So even though I missed some hockey, Mexico was a blast. It seemed that everywhere I turned (literally each time and with a drink in both hands), I ran into a hockey fan. I can now say heaven is real. It's next to the swim-up bar, sun high in the sky, with hours of hockey talk. Met some fans from Calgary (what's up, Nick) and talked hockey until my pasty white northern Vermont skin was peeling like a zombie's.
Recovering the next morning at the buffet, it seemed that I would run into everyone from the pool and we'd trade scores gleaned from ESPN (en espanol, or course) and texts from back home (thank you, Charbie). So although I missed hockey, I count the trip a success for the following reasons:
1. The Mexican cartel(s) didn't kill me.
2. A rabid iguana didn't kill me.
3. The spirits from the creepy ruins that were 50 million years old (or something like that) didn't kill me.
4. My fiancee didn't kill me. Seriously, if I disappeared and the story was on Nancy Grace or one of those stupid fucking shows, I would haunt everyone involved from my base camp of the creepy ruins (see #4) with my demonic rabid iguana (see #2).
Strangely, the biggest threat to my life came when we were landing at JFK. A nice 30mph crosswind will do that. Props to Captain Mike for allowing me to continue to live so I could watch some more hockey.
The boys failed to sweep the Flyers out the other night, as it sounds like Gagne channeled some Savvy and scored the OT winner in his first game back. Good for him.
In Boston tonight, where the B's have yet to lose this playoffs (5-0) and I know I'm going to be able to hear the crowd from my house. Tuukka is quickly ascending to a throne of dominance, with The Dark Lord (Hail Satan!) at his side and the Ancient Hell Hound (Ol' Man Recchi) snapping in all the rebounds.
I'm having a feeling that tonight is going to be a great game. Or maybe I'm just hoping that, as I haven't seen them play in a week. They have to come out, skate like a bunch of psychos and put the puck in the net.
Look for Chara to have a big game. And we all know that the bigger the game, the bigger Looch plays. He'll be getting his nose dirty. And it's about time that Ryder scores one of those laser wrist shots from the slot that we've seen him do. Tonight would be a good night.