Heartbreak.

Has it sunk in for you yet?

It's getting there for me. Friday night faded away for me with a feeling of numb shock still firmly in place. I knew what had happened, but the finality of it didn't process. When I woke up yesterday, it was still there. It's pretty much gone now. It didn't just drop on me like an anvil all of a sudden, it just gradually seeped in until I finally acknowledged it: there are no more games. There is no game tomorrow. No game the next day. No parade. No championship t-shirts or hats. No celebration with awkward, foreign players speaking broken english and still conveying thanks to the fans.

No Stanley Cup.

We took it for granted, really. It's the most precious prize in sports, and we took it for granted. We assumed because it was here last year, it would never leave. Once we saw the Red Wings shake off their shaky regular season defense, we just assumed that at the end, Nicklas Lidstrom would be holding Stanley over his head again. Even I, the ultimate pessimist, the eternal cynic and naysayer, never envisioned such tragedy. There have been terrible moments involving the Red Wings; games and moments that we all remember that bring us sadness. But overall, they've always been the constant for us. They've always risen above everything. When all our other teams floundered at some point, the Red Wings were there for us, a rock for which we could all lean on and be assured that it would remain steady. Through all this, through four Stanley Cups since 1997, we forgot that while winning it is the greatest feeling there is...we forgot what losing it felt like.

Now we all know. Now we all remember. Stanley is gone. And it's such bitter heartbreak, sometimes I wonder how we deal with it. I have not watched video of the end and the proceedings afterward yet. Nor will I. As I went through some photo galleries from the Detroit News and Yahoo, the pain was almost too much for me to bear. Seeing the looks on the faces of the players and fans...complete and utter devastation. I'm spoiled as a Detroit fan. In my life, I've seen (keyword there) four Stanley Cups, an NBA title, a National Championship in football, and an improbable American League pennant. I was far too young to have any memories of Michigan's national title in basketball in 1989 and the Pistons' first two titles in 1989 and 1990. Nevertheless, I recognize how lucky I've been. And there will be more. The Red Wings will return to the Finals and win another Stanley Cup, possibly as soon as next year. And yet, as much as I remember the positives, the negatives are right there too. I remember the 1995 Finals. Well, the ending, anyway. I have precisely zero memories of any part of any of the games, or even any feeling or emotion. I was six years old. I just remember seeing the Red Wings standing there, in their red jerseys, dejected and defeated as the Devils went wild with the Stanley Cup. I remember Game 5 against Colorado in 2002, when Forsberg flipped the puck over Hasek's shoulder in overtime and peeled away from the net, his arms raising in celebration. I remember almost running from the room, unable to watch anymore. That Wings team was a team of destiny, and I remember thinking to myself then, "That's how this is going to end, isn't it?" Of course, it wasn't. But the scars remain. I remember the 2006 Michigan/Ohio State game. The buildup for basically two months. The ESPN promos. Bo's death. And the game itself, the pain it caused. That was the last time I actually cried. Not just because of the loss, but because of that entire 48 hour period, where we went from being so confident and sure of ourselves to not being sure of anything because our entire world as Michigan fans had collapsed around us. I remember screaming at the top of my lungs when Rasheed left Horry alone after the inbounds pass. I remember once again being unable to watch as Game 7 wound down in San Antonio, because I wasn't willing to see the heartbreak on the faces of those Pistons. I had never loved a team like I loved those Pistons. They went down just like these Red Wings down - fighting to the bitter end, but just not having enough left in the tank to remain champions. Heavy lies the crown.

Shortly after I left the dejected, deadpanned voice mail on my friend's phone minutes after the game ended the other night, he called back. I didn't feel it vibrate, so it went to voice mail, where he left me a similarly devastated message. He told me that he wished we would never have a "9/23" to share together. "9/23" being the date of the Michigan State/Notre Dame football game in 2006, one that hollowed out the hearts of a lot of Spartans. A lot of good, decent people. I understand the pain he felt that night now. I feel a tremendous weight of guilt. After Game 6 ended, I was absolutely convinced the Red Wings would win Game 7. This friend of mine was not. He feared the worst. And I spent the next three days convincing him that he was wrong, and the Wings wouldn't let this slip away. And then, well...that happened. And I couldn't help but feel responsible. To pump someone up with so much hope, so much bravado, only to see the rug get yanked out from under.

