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Playoff Observations -- Saturday

Just a few things that caught my eye:

  • The music guy in Joe Louis Arena should have been playing U2's With or Without You. All of a sudden, Pavel Datsyuk and the Hart trophy don't seem like such strange bedfellows any more.
  • Marian Hossa is gripping his stick harder than the guy at the urinal who's just had someone speak to him. Stage fright is a terrible thing.
  • I was ready to hand the Cup to the Pens after the first seven minutes. But then they ground to a crawl on their first power-play opportunity and I began to itch. How can a team that flew out of the gate and overpowered the Wings five-on-five become midget house leaguers with an extra man?
  • Two-year-olds have been clinically proven to be the most violent creatures on the planet. The Pens sure were channelling their inner toddlers tonight particularly from the five minute mark of the second onward. You're going to have to grow up fast, boys.
  • I thought Sidney Crosby had outgrown his yipping ways. I'm not so sure any more. He was at it again and then graduated to wood chopping.
  • I get it now why Johan Franzen is called the Mule -- I finally got a good look at the size of his freaking head. Helmets aren't supposed to fit like that.
  • Hockey has brought a small patch of sunshine to the Detroit-Windsor corridor, an area that has taken a standing eight-count this year. The Windsor Spitfires brought home sport's hardest trophy to win -- the Memorial Cup. And the Wings are one game away from a repeat date with Lord Stanley. Destiny?
  • In other news, the Calgary Flames have once again condemned themselves to a disasterous post-season for the coming year. They inked Curtis "I don't trust you as far as I can kick you" McElhinney to a contract. Wasn't a lack of a competent back-up cited in Mikka Kiprusoff's late swoon? And to think they could have had Ray Emery instead.