CANCEL THE PARADE; HABS LOSE IN T.O.

TORONTO - The Beautiful Team was in Toronto last night and fell to the thuggery that ensued. The Canadiens were woeful and if there is anything that this reporter knows for sure, it's that you can indeed judge a team based on one game. And the Habs are contending for the first overall pick this year for sure.

Perhaps it was too much cheese at the team bonding session in Callingwood. Perhaps the ice was bad. Or maybe the sun got in their eyes. Whatever it was, it was putrid.

Perhaps Don Cherry put it best when he said anything at all. And I for one agree.

So it's time to cancel the parade and trade away the team for cap space and draft picks. It's over, fellas. The fat lady sang and it was glorious while it lasted. Time to start cheering for a new team. Like Manchester United!

Ah... That's better... All negativity used in the first post of the season. Now on to the real games. Good luck you damn dirty Habs! Don't let us down. I will forget about this one transgression.

HABS SHOW WEAKNESS, MERCY

Like a streaking comet from Sector Z-Alpha in the Coma Berenices, the greatest hockey team in the history of the world pursues its quest to show the universe how pretty it is. However, in a moment of shocking inhumanity not unlike that terrible scene in “Schindler’s List” where Ralph chastises Liam at the train station, the Bell Centre Boys showed astonishing cruelty during Game 3 of the Eastern Conference Quarterfinals of these 2011 NHL Playoffs. Indeed, while dismantling the ridiculous Boston Bruins for the past few days, your sensational Montreal Canadiens have displayed a card not seen often by its wholly championship-deserving fan base, the mercy card. And the last thing the Bruins need now is mercy. Who does not know the famous saying “Let us put you out of your mercy”? Words to live by. Putting someone out of his or her mercy is a noble and humane thing to do. Instead, the Bruins get their wagon hosed down and live another day, thus prolonging their agony in manners as humiliating for them as they will be effortless for the Habs. That was a cruel thing do, for the Montreal Canadiens have only given the Bruins false hope.

Some would propose that toying with them as does the cat with the mouse sharpens the predator’s killer instinct, but there’s always that chance, no matter how slight, that the mouse may escape, run under the house maybe, find a hole up into the pantry somehow, start gnawing into your aged brie, sleeping in the chicken bouillon mix, taking his craps in the corn flakes, you get the idea. Suddenly, you’re like “Hey, Mr. Fluffikins, what the hell? I got mouse shite between my teeth and my soup tastes like hairy plaster; why didn’t you kill that frikker when you had the chance?!”

So why the mercy?

Your committed reporter rang Jack Marty’s doorbell for 45 minutes last night in order to seek out the straight dope once the coach inevitably accepted to open up.

-How exactly did this mercy card thing come into effect?

“We didn't compete the first 30 minutes of the

game. We figured that would do it.”

-No, I mean, why show mercy when you’ve clearly proven yourself to be the superior club? Why not finish your opponents off?

“Mercy isn’t physical. It's mental. It’s all happening up here” said Jack tapping his forehead. “It's your responsibility as a professional to be ready to show mercy when the time is right. (he paused) And I forgot my cuff-links at the Boston Four-Seasons, I get them on my time, that’s 1200 bucks out of my pocket and this way...hey, are you texting that?!”

The tone perceived in the last question was your cunning reporter’s cue that the interview was

over forthwith. The lunge towards the smartphone however, was the cue that it was time to run.

-I’m out, fatty! Bookin, yo!

“Hey! Get back here! Jeeves, release the raccoons! Hey, that fence is electrified, buddy! It’s your funeral if you touch it, I swear to god!”

He was bluffing about the fence. Curiously though, not so much about the raccoons. The pants were lost but the straight dope was secured regardless and dutifully passed on to you, dear reader.

More updates when hallucinations and frothing at mouth subside.

THE PRICEBERG COMETH AND THAT RIGHT GNARLY

Not unlike the worst carnage Satan’s brattiest Hellspawn could ever get up to, such is the manner in which your Stupendous Montreal Canadiens wreaked havoc against the same-old unsuspecting victims of yesteryear...stop us when this isn’t funny anymore.

It has been a long and arduous trek from the shadows of anonymity that was the regular season to the halls of prominence the NHL Playoffs hold in store, but The Beautiful Team is more than up for the challenge in this Anno 2011…especially if last night’s dismantling of the eternally indulgent Boston Bruins is of any indication. Cuz…damn, what better circus act is there? The strongman drops the barbell on his head and the trapezist swings away with the girl; it’s amazing!