A bunch of the injuries these Red Wings were battling through came to light yesterday. When you take stock of them, you can't help but wonder if there were higher powers at work, determined to prevent a repeat. I mean, look at last year. Franzen missed six games with a concussion. Holmstrom missed one game. I think Stuart missed one. And that was it. And this year you get Datsyuk, Lidstrom, Rafalski, Ericsson, Draper, Kopecky, and Lilja missing games. Cleary, Holmstrom, Hossa, and Zetterberg, nursing wounds that would've kept them out in the regular season. I can't ever recall a team being stricken so badly with the injury bug. I suppose we could take some sort of twisted solace from that, knowing that despite being so ravaged with wounds, they still got to Game 7 of the Finals, but whatever. There are no moral victories. Just an empty place where the Stanley Cup used to be.

Just a lot of heartbreak. And a lot of pain that won't go away for a long, long time.

Afterthoughts.

Part of being a sports fan is the inherent inevitability of disappointment. Every year in every sport, only one team and one group of fans is happy. For all the rest, there is just sadness. The vast majority of sports fans end the season disappointed. So there's were we, as Red Wings fans, are now. I mentioned this before, but we now have a chemical burn on our cheeks. Once the unbearable, mind-numbing pain fades away, we will be left with a grotesque, stomach-turning scar. The kind that stays with us forever, as a reminder. Shock has set in for many of us, myself most likely included. I've said it out loud, and I'll type it here: Pittsburgh won the last two games, and beat the Red Wings in Joe Louis Arena to take the Stanley Cup away from us.

It's bad. Believe me, I know. I will take this worse than essentially all of you, I promise. I still sit and think about games that happened years and years ago. This one probably tops the list of horror. I could go into detail, I suppose. Brad Stuart picked a terrible time to have his worst game as a Red Wing. Jiri Hudler was equally to blame on the second goal. Osgood wasn't great, he wasn't terrible. He let in two goals, and that should've been enough. And yet for the second straight game, the Wings came out listless and without passion. They didn't drive the net, they weren't strong with the puck. They once again waited for a multi-goal deficit before bringing the fury. Too little, too late. And now a summer of unbelievable discontent. Tough choices have to be made. Hossa, Hudler and Samuelsson are free agents. After seeing them vanish for most of the postseason, and the Finals in particular, is anybody really going to be devastated if they leave? It's clear to me that Hossa was injured. Not hurt, injured. But he came here to win, and didn't deliver. But none of them did. I wouldn't have blamed Pittsburgh fans for not watching when the Wings won Game 6 last year, because the instant the clock hit 0:00 tonight, I was gone. I left. And I discovered that I didn't even have the will to walk, which I almost always do after a brutal loss. I made it about three blocks, leaving a dull and listless voice mail on one of my best friend's phone on the way...and then I just turned back. The music on my MP3 player provided no comfort, it was just background noise to the deafening silence.

Oh, and congratulations to Pittsburgh. I despise sore losers and hypocrites, so I will give credit where credit is very much due. I hate Crosby and Malkin like poison, but they, and their teammates, deserved this. Their defense found a way to strangle the life out of the Red Wings. They did all the things the Wings didn't. They won the battles, they blocked shots, they took away passing lanes, they played smart. They played with the hunger the Red Wings showed last year, which just goes to show that the only thing harder than winning a championship is winning another. All season, the Red Wings floated, disinterested in regular season games. And that laziness ultimately doomed them, as they were completely unprepared for the dogged determination of Pittsburgh's forecheck. I didn't watch Pittsburgh's celebration, I will cringe and turn the channel whenever the image of Crosby holding the Cup comes on...but not because I feel they were undeserving. On the contrary. They deserved it much more than our Red Wings did...and that's why this hurts so much.

Meanwhile, life will go on. And the Wings will be back. Despite what the media rambled on about during the Western Finals, the Wings aren't a bunch of old geezers. Aside from maybe three guys (Osgood, Lidstrom, Rafalski), the core of this team is in its prime. Maybe with some luck, the stunning disappointment of tonight will serve as fuel. Hopefully a little humbling will re-ignite the fire we saw last year. And the fire we saw this year, from our opponents.

