For Crying Out Loud!

Listen Sabres, I know you love me, but I'm not your babysitter. Sometimes (just sometimes) I have a life and I'm not going to be around to watch every minute of every game. I'm sorry, but last night was just one of those nights. As I'm sure you know, I had to leave after the first period, and word on the street is that's when things started falling apart for you. Apparently the last 40 minutes were a mess of lackadaisical passing plays and purposeless skating. Frankly, I'm not having a hard time picturing it, because it sounds somewhat familiar. I don't think I have to tell you how disappointed I am to hear that you were misbehaving while I was gone. I expected better from you. Keep that up and you'll go straight to your room without supper, misters! And don't you even try to put the blame on me for leaving you guys alone. I went to go see a very meaningful and important movie about Nazi Germany. Can you compete with that? Plus, if you saw the way my GPA is nosediving*, you'd understand just how vital that German extra credit was for me. Sometimes you just have to buck up and carry on. Without me. Be strong, I know you can do it.

*Not true, Mom. I promise. I'm just trying to make the Sabres feel extra bad.

Well, that keeps the losses I've seen through to the end at a whopping one on the season. On the fan hand, it's nice that the Sabres are saving their suckitude for times when I'm not around to see it, but on the blogger hand, it's sort of handcuffing me. It's hard to write about their successes when the only thing I have to compare it to is the hearsay of their failures. Also, far better (not to mention more regular) bloggers than I are already tackling the analysis. So all I'll say is that I'm willing to give them a pass for this loss. There were a whole mess of excuses at their disposal--fifth game in eight days, lots of defensive injuries, we haven't won against the Blues in ten years, not to mention they don't suck any more--and most other people are saying they don't buy those. But I don't know, maybe I'm just too soft on them. They better prove themselves to me against Carolina on Saturday, though. Luckily for them, I've cleared my schedule already.

A few of words about Carolina: I hate them. I really, really do.

Last night MSG put together a really nice piece on Jay McKee (the long-time Sabre playing his first game in Buffalo since becoming a Blue) that I caught during the first intermission right before I headed out. It was really sweet to hear him talk about how he is always and forever a Western New Yorker, but what really caught my attention was the discussion about the what-ifs regarding the ECF series against Carolina. All the memories just came flooding back full force. Of course, Jay missed what would have been his very last game in a Buffalo sweater because of some freak bacterial infection in his leg. And of course, the Sabres lost that game and the series. All summer long Buffalo agonized over what could have been: McKee would have soaked up that extra ice time. McKee would have protected that one-goal lead with his life. McKee sure wouldn't have just left that puck lying around near his foot for Brind'Amour to pounce on. And who knows? Maybe it really would have been different. But it wasn't, and that was hard to come to terms with.

Last night Jay said of that injury, that one day he was soaring with excitement about the team and the prospect of a championship, and then a few hours later he was crippled and confused and on the phone trying to work out what had happened. It was a complete and utterly debilitating turn around. And all I could think was, that's what the loss of that series was like for me. It was like a kick in the stomach (or, I guess in this case, the leg). One minute I was dreaming big dreams of Cups and parades, thinking finally, this is it. This is the year we finally win one. And the next minute I was cleaning up the rubble. Just like Buffalonians do at the end of every season. Except for me, it was just the first time. As much as hockey was always around in Buffalo, it was during that series that my true fandom was forged, and within two weeks of its birth it got its first real test. Sure, I hate the Stars and the Flyers and the Leafs, and I'll never forget what the Senators or the Slag-Faced Whores did to me this summer, but it was the Carolina Hurricanes who served this fan her first real heartbreak. And for that I'll never forgive them. So give 'em hell on Saturday, Sabres. Or else.