If The Season Ends...

... and you weren't around to see it, did it really happen? Isn't this like a tree falling in the woods kind of a thing?

You'd think, given that rehearsals are weekday evening types of occurrences, that a Saturday afternoon game would be one of those very rare instances when I would get to watch. Well, not when the game coincides with work weekend, when I have to spend all afternoon hanging lights for our impending performance. If there's one thing four years of college education has taught me, it's that the theatre department always gets the upper hand.

To be honest, though, I'm not sure I really would have been grasp the game even if I had been able to watch. It's been months since I saw a full Sabres game (to be fair, only mostly because I haven't been trying: last week's Capitals match-up was cut short by a technical failure). Even though it's finally, finally warming up around this place, it seems impossible that the season is over. Now, I'm no dummy. I have the internet, and my regular daily blog rounds, so when all reasonable hope was gone, I knew it, and when all mathematical hope was gone, I certainly knew it. So it's not like I didn't know that this was their last game, but I think it's going to take a while for that to really sink in. I've grown so accustomed to the thought that, even though I can't see them, the Sabres are still playing hockey, that it's hard for me to comprehend a world in which, even though I can't see them, they are done playing hockey. It's sad to see it phrased this way, but I've gotten so used to being hockey-less that the end of the season doesn't really phase me. Not that it should be some big dramatic event, but other than the content of the blogs I read, nothing in my life is going to change. Just like all last month and more, I still won't be watching hockey.

It's hard to remember at this point, but I'm pretty sure last season was different. The two seasons were superficially pretty similar: they both ended with the Sabres just barely on the outside looking in, and they both contained month-long stretches of me not being able to watch. But somehow, last season, even though I was six whole time zones away, I felt something. Maybe it was just my residual affection and expectations for the 2006-2007 squad ultimately ending to disappointment, or maybe it was just my favorite player having one of the best years of his career and getting nothing to show for it from his team, but there was definitely a feeling of loss and lament. This time around, I got the text message telling me the Sabres had won their final and meaningless game 6-1 and all I could do was stare at it blankly, wondering what it could possibly mean. 

Only one bit of information in the text solicited any kind of response in me: Thomas Vanek made it to 40 goals. Initially, I took this as a very small victory in a mostly painfully unremarkable season. Last season, even though it saw Sabres hockey and Sabres fans come crashing back to earth, there were still a number of positives to take away. I think back to my upgrade/downgrade ratings of last spring, and how I gushed about Pominville, Hecht and Spacek, and it seems all so foreign. Now, either I've grown bitter or the team has grown insufferable, but either way, I'm sure if (maybe when?) I replicate that exercise for this season there won't be half as many upgrade labels. And as I pondered the text message further, even Thomas Vanek, who was one of the brightest spots from the very beginning of the season, getting 40 goals isn't that great. Sure, he probably would have made more if he hadn't been injured, but as it stands that's only four more than his total last year, when he was downright brutal until the All-Star Game. Not meaning that I'm at all unhappy with his performance this season (hell, I didn't even see half of it), but I think it really puts this season into perspective that these are the types of positives that we have to hang on to.

By the way, as I'm typing this, it's 11:53 PM, so I totally made my resolution this week.

Waiting By The Phone

I got a call from the Minnesota Wild today.

Well, to be more specific, I got a prerecorded message from Wild owner Craig Leipold and Wild left winger (and certified cutie) Andrew Brunette, thanking me for being such a loyal fan, such a dedicated member of the Team of 18,000, and for making Xcel Energy Center the best arena in the NHL.

As you may have guessed from this blog, I am not, in fact, a loyal fan of the Wild. (You may have also guessed from this blog that I'm not a very loyal fan of the Sabres, either, and, well, I guess I can't blame you.) In fact, I'm guessing the only reason the Wild even have my phone number is because I bought tickets earlier this season to cheer their opponents (some guys in blue and gold...? It's been so long, I can't really remember) on to victory, much to the disappointment of their Team of 18,000. But Craig and Andrew didn't seem to care. Even though I'm pretty sure they were ultimately trying to sell me something (there was a mention of some Fan Week activity or another), they were practically falling all over themselves to tell me how great I was. And, even though I don't consider myself a member of their Team of 18,000, I really appreciated the thought.

But it makes me wonder when the call from B. Tom and our very own (newly) certified cutie left winger, Thomas Vanek, is coming. Surely they know what a loyal and dedicated fan I am, even if I haven't bought a ticket to HSBC this season, right?

(By the way, it's come to my attention that the Sabres are playing the Caps tonight. I had been waiting for this matchup for a long time, planning to finally let loose with the reasons I can't stand Alex Ovechkin, but it's been a long week, and I really don't have the spare energy neccessary to get my blood boiling. Once again, however, I find myself blessed with a Friday night free from rehearsal, so maybe watching the game will be enough to reinvigorate my loathing. If not, I'm sure my Caps-fan friend will be able to get the job done with some good old-fashioned trashtalk. In the meantime, rest assured that I have reasons, and that they are good ones.)