Journey.

Entering the 2007 Stanley Cup Playoffs, I was a bit of a jaded Red Wings fan. I think a lot of us were. We had been spoiled by the glory of 1997, 1998, and 2002. And the disappointments that followed were tough for us to swallow. It's reached a point where really, our expectations are too much. We don't just expect victory, we expect flair. We expect flashiness. We expect perfection. And whenever the Wings fall short, we are absolutely devastated, like we were in 2003, 2004, and 2006. Three seasons and four years total of tremendous letdown (or no season, thank you Bettman and Goodenow) was really hard on our spirits. Especially when they lost in the most spectacularly soul-crushing ways imaginable. A four game sweep at the hands of the 7th seeded Mighty Ducks in 2003, all four losses by a single goal, and two in overtime, including the final one that ended the season. A second round loss to Calgary in 2004, with back to back 1-0 losses in Games 5 and 6, the last one coming in double overtime in Alberta. And then the Edmonton series in 2006. Statistically, that Red Wings team was probably the best one since the lockout ended. 58 wins and 124 points, both 2nd best in franchise history. They scored the second most goals, and allowed the second fewest. They had the best power play and the third best penalty kill. And none of it mattered against the 8th seeded Oilers. Just like the 2004 Calgary series, it was tied 2-2 coming back to Joe Louis Arena for Game 5. And just like that Calgary series, the Wings lost that Game 5 at home. That time though, it looked like they would bounce back and force Game 7. They led the Oilers 2-0 after two periods in Game 6. 6:40 into the third period that lead was gone and the game was tied. The Wings retook the lead 3-2 with 9:53 to go, and the clock ticked away. Still looked like Game 7 was coming up, until the Oilers tied it again with 3:53 left (on a goal I still insist was kicked in by Ales Hemsky, but whatever). And we all remember how it ended. The pass across to Hemsky, he beats Manny Legace with 1:06 on the clock, the Oilers win 4-3 and eliminate the Red Wings and end Steve Yzerman's career.

So as I said, I wasn't especially optimistic as the 2007 playoffs began. The old guard of Red Wings players was gone. No more Shanahan, no more Yzerman. Lidstrom was the only prominent one left, but around him was a bunch of players we were still getting to know, and we were still waiting for them to produce in the playoffs. Can you believe Pavel Datsyuk had only 15 points in his first 42 career playoff games? Henrik Zetterberg only had 11 in his first 22. At this point, Johan Franzen was still mostly unknown. He was a rookie in 2005-2006, and did nothing to distinguish himself (16 points in 80 regular season games, 3 in 6 playoff games). It was an unproven bunch of players, and when the Wings drew Calgary again, this time in the first round, skepticism was abound. After winning the first two at home, the Wings lost Games 3 and 4 in Calgary, setting up yet another familiar scene: a 2-2 series tie, with Game 5 on the weekend in the afternoon on NBC at home. I think many of us were fearing, and even expecting, the worst. And what happened in that game was, what I firmly believe to this day, the moment these Red Wings started to grow up:



The Red Wings won that game 5-1, going on a tear after Cleary's penalty shot. And they won Game 6 in Calgary in double overtime, when somebody named Franzen rifled a shot past Mikka Kiprusoff. Nobody knew at the time that that goal was the birth of maybe the clutchest postseason performer in Red Wings history.


They found themselves up against it in the next round against the Sharks. Lost Game 1 at home, fell behind 2-0 in Game 2 very quickly, rallied to win it 3-2, then lost Game 3 on the road, and trailed Game 4 2-1 late. I mean, really late. As in you didn't have time to go to the bathroom because you would've missed the end of the game. 30 seconds to go, Robert freaking Lang of all people ties the game, and Mathieu Schneider wins it in overtime. Cruel irony I suppose that two players who would not be around to partake in the future glory, Lang and Schneider, were responsible for another huge step in the maturation process for these Wings. If they lose that game in San Jose, they go down 3-1 and they're cooked. Instead, they steal it, dust the Sharks 4-1 in Game 5 and finish them 2-0 in Game 6.

