I wasn't at the game tonight, but I have it on good information that the above picture is a true rendering of what Tuuka "The Sucking Black Vortex of Self-Confidence Destroying Dastardley Goalieman-ship-ish" Rask looks like in real life.
What's the word? Floundering. Falling on one's face. Fucked out of the gate. Too fucking skinny to stop a puck flying at 12 mph, let alone 90+. Eat a sandwich. Chug a protein shake for fuck's sake. I don't know if fuck is possessive of sake, but in this case, I'm running with it.
Yes, I'm a little drunk. And yes, I looked forward to watching the game tonight. What I didn't expect was the abortion of a hockey game that I saw, yet again. Hey boys, we came back against the Isles, let's just go ahead and go down against the Avs, too! Sounds great, eh?!?!
I'm a little Chicken Little Jack Daniels right now, but please allow me the trangression. I'm part of the blog. I have many leather-bound books. I'm kind of a big deal.
Ah fuck it. The sky isn't falling. A few games in and some kinks have to be worked out. I'm not freaking. Just a little drunk and a little pissed off. As we would call it in Franklin County, "feeling froggy." If I was from Richford, I would go out on my porch and yell until the police show up, at which point I would fight them, stopping only when a well-timed strike from a maglight imploded my left testicle. Ah yes, nothing wrong with a little flashlight therapy.