MONTREAL CANADIENS HOLD TALKS WITH KOVALCHUK

A pleasant summer to you all from Habsbros. To business: Incensed at not seeing any Kovalchuk acquisitions for the Absolutely Flabbergasting Montreal Canadiens in the last week, your over-zealous reporter sought to get some straight dope from Mr. Bob Gainey’s surrogate on the issue. The first attempt forever involves the time-honoured plan of springing out of some bushes. Since no bushes possessing enough foliage to conceal oneself properly but not enough to scratch one’s delicate epidermis were to be found in any strategic vicinity of satisfactory springing towards said target, that plan was scrapped, and the consecrated-by-tradition one of breaking into the third sublevel of the Bell Centre’s east wing basement to jimmy the phone-transcript file-cabinet drawer was put into motion instead. And we struck gold.
The Montreal Canadiens have talked to Kovalchuk.
(SAT. JUL. 10.10)
“Da.”
-“Is this Ilya?”
-“Who is dis?”
-“This is Pierre Gauthier.”
-“Who?”
-“Pierre Gauthier of the Montreal Canadiens.”
-“Ah, yes. Montreal. Hockey City.”
-“That’s right! Yes.”
-“Old men in Ruskova love Montreal. Big pride for that city.”
-“That’s right. Tradition. We have a bond with Russia.”
-“I am not old man.”
-“Uh, well, no, but that doesn’t mean…
-“How much?”
-“We were thinking 50 million for …”
-Click.
-“What the..? That mutha-fu..!”
(Connection terminated)
Any normal team would have folded their tents and packed it in right then and there. But not your Supernormal Montreal Canadiens, dear readers, no sir, not them. The thing about champions, you see, is that they make friends wherever they go. A quid pro quo here and a tit for tat there amongst friends in high enough places and you can shift the North Pole six inches to the left if you’ve a mind to it. Well, the Habs' friends are as high as a kite. Umm...err…well, yes, moving on.
(TUE. JUL. 20.10)
-“Da.”
-“Ilya.”
-“Who is dis?”
-“Pierre Gauthier.”
-“Who?”
-“Pierre Gauthier! Of the Montreal Canadiens, for cryin out loud!”
-“Ah, yes. Montreal. Where they make the best jokes. Very funny in Montreal.”
-“Did you find it funny when we got your deal nixed?”
-“…what?”
“I asked you if you found it funny when we got your deal with Jersey shot down.”
-“You did not do that.”
-“We didn’t? Oh, ok. Well, maybe you should think about that anyway, you know, about what the Montreal Canadiens can or can’t do being in the League for a hundred years and everything. Or maybe our friend Dmitriy can help explain it to you.”
-“…”
-“Would you like that? Call Mr. President on conference? Talk about the Markov thing maybe? Wanna do that?”
-“…no.”
-“Oh? No? So I guess I don’t need to explain it then? I got your attention now, ya Ivan bastich?”
-“…yes.”
-“Good. We have a deal you might like. If you could just hear me out for a friggin second.”
-“Yes, I hear you with pleasure.”
-“Ok, I want you to listen to me.
-“I listen.”
-“Two-year deal.”
-“Yes.”
-“Fifty million dol…
-Click.
-“Sunova-Bi...!”
(Connection terminated)
These have been the extent of the talks between the Crafty Montreal Canadiens and the would-be superstar so far, but already, we can see that some progress is being made and that Mr. Bob Gainey’s avatar isn’t afraid to go after some big fish. With a little slack here, a little wiggle-room there and a final sudden yank, that big juicy Russian tuna could flop right into the boat and dump its caviar all over the deck at a moment's notice.
Yummmm, Russian caviar...any minute now.
More straight dope as summer warrants.

HABS DIDN'T WANT CUP ANYWAY

MONTREAL - As The Glorious Team arrived back in Montreal, they walked in with their heads held high. And rightfully so. The Canadiens achieved everything they wanted to achieve.

Be better than the Leafs? Check

Make the playoffs? Check.

Beat down Ovechkin? Check.

Smother Crosby with "love"? Check.

Have the leading goal scorer in the playoffs? Check.

Get shutout three times in the Conference Finals so as to boost the confidence of the Philadelphia Flyers and then sit back and laugh while they come crumbling back down to Earth against the vastly superior Chicago Blackhawks? Check.

Devalue Carey Price so as to make him cheaper to re-sign? Check.

Appear on "Cabbie on the Street"? Check.

So really, why bother winning the Cup? They have achieved all that they wanted to achieve. It was sheer will and determination that made that happen. And it was not without resistance that these goals were met.

Take for example, The Man.