The hockey gods caught up with them in the Western Finals against the Ducks. Schneider broke his wrist in Game 5 against the Sharks and didn't play a single second. Niklas Kronwall, who, while not yet the earth-shattering destroyer we know him as now, was still one of our better defensemen, did not play at all in the playoffs after being hurt late in the regular season. Those injuries, combined with a still young team still learning on the go in the playoffs added up to a heartbreaker. Another four game split, another 2-2 series tie with Game 5 at home on NBC on a weekend afternoon. I spent a lot of time referencing this game back during this year's Anaheim series. We all remember it. Wings up 1-0, lose the lead on the fluttering puck of death, and then lose in OT on the most egregious turnover this side of Bird stealing it from Isiah. The hangover from the kick to the groin was too much, and yet, even in season-ending defeat, there was triumph. The Wings were down 3-0 after two periods of Game 6 in Anaheim, and then somehwhere, somehow, the lights went on, and before our eyes, we saw Pavel Datsyuk and Henrik Zetterberg shed the labels of postseason underachievers. A goal and an assist from Z, two goals from Datsyuk. Time ran out on them, they lost 4-3, but there isn't a Red Wings fan alive who doesn't think that that game is tied and goes to overtime if the Wings had five more minutes. It emerged too late to save the season, but Datsyuk and Zetterberg and finally filled the voids left by Yzerman and Shanahan.

Since then, that leadership has been on display at all the right times. Expectations have returned to their normally lofty levels, and the Red Wings have delivered. Sure, there have been moments of doubt. Hasek's meltdown in Nashville last year ended his career and put Chris Osgood in net. Babcock said it best then: if you're changing goalies in the playoffs, you're usually golfing a few days later. We all had horrifying Anaheim flashbacks when in Game 5 of that series, with it all tied up two games apiece, the Predators tied the game 1-1 with less than a minute remaining. It was a script all too familiar to us, and we were in shock as we saw it play out right in front of us once again. Except this time, Johan Franzen changed things up. Instead of crumbling from the shock of losing the lead late in a game they had dominated, the Wings rose up, led by Franzen, and beat the Predators in overtime. Osgood delivered a shutout in Game 6, and the Wings were moving on. A laughable series against Colorado ensued. It was an easy sweep, and by the end of Game 4 in Denver (an 8-2 win), it was men against boys. That was the series that elevated Franzen to almost mythical status. Entering the Western Conference Finals against Dallas, we were all nervously optimistic. We had faith - shaky faith, but faith nonetheless - that the lessons learned by this Red Wings team would be put to good use now. We believed they were on a mission. And they played like it, taking the first three games against the Stars. They lost Game 4 in Dallas, and then played Game 5 much like they played Game 6 in Pittsburgh the other night - tenative, conservative, unmotivated. Credit to Marty Turco for that game (and credit to Marc-Andre Fleury for the other night), but the Wings were lazy. So they lost. And now their 3-0 series lead was suddenly 3-2, with Game 6 coming up in hostile territory. Doubt crept into our minds once again. How would this team respond to adversity? How would they answer the bell on the road?

Their response? A 3-0 lead after the first period. A 4-0 lead after Zetterberg's highlight reel shorthanded breakaway in the second. A convincing 4-1 win, and a Western Conference championship. And a return to the Stanley Cup Finals. It had only been six years, and yet to me, and to many Wings fans, I'm sure, it felt like an eternity.

Fast forward a bit now. Game 5 against the Penguins. Red Wings up three games to one after winning Game 4 in Pittsburgh. An electric buzz going through the Joe, as every man, woman and child knows what's in the building. Stanley was in the house, and everyone expected the Red Wings to collect, especially after seeing how the Wings dominated Games 1 and 2 at home. But, still lacking the experience of champions, the Wings came out and panicked. Their passes were sloppy, pucks were bouncing off their sticks, there were turnovers, and it was just generally bad play. And they paid for it, falling behind 2-0 after the first. Slowly but surely though, they found their legs, and headed to the 3rd down 2-1. And the shooting gallery began. Datsyuk broke in, deked Fleury, hit the crossbar. Everybody, including myself, thought it had hit the back bar, which (obviously) would've been a goal. Instead, still 2-1. Groans and mumbles. A couple minutes later, a Detroit power play, a slap pass from Zetterberg, a deflection by Datsyuk, and a tie game. Panic was fully on the side of the Pittsburgh Penguins as the Red Wings smelled blood. Less than three minutes after that, with the pressure still mounting, a pass came out from the side of the net into the slot to Brian Rafalski, who let a snap shot go. Everything seemed to stop for a moment. For maybe a full second, nobody seemed to know where the puck was. And then the red light went on, Doc Emrick cried out that it was in, the Wings raised their arms, and the Joe went crazy. Halfway through the 3rd period, the Red Wings had taken a 3-2 lead, and the Cup was removed from its case, minutes away from being presented to Nicklas Lidstrom.

