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.