, and could be played effectively at half-power. Apparently no one’s ever told them that old cliché about assumptions…
2. I don’t know who the hell Clarke MacArthur is, but I’m getting ready to hate him. Hard enough to give up two goals to a recent call-up, but even harder to do so to a recent call-up with a pretentious name.
3. Ryder gets punitively switched to the third line, and gets the Habs’ first and only goal, in fact only point, in the game. Post-goal, Carbonneau switches him back to the first, perhaps thinking that he’s finally gotten his mojo back, and the that line goes on to play an utterly ineffectual periphery game for the remainder. Ryder, in frustration, uses his last shift to etch “I’M NOT THE ONLY FUCKING PROBLEM HERE” into the ice with his skates. (Okay, I made the last part up. But that’s what he should have done.)
4. Shots-on-goal? Numerous but poor quality. Face-offs? Somewhere Lapierre is laughing his ass off right now. Second line? Invisible. Latendresse better than usual, Plekanec worse than usual, Streit soul-searingly bad, Komisarek heart-warmingly good. And Huet? Close your five-hole, habibi, you don’t want people to start thinking of you as a decadent trollop.
5. Even on the best of nights, RDS this year hasn’t been great in terms of its production-quality. Watch enough Habs games, and you get used to their many annoying tics: the time-clock that’s always a few seconds slower or faster than the actual game time, the inability to correctly and consistently identify what a penalty is, or even that there is a penalty, the occasional total loss of sound. But tonight, I swear to God, the entire broadcast crew ran this game stoned. Because in addition to all the aforementioned errors in one night, they also miscounted goals, played graphics at the wrong time, and lost their entire little computerized information-banner for most of the second period. That, and they tended to go to commercial with long, loving shots of the kitchens and concession booths. They should have just had
I’m going to tell myself that this just means they were conserving strength for