We all know what’s at stake tonight. We clearly need to win this game, and, oh yeah, every subsequent game between now and game seven of the Stanley Cup Final (am I deluded enough to think we’ll make it there? No. But I AM drunk enough). If we can’t beat Gretzky’s mongrels, then we’re royal screwed. I could take losing to the Wings. We weren’t supposed to beat them anyway. And though the Oilers seem to be in the habit (sometimes) of winning games they have no business winning, then uh, surely tonight… Frick, we CAN’T lose.
But the Coyotes are in a pretty rough spot, as one Robin Brownlee pointed out today. Man, if I could buy four tickets, and a pile of nachos with that metamucil-consistency cheese on it for $70, I’d buy EIGHT tickets and TWO orders of those sick, sick nachos. The problem with those dried out mummy husks down in Phoenix is that they don’t get it. They never did. Here’s what they’re all about down in Phoenix:
- Plastic surgery
- Bus tours of the Grand Canyon
- Air conditioning
- Getting old
- Eventually dying
You know what’s not in that list? HOCKEY.
So while the Oilers lay down a five-alarm beating on the hapless Coyotes tonight and Wayne Gretzky ages before our very eyes, I want you to consider that in a way we’re lucky. Not because we have to drop $200 a seat to go to a game and an additional down-payment-on-a-house-sized wad of dough just to drink ourselves into a stupor at RX1. But because we’re in this thing, still, against all odds. It gives me and Wanye a reason to wake up in the morning. This isn’t just about hockey… OK it is.
What’s my point? I’ve forgotten. But to steal the hilarious thunder of some of our commenters, I think my point is this: “GAME DAY!!*”