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And the refs can go straight to hell, too.
I lost track of how many penalties should have been called in period 3, the first OT and the second OT.
I lost track of how many times a Bruin slammed into a Hab and swiped the puck away.
What should have been a wonderful experience (playoff hockey -- there's nothing greater than your team winning a playoff game that you're at), what was over three hours of excitement and fun and cheering and heart-stopping moments and saves... turned into absolute shit in the span of five seconds.
Five seconds, in which one of our best players is slashed across the wrist and loses control of the puck, and leaves his position on the ice because his hand is now numb, and accidentally prevents his teammate, a defender, from tearing back into our zone. Five seconds, in which a penalty should have been called for the slashing. Five seconds, in which a dirty, evil, fucking bastard of a Bruin skates in with the puck and lets one go at 9 minutes and some seconds of the second overtime. Five seconds, in which José Theodore doesn't make the most important save of the night.
My evening began with Mike Ribeiro scoring an early goal, and I nearly cried, overwhelmed with the emotion from 21,273 people cheering and screaming and clapping and waving their little white bandana thingies. It ended with my being heartbroken and furious beyond imagination. I've never even dreamed of throwing anything but a hat on the ice at a hockey arena. I found myself hefting my Coke and wondering if it was at all possible for me to launch it to the ice to hit Andrew Raycroft. Then someone else's soda soared over my head, dribbling on me as it went, and I elected, instead, to scream bloody murder at Andrew Raycroft. I've been swearing like a sailor since about 10:45pm. Screaming at Raycroft sort of helped. But I'm still furious with the referees for not calling the slashing penalty or any of the other 32957 penalties they should have called in period three and the first overtime.
Of course it would wind up that I'd get to go to the damn game, just to see them lose in such a stupid, controversial way. I don't know why I expected it would be at all different.
Motherfuckinggoddamnsonofabitch, Raycroft, you suck such ass, it's not even funny, you freaky, flukey, poor excuse for a real goaltender.
I lost track of how many penalties should have been called in period 3, the first OT and the second OT.
I lost track of how many times a Bruin slammed into a Hab and swiped the puck away.
What should have been a wonderful experience (playoff hockey -- there's nothing greater than your team winning a playoff game that you're at), what was over three hours of excitement and fun and cheering and heart-stopping moments and saves... turned into absolute shit in the span of five seconds.
Five seconds, in which one of our best players is slashed across the wrist and loses control of the puck, and leaves his position on the ice because his hand is now numb, and accidentally prevents his teammate, a defender, from tearing back into our zone. Five seconds, in which a penalty should have been called for the slashing. Five seconds, in which a dirty, evil, fucking bastard of a Bruin skates in with the puck and lets one go at 9 minutes and some seconds of the second overtime. Five seconds, in which José Theodore doesn't make the most important save of the night.
My evening began with Mike Ribeiro scoring an early goal, and I nearly cried, overwhelmed with the emotion from 21,273 people cheering and screaming and clapping and waving their little white bandana thingies. It ended with my being heartbroken and furious beyond imagination. I've never even dreamed of throwing anything but a hat on the ice at a hockey arena. I found myself hefting my Coke and wondering if it was at all possible for me to launch it to the ice to hit Andrew Raycroft. Then someone else's soda soared over my head, dribbling on me as it went, and I elected, instead, to scream bloody murder at Andrew Raycroft. I've been swearing like a sailor since about 10:45pm. Screaming at Raycroft sort of helped. But I'm still furious with the referees for not calling the slashing penalty or any of the other 32957 penalties they should have called in period three and the first overtime.
Of course it would wind up that I'd get to go to the damn game, just to see them lose in such a stupid, controversial way. I don't know why I expected it would be at all different.
Motherfuckinggoddamnsonofabitch, Raycroft, you suck such ass, it's not even funny, you freaky, flukey, poor excuse for a real goaltender.