Don't Screw This Up

Once again, it's Friday. Per the theatre department's promise I've had rehearsal all week, and was counting on having it tonight, too, until my directors informed me last night that I wasn't among the people called. That was a huge delight. Don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying myself at rehearsal - this show is nothing like the soul-sucking curse of an affair that was the last one - but fun or no, three hours a night is draining, especially on a Friday. So what am I doing with my unexpected evening of freedom?

Well, I think it's about time I gave the Sabres a chance again.

Now, it's not like I actually think they deserve my attention again, and I'm fully expecting to not enjoy what I see tonight, but strangely enough... I've missed them. Once upon a time (or at least what feels like once upon a time) I loved hockey, and maybe the Sabres can prove to me that that's a sport they can still play. In any case, I can't very well be disappointed in them for being bad if I don't make the effort to see just how bad they are, can I? Seems like tonight's the night. They're coming off a cathartic, albeit likely meaningless, win against the Panthers, Ryan Miller is back, and they're playing one of the few teams left in the conference that's actually below them in the standings. Realistically, I know this team has consistently found new and creative ways to turn expectations into disaster, but tonight I feel like betting against the odds.

I'm giving you my precious, precious free time tonight, Sabres. Don't screw this up.

Blowing It

It's Friday. I haven't posted in almost exactly two weeks. Less than three months in, and there goes my resolution. Well, I can't say I didn't make it longer than I thought I would.

But here's the thing: I'm not the only one who's blowing it. Three weeks removed from Miller's injury, the Sabres are five points removed from a playoff spot, and the outlook is suffocatingly bleak. All across Buffalo, fans are reacting accordingly. Even the most levelheaded are begging for the team to be blown up. Even the most steadfast are either prematurely switching off the games, or preemptively not tuning in in the first place. I don't mean this to be insulting to Buffalonians, but we've put up with some pretty crappy sports teams in our day, so if we're whining this much, it has to be bad. Hell, it's been bad enough to finally erode the teflon coating of Lindy Ruff's job security. That's bad.

To be honest, when I first made this resolution, I wasn't really being realistic about what this year had in store for me. Sure, I knew I'd be in rehearsal most nights, especially in the second half of the semester. I knew I was going to want to spend time with my friends, and that watching hockey wasn't really their idea of a good time. I knew that illegally obtaining out-of-market games through the internet is unreliable and unpredictable. So I expected that it was going to be challenging to keep up with the Sabres. What I didn't expect, was that I wouldn't even want to make the effort to try to keep up with the Sabres. If you'll notice, the above discussion of how bad the Sabres are is shaped exclusively by internet hearsay. The fact is I haven't seen a game in I can't remember how long, so I have no idea exactly how bad they've been. I just know it's bad.

Don't get me wrong, I still love hockey. I still keep up with my daily blog rounds; I still use every opportunity to bitch about Alex Ovechkin with my Caps-fan friend that I get; I still fill at least some part of every call home with hockey talk. I'm just not that interested in watching the Sabres anymore, and that isn't always because of time issues. Right now, for instance, I'm on spring break, which means no rehearsal. I have plans with friends, but not until later. I could totally be watching the Sabres play the Flyers right now. But instead I'm writing this blog post and doing some homework. (Homework! On spring break!) I'm not in a place to analyze this at the moment, but for whatever reason, I'm perfectly content to get all my Sabres knowledge second hand right now. And with the way the team has (reportedly) been playing, I don't see a need for that to be changing anytime soon.

Still, I'm not going to give up that easily. I may be totally out of the loop, I may be totally disinterested in getting back in the loop, but I'll still be here every week, churning out some sort of blather, pertinent or (more likely) not. I may be blowing it, but there's time to turn it around. If only I could say the same for the Sabres.

Uh oh. It's Saturday, isn't it?

End of the week! Quick, post something!

Uh... the last time I got to watch a full Sabres game (stupid theatre), Tim Connolly was still injured. So when I heard the news that he'd re-signed for 2 years $9 mil, I almost spewed Kix all over my keyboard. But apparently he's worth this money? Go figure.

Well. I'm pretty sure that's all I got. 

Until next week!