That the Bruins would display their time-honored skills of choke-job artistry isn’t surprising. That the visitors would present themselves as lambs for the slaughter only to later reveal themselves as wolves in possums’ clothing and eventually humiliate the Bruins in front of their fans and all the world to see for the who-knows-how-manieth time isn’t anything to start ringing the church bell about either. No doubt that after 80 years of back and forth, certain tendencies don’t only have the scent of familiarity, they downright stink of it, so all in all, this latest miasma was par for the course between these clubs at the end Game 1. Habs up; Bruins down. Such is the way of the world.

But what did come to light in all the hoopla, is how utterly tremendous the Priceberg looked. How spectacularly and fabulously his stock has come to rise. How totally unequivocally his stature as the superstar

goalie of the hour, bar none, has been established.

Despite all the tough talk, despite the assurance their regular season victories at the Habs’ expense gave them, which account for HALF of the victories the Montreal Canadiens registered against them, mind you, despite their vaunted size and strength and supposed ability to clog up the crease and “take away the Kid’s eyes”, the Bruins ultimately did what they did best against the greatest hockey team in the history of the world: they lost handily and were dominated by a peachfuzzy goalie.

Watching the drama unfold and the Bruins’ confidence suffering blow after blow shift after shift, your faithful reporter couldn’t help but be reminded of his Ecclesiasticus, as you probably all were as well, dear readers. Was it not said:

“The prayers out of the mouths of the Just shall reach the ears of the Kid, and judgment shall come for the wicked speedily. He that has to be reproved in the box walks in the trace of a loser: and he that fears to lose will turn to his own heart and choke on it. He that is mighty by boldness is known afar off, but a skilled man knows to slip the puck by him. He that builds his house as losers before him charge to build his house, is as he that gathers himself stones to build a boat, a loser. The congregation of losers he assembles is now like heaped together, and at the end of either ends is a flame of fire, burning red, and white, and blue. The way of losers is piled high with failures, and in their end is only hell, and darkness, and golf.

But he that keeps justice shall get the understanding thereof. The perfection of the use of fear to waylay those weak of mind is in itself wisdom and understanding. He that is not wise in good, will not be taught, but there is a wisdom that abounds in evil as the wise man knows.”

Game 2 looms, and a fistful of evil may yet descend on the wicked. And like the Capitals and

Penguins before them, the Bruins will “stick to the plan”. From the mouth of upstart babe Brad Marchand, “it has to go in sometime; we just got to keep plugging away”. We north of the border properly encourage this young buck to spread the word.

Has to go in sometime, right?

More updates when evil laugh subsides.

HABS GM UNABLE TO TRADE SPACEK FOR CROSBY AND MALKIN

ATLANTA — Despite a series of phone calls to Pittsburgh Penguins GM Ray Shero on NHL trade deadline day, Habs GM Pierre Gauthier was unable to acquire the semi-talented forwards, Sidney Crosby and Evgeni Malkin in exchange for mega-superstar Jaroslav Spacek.

"I truly don't understand Ray's position... This was a trade that could have benefited both teams," said a frustrated Gauthier to your debauched reporter disguised as a vegan hooker in the GM's limousine after the deadline had passed. Pierre confessed that he had even tried to sweeten the deal by offering forward Tom Pyatt for the "bag of pucks" that is Kris Letang.

"We would have gained sorely needed offense, while the Penguins would gain experience, lower their payroll, and give something back to their fans."

Gauthier also confirmed that that the Vancouver Canucks had pulled the plug on a potential Sedin Twins - for - Jacques Martin deal at the last second.

PREPARATION H (THE 'H' IS FOR 'HATE')

MONTREAL - With the All-Star break upon us, now is a good time to evaluate your Montreal Canadiens and how they have done up to the unofficial half-way point of the season. Are they good? Are the bad? Are they contenders? Or are they just pretenders? Do you like them? Or do you hate them?

So let us make that evaluation...

First, some of the individual players:

P.K. Subban - This kid is what the NHL is missing. Commissaire Bettman wants to promote the league, but he wants the players to be dull and drab too (you can't have it all, Betty). This kid has the flamboyance of an NFL wide receiver, a talented NBA All-Star, or that drunk guy on the bus who wears his underwear on the outside of his pants. But admit it... If this guy played for any other team, you would hate the SHIT out of him.

Scott Gomez - Hey, NHL! Gomez's move is to carry the puck into the zone by himself and stop short just after the blueline looking for someone to pass to. He never shoots either, so don't worry about blocking shooting lanes. Shhh... It's a secret... Or at least it must be since no one appears to have picked up on it despite the number of years he's been in the league.