While your humble reporter does not typically subscribe to conspiracies against a team for which there is some clear personal bias, there were cases this post-season that really questioned that standpoint. In other words, the NHL really did not want the Habs beating either of their golden boys (Ovechkin or Crosby).

Like David v. Goliath, Steve Austin v. Vince McMahon, or the precedent setting, hippies v. government, your Montreal Canadiens waged war against the odds and against the powers that be. They would have fought God Himself if he hadn't thought twice and decided, "whoa, fuck this shit."

But in the end, after meeting their goal, the Habs simply decided that this was enough. It wasn't that they were tired. It wasn't that they lost that loving feeling. In the end... It was Sergei Kostitsyn.

Yes, after defeating the glamorous Capitals, and the mighty Penguins, the Canadiens had an internal meeting wherein they concluded that winning the Cup would mean having to engrave Sergei's name upon the same surface that holds glorious names such as Richard, Beliveau, and Richard. That, dear readers, simply will not do.

So in being eliminated from the playoffs, your Habs paid the ultimate sacrifice, and proved themselves heros once more.

We at Habsbros salute you!

More updates as events warrant.

HABS BACKS TO THE VOID, BACK TO BACK TO BACK SERIES

Well, here we are. Old stomping grounds. Know the place well. Backs to the wall. Your Marvellous Montreal Canadiens are facing de-marvellification yet again. And yoopy-doo, to everybody’s favourite, the oh-so distinguished Philadelphia Flyers to boot. So if the thought of having the most beautiful Cinderella story in the 2010 NHL playoffs halted wasn’t sad enough, let ignominy now steal the show. Many faithful had accepted the possibility, even the probability of not hoisting the Greatest of Cups; a loss to the best team in the League, the reigning Stanley Cup Champs or the Western contenders would not have been... insulting. Your aggravated reporter set about collecting the facts explaining why that is.
Aah, Philly, let us count the ways in which we hate you.
1) You stink. From here we can smell your putridness. Dog poop isn’t soap. Sewer scum ain’t shampoo. Go take a walk to the nearest fire department and stand near the hoses; they’ll fix you up.
2) You’re ugly. Ugly beyond all human conception. A century of inbreeding and bestiality has certainly taken its toll. Clock-stopping, mirror-breaking ugly is what you are. Looks like a mix between gorilla and a bucket'o'slop. And those are the ladies. We have it on good authority that aliens woulda visited this planet to mate long ago if it weren’t for you. You understand what we’re sayin? We’d be travelling the stars and getting it on with green chicks if that one pocket of humanity wasn’t bringing the homa sapien appeal-factor down.
3) You’re bad. You’re bad people. Mean. Amoral. Immoral. Umoral. Just no moral. Haters. Bullys. Insecure summamabitches. Can’t be trusted with company, can’t be trusted with a drop alcohol, can’t be trusted with kids, can’t be trusted with friggin Santy!
4) You’re stupid. I mean like stumbling around with a finger in your nose goin “Duh-duh-duh!” stupid. Right rank stupid. Only thing more stupid than you is a slug. Don’t know nuthin. Don’t know about human behaviour, don’t know about aforethought, don’t know about discipline, clearly clueless about all forms of sport strategy. Dim-witted idiots. Disgusting.
5) You’re lucky. No talent. No grace. No class. No flair. No plays, really. Just luck. Luck against us, that’s all it is. That’s why you never won the Cup again. You can’t. You’re a disgrace to everything hockey stands for. Every game you play brings the credibility of the League down more and more. People watch and say “But they have no talent. It’s just luck; I’m not watchin this.” And then they switch to the dart competition on ESPN Ocho or whatever. That’s what they do. Nobody likes you.
6) And finally, you stink. I mean, really bad. I don’t know if I mentioned this but it’s really, really bad. It’s like some tumours busted inside your bodies, maybe it’s a medical thing and you’ll be dead within a week, but if this is au naturel, lemme just say “Ouch!” cuz y’all need to get that checked. It’s just awful. You know when your nose-hairs start shrivelling and the top of your cheeks start tremblin and you start to gag and you know you just won’t be able to keep from pukin but you manage it anyway and that somehow makes it worse? That’s how bad you stink. You absolutely reek. Mostly of dishonour and failure, we would guess, but either way, the stench is horrific. Honestly, take a bath. Lotsa soap. Not dog poop. Soap. Try it out.
Obviously, there are many more reasons to hate the Flyers, and far be it from us to prevent you from enumerating some below, dear readers, but since Habsbros deals only in absolutes, we chose the reasons that were logically unassailable. We don’t debate at Habsbros; we lay down the straight dope.
Now, the Beautiful Team is staring down the void, out into the abyss, into Eternity (for three months), sword at its throat. Those ghosts of Forums past we hear so much about? Still in Tijuana apparently. Stuck at customs. Something about cocaine. We sent a reporter down. Haven’t heard back. Boys’ll have to do without. So basically, it’s all on them to recapture the magic by their own damn selves. What the rest of us can do is keep doin what we’re doin. Except do it better. Remember, it’s all about the Team.
So pray harder, you wusses!
More updates IF events warrants.