Now More Than Ever

Predictably, I didn't get to see the game on Saturday night, but rest assured that the blogosphere has let me know all about it. Outrage is typically pretty prolific. To be honest, after all the bellyaching I've been reading over the past couple of days about how soft this game showed the Sabres to be, I was surprised when I finally took a look at the game highlights, which I'm kind of ashamed to admit I didn't do until just now. From the way the situation has been painted by a lot of people, I was expecting to see a timid and tentative team backing away from a Ranger onslaught for fear of getting roughed up or called for a penalty. I'll admit, in the moment after the hit behind the net there was nothing I wanted to see more than someone coming up to grab a hold of Gomez and maybe punch him in the face once or twice, but my disappointment doesn't extend much beyond that.  Don't get me wrong, I certainly get why people are calling the team soft, I just don't understand why it's worth getting so worked up over. It's not like the they frittered away a three goal lead and a chance to move up in the standings because they're soft. In fact, it's clear the Sabres kept their focus, and while they didn't start a brawl, they didn't completely fold, despite the fact that they'd just watched their star goaltender hobble off the ice. I think they deserve some credit for that, considering how easy it could have been to panic, let alone how prone to distraction we've known this team to be. 

As far as failing to send a message goes, I'm not particularly outraged. I loved the Ottawa brawl as much as anyone, but that was a completely different scenario standings-wise, and while it's true that starting something wouldn't have necessarily meant a loss, it's also true that it definitely wouldn't have brought Miller back. So why risk the game and the season with penalties and suspensions? To send a message that you can't rough up our goalie and get away with it? Everyone knows the Sabres let that ship sail a long time ago, and I doubt punching in Gomez's teeth really would have made future opponents think twice about getting in our crease. That's obviously a big problem in and of itself, but I think it's too little too late at this point to bother getting so het up about. Also, I'm particularly averse to the argument of "It was dumb to retaliate at the time, and risk a 5-on-3, but why not later when the lead was secure?" If you have to pencil in obligatory message-sending time, doesn't that make it a fundamentally perfunctory and hollow gesture? Instead of honorably standing up for your teammate, you end up being a bully. As much as I enjoy the odd scuffle born out of passion, that kind of eye-for-an-eye bloodlust doesn't do it for me, and I'm puzzled by all the fans who apparently think it's a crisis and an indication of the team's gutlessness that they failed to participate in that theatre. Personally, I'd much rather hit the Rangers where it counts and where it hurts: on the scoreboard and in the standings.

All in all, I agree with Kate: we and the Sabres have bigger things to worry about. Like playing the Ducks tonight. Talk about a litmus test for how soft we are. Anaheim isn't the Stanley Cup team they used to be, but they're still pretty pushy, undisciplined douches, and in light of that I want to remind all the Sabres of this helpful diagram:

This still goes double for you, Tim Connolly.

Let's not let this woulda shoulda coulda retaliation debate obscure the real crisis here: Thomas Vanek is out, Ryan Miller is out, and we need healthy bodies. Now more than ever.

Place Holder

It's been a busy week. I sort of had to scramble to come up with something to fill my exhausting weekly quota of one whole post, but then I remembered this post about the Hockey Hall of Fame that I started more than a month ago and then abandoned. I don't have time to give it a full write-up (overall, thumbs up!), but please enjoy some clips of what was definitely my favorite part. My brother and I had tons of fun calling different plays in the HHoF makeshift broadcast booth. Here are the highlights of our highlights:

My reenactment of a Mike Lange call.

My tribute to Alex Ovechkin's famous, unparalleled passion for hockey. 

(Excuse my lack of diction [bad actor!], the lyrics are "And I will be the one to hold the sport of hockey down...")

Rick Nash is cool as a cucumber.

Marty Brodeur is batty as a bat.

(Once again, excuse the giggles, we were feeling super loopy by this point.)

Maybe next week I'll be able to get back to writing about actual current hockey, although the text I just got from my mom suggests I might not want to. Apparently Jeremy White on WGR has started calling Hecht the new Dmitri Kalinin. Great. Clearly Yo-Yo has stopped accepting my letters.

A Letter of Encouragement and then (in case that doesn't work) Pleading

Dear Jochen Hecht,

I'm writing you this letter to make sure you're aware that the time is ripe for you to be good at hockey again.

A perusal of my blogroll tells me that in light of Vanek's busted face, the Buffalo public has quickly reached two conclusions: 1) Pominville really needs to step up, and 2) you replacing Vanek on Connolly's line is the worst joke since that one about how the difference between a Furby and an elephant is that a Furby doesn't look like an elephant. (True story: I have been told this joke.) But I think they're looking at it all wrong.

First of all, remember that time two seasons ago when Briere was out with the flu and Drury was out with scrambled brains, and you led a sundry group of Buffachester Saberks to a 6-1 victory over the Leafs in Toronto? Or especially the first half of last season when Vanek was playing like a negative ten million dollar man, and you were well on your way to your career-high 22 goals already? Clearly stepping up to replace missing or failing stars is your thing. Dare I say your bread and butter?