What happened after that is something that will never leave us. Yes, it proved to be ultimately irrelevant, because the Wings won Game 6. But with 34.7 seconds left, with the home crowd roaring in appreciation, Pittsburgh inexplicably tied the game at three, and 20,000 people gasped. It was a vacuum. Air was sucked out of the arena. A couple hours later, in the third overtime, the Penguins won the game. As I said, ultimately irrelevant, and yet the scar of 34.7 will always remain with us. I know many fans who refuse to ever watch it again. It was one of the most traumatic events, sports-wise that is, we had ever witnessed. And for the next two days, every Red Wings fan, while trying to recover, wondered about the players and coaches. How could they possibly respond from such heartbreak? To be literally seconds away from the top of the mountain, only to have two hands placed on your chest and be given a vicious shove backward. A year earlier we saw a Red Wings team respond to such a blow by tucking their tails between their legs and rolling over against the Ducks in Game 6. This time, we saw the response of a champion. A 2-0 lead, and a 3-1 lead in the 3rd period. Time betrayed Pittsburgh, and yet when they scored late to make it 3-2, my heart nearly stopped. I couldn't possibly bear the thought of them doing it to us again. And in the final seconds, when Crosby's backhander trickled past Osgood, and Hossa's one-handed desperation hack fluttered through the crease, I believe I jumped so high I nearly beheaded myself in the ceiling fan. And once again, time seemed to stop. The Red Wings were dazed, like they didn't know what was next. Osgood looked up at the clock for a second, saw 0:00, and raised his arms. He looked around at his teammates like, "Guys, it's over! We did it!" And they came out of their stupor, and the celebration was on as the bench poured out onto the ice.

And now this year. The most impossible of expectations have been placed on this year's Red Wings team. It is the goal of every team in every league in every sport in every country to win a championship, but very few are given the mandate by their fans: You win the title, or it's all a failure. That is the task given to these Detroit Red Wings. They loafed through the regular season a bit. Their defense was lax, the goaltending subpar. Late in the season, they lost 8-0 to Nashville and 8-2 to Columbus. There was panic and anger among the fanbase. Nobody could have envisioned the "flipping of the switch" once the postseason started. I might be the first to say it, but they were so lucky they got Columbus in the first round. The playoff virgins were the perfect tuneup. If they had gotten the Ducks first, I honestly think they might've been ousted. But four games against a wide-eyed team that had never tasted this type of hockey was exactly what the Red Wings needed to shift into playoff mode. And once they finished the sweep, the adversity returned - the Game 3 screwjob in Anaheim, where Hossa's goal was called back, and the Wings lost 2-1 to fall behind in the series. Once again, there was anxiety and anger. The last time they had trailed in a series had been two years earlier against these same Ducks, and they had not responded to that challenge like they should have. But these Wings were older, more experienced, and more savvy. They clubbed the Ducks 6-3 in Game 4 and 4-1 in Game 5. Their focus waned in Game 6, as they lost 2-1, forcing a pressure-packed Game 7. If there's one thing to really criticize about these Red Wings, its their recurring lack of killer instinct. It took them three tries to knock out Dallas in 2008, two tries to knock out Pittsburgh, and two tries to knock out Anaheim this year. Even then, it wasn't easy. A 3-1 lead late in the second period became a 3-3 tie midway through the third. Every Detroit fan everywhere, whether it be at Joe Louis Arena or on the couch watching on TV throughout the country, was on the edge of their seat. This team had come too far and been through too much together to see it end in the second round at home against their hated rivals. And like they've made a habit of doing, they responded. Dan Cleary will never be a "star" in this league. He'll never be flashy. He'll never score 30, 40, 50+ goals. But he's got a special place in the hearts of all Red Wings fans. The walkon who won a job with the team coming out of the lockout, when nothing was guaranteed to him, carved a niche on this club made out of hard work, sacrifice and determination. And he showed all of that when he delivered the final blow that vanquished the Ducks.