Hal Gill - God forbid an opponent get's behind this guy on a break. My grandmother skates faster than this dude. She likely takes a harder shot too. And she probably makes better cupcakes. For shame, Gill. For SHAME!!!

Andrei Kostitsyn - Psst... The net is that way.

Tomas Plekanec - Honestly... The goatee and turtleneck thing? For some reason that reminds me: how is Stephane Richer doing these days?

Carey Price - You know he'd be so much better if he didn't listen to country music.

And the team:

Put simply: this is an exciting team to watch! They clog up the neutral zone, stifle speed, limit shots, grind in the corners, take little to no chances, get it deep, change lines, repeat. Oh wait, did I say exciting? Zzzzzz....

The powerplay is awesome! Except for when it's not. Because when it's not, good lord! Did you guys just learn to skate? Are you holding your sticks upside down? Is your helmet on backwards? The PP is great, or it's AWEFUL (and that does not mean "full of awe").

The penaltykill is awesome! Actually, it kind of is. Well, unless Plekanec is in the box.

I hear line changes are a bit of a problem. Can't be that bad though. This is a professional team, afterall. It's not like they'd take more than one or two penalties a year, right? What's that? ... NINE TIMES?!?

This team's 5-on-5 play is pretty good. Except for when it suddenly becomes 6-on-5 play. See above.

Don't you HATE that you LOVE these guys?

More updates as events warrant.

UNDERCOVER MEDIA AGENT INFILTRATES HABS RANKS

In every industry, it’s all about getting an edge, how to stand out from your competitors. And it’s no different for newshounds. Now, as you well know, one thing (some say the ONLY thing) Habsbros is good at is standing out. Foreseeing this, as well as the need to one day be forced to get our hands on some inner-circle straight dope to infuse our stories with the proper pathos they deserve, we planted a sleeper agent within the organization. Your sneaky reporter himself was the one who activated that agent with the key phrase “potato salad looks good, eh?” when sidled up to him at the cafeteria.
Operation: Gaining access by any means (GABAM!) is now underway. It has taken weeks for the proper conditions to assemble themselves in order to set our dastardly plan into motion. If we have neglected our duties towards our readers as a result, then we beg forgiveness, but…with the economy, the lack of parking spaces outside the port-o-potty/office of Habsbros Central, well… good personnel is hard to come by so we often gots to do this our own damn selves. Yeah, it’s a bitch. Ain’t gonna lie. There’s danger of exposure at any second, risk of alienation at any moment, and the smell of nasty jock-strap at every turn; it’s not easy. But we do it anyway. Out of love. Love for you, dear readers. Whenever the odour of nasty, rotten, crawling, probably fungus-infected 10-yr-old nut cups hits our nostrils, we think of you, because that’s what gives us the motivation to carry on.
It wasn’t easy to sabotage Max Pacioretty’s equipment. It wasn’t easy to bribe Buffalo Sabre Mike Weber to hurt one of our own players. Do you know how hard it is to give someone the flu on purpose? It’s not easy. These were the moral hurdles we had to jump every day.
The crimp in our plan was Dustin Boyd. The front office believed that no one would claim him on re-entry if he was called back up. And we were tempted to believe it. But good luck with that, because the grapevine says Boyd was so pissed about being relegated to the minors, he not only wouldn’t give it 100% on the ice, but would actively seek to score in his own net then key Gauthier’s car after the game. The whole situation was very delicate. It wasn’t hard to start the rumour.
With these obstacles out of the way, our mole’s integration to the club was assured. Fair-haired, fair-eyed, fair-heighted, fair-weighted, no distinguishing features apart a distinctly bovine look, which suits him (and us) quite well, all things considered, we consider him to be the epitome of “bland”. A 4th line player who, as opposed to Tom Pyatt or Ryan White (initially proposed as candidates for the operation), has an unpronounceable name, and of course, it’s a scientific fact that people don’t talk to folks who have unpronounceable names. Our man is therefore anonymous as well as androgynous. His attributes have meshed into a perfect storm. Talented enough to keep up with other players but not talented enough to attract attention. Foreign enough to be ignored but Aryan enough to be given the benefit of the doubt as to his presence in the dressing-room; he’s absolutely ideal.
Here are his prime directives: 1) confirm or deny Pleky running out of gas. 2) confirm or deny Iginla acquisition. 3) observe and report on jock-strap cleaning methods.
The fourth directive, of course, is classified. Security reasons.
We expect Swede muffins to be whispered in our ear in no time at all.
More updates when such warrants.

GABAM!