Furthermore, this is a great chance for you to continue the grand German tradition of stealing Austria's thunder. Its long history starts in the realm sports, where the Austrians are so used to getting pummeled by you that they're still clinging to a mostly meaningless victory that happened over 30 years ago (unfortunately the Wikipedia article is only in German, but take my word for it), but extends to the point where you frequently get international credit for essentially Austrian things like Wiener Schnitzel and Mozart. You know that national anthem you sing? Originally written by an Austrian. But it hasn't been all bad. You let them keep Falco. And Arnold Schwarzenegger. So there's no reason you shouldn't take the Thomas Vanek glory from them, too, now that you have the chance. I believe in you.

So there's your encouragement. Now comes the pleading.

Please, please, please, Yo-Yo, get good at hockey again. Ever since the beginning of the season, there's been a steadily growing rumble about how you're not worth what we're paying you, and how, in a roster full of underachieving forwards, you're the one with a reputation intact enough to actually get a decent return. And now that the trade deadline is approaching, it's starting to make me sweat a little. I don't think I'll be able to deal with you showing up in trade rumors or (gulp!) actually being traded. At all. And as much as I think it would be very stupid to trade you, as much as I believe that Darcy is smart enough not to, that line of thought still makes just enough sense for it to be a dangerous possibility. So, I'm begging you. Put my mind at rest. Play better. Stick around. For me. 

And for my readers, because, let's be honest, no one's going to want to read a post a week of solid sobbing for the rest of the year.

Go get 'em!

Gambler

Blacked Out

I may have mentioned this before, but I'm currently studying to get degrees in both German Studies and Theatre at a small college in Saint Paul, MN, and in case you were wondering, the life of a German and Theatre double major is a largely hockeyless one. 

It's like they've deliberately teamed up in order to deprive me of my favorite hobby and second-favorite hobby (watching and blogging about hockey, in case that wasn't clear), two seasons in a row. Last year it was my German major that forced me out of the country, forced me to rely on fickle internet connections and a weakened sleep schedule in order to even get a glimpse of my team. If you'll remember, the long months of separation eventually drove me into the arms of another sport. This year the Theatre major is picking up on that slack. I've just been cast in a show set to open at the end of the semester, and it's going to be eating up all of my prime hockey time. Between now and mid-March I'll need to attend two rehearsals a week, and from then until the beginning of May it will be four nights a week. Add in the fact that I have a night class, and that's 3 to 5 nights a week spent not watching hockey until at least mid-playoffs. Ouch. Since I don't have a TiVo (hell, I don't even have a TV set), I have no recourse but to sit back and let the hockey happen around me, deaf and blind to it all.

The timing pretty much tells the whole story of my relationship to my two majors. Whereas my German major turned out to be trying to save me (as it tries to save me in a lot of situations, mostly from going insane) from watching the end of an eventual 10-game losing streak and an unspectacular push to almost make the playoffs, my Theatre major is (as per usual) trying to ruin my life. The Sabres look like they're finally pulling their shit together, and all of the sudden my Theatre major needs my undivided attention? That can't be a coincidence. Sure, for a while there we were a heartbeat away from starting a traffic cone on defense, and the situation hasn't gotten that much brighter, but Ryan Miller has been, in the words of Marshawn Lynch, "too solid... way too solid," Thomas Vanek has continued to dazzle, and even Drew Stafford, for God's sake, has woken up and started devouring brains like it's going out of style. This team, for the first time since the beginning of the season, seems capable of (and maybe even destined to?) make the playoffs, and this is when I have to stop watching? I call bullshit, Theatre major.

I'd love to say more, and hell, maybe even watch some of the game that's starting right now, but--you guessed it--I have to get to the theater.

P.S. Just to be clear, this isn't to say that I plan on slacking on my resolution to post at least once a week, but perhaps you'll understand if my posts start to contain little more than hearsay and speculation, mixed with a large portion of complaining?

A Letter About Photographic Evidence

Dear All-Star Photographers,

As diligent readers of this blog, I'm sure you remember last year, when I used one of your photos as evidence of Eric Staal's serial killer-ness. Well, here's more unwanted fuel for that fire:

Yeesh.

Sadly, this time around it's you getting I'm writing the letter to, because I'm pretty sure this is a scare me once, shame on him, scare me twice, shame on you situation. Last year you did your part with the throne series, producing mostly appealing and sometimes downright adorable results (see Chara, Zdeno). It's not your fault Staal chose to make threatening gestures with his stick and ruined the whole intended vibe. But this year you were asking for it. You really didn't expect to take a close-up portrait of Eric Staal dressed in all black and have the vibe be anything but "I want to stab your eyes out with this knife I found in your back," did you? Well, lesson learned. I expect better from you in the future.

Regards,
Gambler

P.S. Then again, I'm pretty sure Staal could manage to look creepily murderous perched amongst a pile of beagle puppies, so maybe the only solution is to not photograph him at all? I think it's worth some consideration.