THE UNDERDOG ROYALE

And then there were four. Three commendable hockey clubs and one blessed by the angels in heaven, the Beautiful Team, turning all prognosticators on their ear as easily as a drunken Ferengi (if you know your Star Trek), are all that remain in the fight for the greatest of chalices, Lord Stanley’s Cup.
The main focus of attack for your Shifty Montreal Canadiens has resided in their ability to parlay the underdog card. They were the underdogs, they had no pressure, all in good fun, just here to play. How sweet. Problem is the disgusting Philadelphia Flyers are using the same stratagem. Can two underdogs coexist in the same series? Your confused reporter set about to find out and posed the question to each team’s defensive stalwarts, Chris Pronger and Hal Gill.
“The Flyers are in-your-face, obnoxious and ugly, and I mean that as a compliment;” said the giant Canadien defenseman (pictured left), “for us to be considered as such would be a gross overstatement, so that means: underdogs. “The Canadiens are furtive, polite, and pretty as you please, and I mean that as an insult;” was the Flyers’ goon’s reply (pictured right), “and since everybody likes them and hates us, it stands to reason that we are the underdogs.”
It was then that the mistake of conducting these interviews at the same time in the same room was made apparent.
“Hell YOU talking about?” Hal Gill demanded. “We’re the underdogs.”
“Hey, whatever, man. If you can’t spot an underdog when you see one, that ain’t my problem. Aren’t you late for your pylon race anyway?” Pronger smirked.
“Pylon your skull in is what I’m late for.”
“Ooo, a tough guy. You know, I’d like to see that.”
-Gentlemen, please…was all your cowering reporter could muster.
“This underdog’s gonna ram this Sherwood so far up your ass, you’re gonna have to tape it through your nose. How do you like that?” Gill snarled as he got up from the divan.
“Will that be before or after THIS underdog gives you a face-wash with his skate?” Pronger replied, casually unfolding himself out of the recliner.
-Guys, please, c’mon, let’s remain…
Too late. The gargantuans clashed in the middle of the room like two locomotives, fists flailing, knees rising, headbutts raining, and elbows connecting with sickening accuracy. It was only when the third tear-gas cartridge was launched into the room by the alerted authorities that a measure of order was re-established.
But amidst the swearing, the crying and the blood-letting, Habsbros still got the scoop: NEITHER of these two are underdogs. The only underdog was your broken and trampled reporter, who should have thrown himself out the window at the earliest opportunity, as he is quite confident that the injuries sustained in a three-storey drop would have had him heal earlier than those incurred in the interview-room brouhaha.

More updates when the casts come off.

No Flyers, please.

HABS ELIMIN- WAIT... WHAT?!?

SASKATOON - TSN analysts said the Habs would lose. CBC analysts said Toronto was great. Hockey pundits from all over the WORLD agreed that a Habs win would be a sure sign of the Apocalypse. Hell, even Nostradamus predicted a Montreal loss. If Maggie the Monkey had her chance, she would have spun that lying wheel of treachery and foretold a loss from your Beautiful Team.

Well Fuck 'em. Fuck 'em all! This squad of overachieving bastards are going to the next round, if only to piss off Sergei Kostitsyn.

Your intrepid reporter hopped on the wrong plane and ended up in Saskatoon instead of Pittsburgh. An honest mistake by Air Canada, given that the city names rhyme. Unfortunately, that left yours truly in a place so desolate and behind the times that the only form of communication available was the telegram. But this may have made the game even more exciting.

While the official NHL statistic shows that Jaroslav Halak made 37 saves on 39 shots, the telegrams told a much different story. Your mathematic journalist counted 158 THOUSAND saves. Here is an excerpt showing that Halak was even making saves while Moen scored the fourth goal:

Penguins powerplay STOP Shot by Crosby STOP Stop Halak STOP Shot by Malkin STOP Stop by Halak STOP Stop STOP Another stop STOP Great stop by Halak STOP Cleared by Moen STOP My arm hurts a little STOP Moen steps around Gonchar STOP Shot by Moen STOP Scores STOP My heart STOP My heart has stopped STOP Sweet Jesus someone call an ambulance STOP ... STOP

More updates as THIRD ROUND begins. STOP.

