Game 45: Leafs fly to New York, forget to pack dignity
When my father doesn't like something, he usually calls it a "horse's ass."
Telemarketers, pens that don't work, Nutella, gasoline prices, Bill O'Reilly, feather pillows – to my Dad, all this stuff is a "horse's ass."
I don't know if he watched tonight's game shellacking. But if he did, my guess is he spent two hours on his feet, pointing at the TV and calling every single player in a white jersey a "horse's ass."
That's definitely what I did.
What else is there to say? What else can any of us say?
Why did this team even bother crossing the border? Why not just stay in Toronto and catch up on Dexter or Entourage while sipping hot chocolate? Why not just kidnap a troupe of elderly butterfly catchers, blindfold them, herd them onto a Greyhound bus, drop them off at Madison Square Garden, strap rusty knives to the bottoms of their sensible shoes and then shove them toward center ice?
God knows they would have fared better.
What the hell was that? WHAT. THE. HELL. WAS. THAT?
Were the Leafs secretly drugged before the game? Did they party too much in NYC last night? Are their legs still tired from the last two games? No, wait, that couldn't be it because their legs got plenty of rest during the last two games.
Why do these guys even have legs? Shouldn't they at least have the decency to saw off their legs and give them to people without legs, people who deserve legs so much more? And why waste money on expensive hockey sticks? Why not just steal the butterfly nets from that elderly troupe and spend the rest of this season chasing lunar moths around the tropics?
The final score? Not sure. It was like 7-0 when I tossed my TV into a snowbank and rifled through the pantry to see if we had any arsenic. The highlights? None to speak of, not unless you count my wife's stifled giggling as she passed by at one point and said: "Oh my goodness! Is it zero to five for the New York Yankees?"
I'm not going to bother glancing at tonight's box score. I'm not going to bother describing the horrific chaos, the death-wish plays, the shocking apathy, the utter lack of dignity, the zero tolerance for effort, the one-sided skills competition they passed off as an NHL game.
Screw it. If this is the best these magnificent bastards equine bums can summon for the alleged "biggest game of the season," I'm not wasting a second of my time researching or crunching stats or searching for positives. I'm not even embedding pictures into this post beyond the image at the top because, really, that says it all.
Tomorrow may be another day. But tonight there is a stench, one that's familiar to people who live on farms. And this stench shall linger for quite some time.