FROM ORDINARY TO EXTRAORDINARY, HABS KNOW THE DRILL

This planet is 4.54 billion-years-old. It has been witness to many wondrous events, from the formation of a viable atmosphere through photosynthesis to the creation of life itself. It has observed spectacles such as aurora borealis to 100-ft tall tidal waves with casual aloofness where mere mortals would cower in awe. It even bears the scars of war by asteroid assaults, shifting tectonic plates, and nuclear testing, but nothing, NOTHING, comes close to the epic trial it must now endure with the Titanesque Montreal Canadiens in Pittsburgher for Game 5 of the 2nd round of the 2010 Stanley Cup playoffs, the Beautiful Team, smashing everything in their path like a jack-hammer through an egg-carton.
Always on the prowl for some straight dope, your favourite reporter caught up to the Pittsburgher captain (pictured left) and brought up his team’s game-plan.
-What do you say to those who accuse of crying and whining every chance you get?
“You try to treat every chance differently and make the most of it until it’s stopped by Halak. Those things, those crying habits and everything you practice, that's when those things come into the game. You've got to trust your skill to whine and trust yourself to do it at the proper time before it can be stopped by Halak.”
-Isn’t it sometimes too much though? Don’t you feel it’s time to change and become a man?
“You try to make sure you are doing your part. I wouldn't change anything. Honestly, I wouldn't change what I am doing out there. Because at the end of the day, it’ll be stopped by Halak anyway.”
-Whining didn’t help you win Game 4.
“But you can always analyze different things when you lose, whether it’s whining or stopped by Halak. There’s not much difference or much margin for error. It’s a playoff game and both teams played hard and somebody has to win -- and it’s the Montreal Canadiens more often than not because everything is stopped by Halak, so what difference does it make if I cry and whine or not?
-With the referees now obviously on to your lamenting techniques, will you or your teammates keep moping around feeling sorry for yourselves?
“I don’t think we moped around or felt sorry for ourselves. We just got stopped by Halak. You got to bounce back. We’ve all had to deal with that before -- tough goals or tough non-calls for whining.”
-Are you guys scared of the Montreal Canadiens now?
“That’s what they try to do; they try to control the fear zone and get into your head when it’s stopped by Halak. That’s a battle of how teams play. That’s not going to change. It’s going to be stopped by Halak. That’s their identity. They have got some quick forwards who try to capitalize on our mistakes and some fat d-men who block all our shots. They don’t let us score, they don’t let us get quality chances, they don’t let us cry, they don’t let us whine…it’s tough. And uh.., well…stopped by Halak.”
-Ok, Sid, thanks, I got it.
“Stopped by Halak.”
-Yes! I heard you. Thank you.
With so much weeping your insensitive reporter able to take, he decided to make his way to the Canadiens’ room at Pittsburgher’s practice facility to ask them how they felt about Sid the Kid getting all the attention. But he was stopped by Halak and informed they were in a meeting. No problem, he figured he’d grab a muffin and coffee off the brunch table and wait. But he was stopped by Halak and informed the muffins and donuts were for the Boys. Alright then, he’d go sit down in the stands and wait. But he was stopped by Halak for not having a proper practice press-pass. It was pointed out that a press-pass is ALSO a proper practice press-pass but that argument was stopped by Halak for overuse of alliteration.
It was then your face-making reporter started to get a little frustrated; decided to cut it short.
More updates when stopped by Ha…events warrant.

MAD MAB

MONTREAL - After the game 3 loss to the Pittsburgh Penguins, your astute reporter snuck into the Canadiens dressing room to get - as always - the straight dope. What was uncovered was even more frightening than anticipated.

Most of the scene was as to be expected. Brian Gionta was giving an interview to those mainstream media hicks, Maxime Lappierre was snorting cocaine, Carey Price was sobbing, and Tomas Plekanec was grooming his goatee. Everyone else was mired in defeat.

Everyone, that is, except for Marc Andre Bergeron.

MAB was in a back corner all by himself. He was smiling an oddly creepy smile, while staring off into the distance. Your inquisitive reporter was then informed by Scott Gomez that MAB had gone a little "nutty" after the big hit at the end of game 2.

Curiosity has gotten this columnist to where he is today; a shiny job on an anonymous internet blog, and herpes. So investigation was warranted.

- Hey Marc. What's goin' on?
- I like cake.
- Can't argue with that. Are you okay?
- Did you know that P.K. is black like Barry White, but I'm white like Clint Black?
- Uh... Deep, but did that hit knock you racist?
- I'm a dream-maker, you know. I've seen things, things you can't even imagine. I can make anyone's dreams come true.
- Really...? Even this one I have where Gary Bettman is jack-hammering Mickey Mouse in the doo-doo hole with a lawn dart?
- Only if Garth Brooks is there giving birth to something resembling a chedder-cheese log with almonds.
- I'd be alright with that.
- Right this way, please.

More updates as the chaffing heals.