Against Chicago in this year's Western Conference Finals, there was a different kind of adversity. I think after Game 3, we all knew the Wings were clearly the better team. They lost that game in overtime, and actually fell behind 3-0. But they erased that lead in about five minutes in the second period, and did it with such ease, we all knew. We knew that while Chicago was young, feisty and skilled, they weren't ready for this stage. What we all knew came to the forefront in Game 4, when the Wings delivered a 6-1 beatdown while Pavel Datsyuk and Nicklas Lidstrom watched from the sidelines, nursing injuries. In that game the Red Wings completely outclassed Chicago, and the baby Blackhawks lost their minds, taking cheapshot after cheapshot, and running their mouths like a bunch of high schoolers trying to be hard asses. They came back in Game 5 to make it close, but that tenacious little sonofabitch Darren Helm put the winner in in overtime. 2-1, Red Wings. Western Conference champions, once again.

We all knew the Finals wouldn't be as "easy" as they were last year. I use that term very, very loosely too, because they weren't easy at all last year. We all knew Pittsburgh wouldn't come out intimidated in the first two games like in 2008. I think everybody expected games much like Games 3-6 a year ago: close, tightly contested, decided by a goal or two. And for the most part, that has been exactly how it played out. The Red Wings led Games 1 and 2 2-1 after two periods, and got some...interesting goals from Abdelkader in the 3rd both times to provide some cushion. Game 3 was tied 2-2 in the 3rd, and Pittsburgh found a way to win. The Wings led Game 4 2-1 before completely losing it, just a total defensive breakdown, and suddenly it was 4-2 Penguins, and the series was tied. It was here that I was really afraid. Everybody laughs about it now in retrospect, but there is a reason all the media people said that Pittsburgh was the favorite after Game 4 because the Wings looked tired. That was true. They looked listless and fatigued at the end of that game. If that had been the case, this would've been over by now, because there's no recovering from hitting a brickwall when your energy level runs out. Of course, that turned out to be laughable, as the Wings were energized by their home crowd and dusted the Penguins 5-0 in Game 5. They played Game 6 in Pittsburgh just like they played Game 6 in Anaheim. They were unmotivated and lackadaisical. I think we all expected a big push from Pittsburgh in the first 10 minutes or so. It lasted a period, and it was 0-0. Okay, we all thought. The Penguins have their backs to the wall on their home ice, and they gave it their all, and didn't get anything to show for it. Now we'll play our game and take control. Except it didn't happen. The second period was a carbon copy of the first, and this time Pittsburgh put one on the board. They got it to 2-0 in the third before the Wings finally came to life, making it 2-1 and throwing one huge barrage late to try to tie it. So many chances. A loose puck with a gaping net on the power play, with Hudler and Lidstrom closing in, only to have Rob Scuderi sweep it away at the last instant. A breakaway for Cleary with less than two minutes to go, robbed by Fleury. A loose puck in the crease with Fleury down and out with less than 20 seconds left, only to have Scuderi rob Franzen. It was close, it was heartstopping, and it was disappointing.

What's the point of all this rambling by me? I'm here to tell you that the Red Wings will win Game 7. Absolutely. I was infinitely more concerned after Game 4 of this series than I was after Game 6. And you never, EVER bet against the home team in a Game 7. The home team is 12-2 all-time in Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals, and while those previous 14 games have absolutely nothing to do with these two teams, it shows a trend. It is ridiculously hard for a road team to win Game 7. Home ice advantage in hockey is probably one of, if not the biggest home advantages in sports. The Red Wings this postseason, and both teams in this series especially, have looked like completely different teams at home. Detroit is 11-1 at home in the playoffs, 4-6 on the road. It has something to do with having the last change and getting the matchups you want and being able to cheat on the faceoffs more at home, yes. But above that, it's an energy level. It's a passion, and a fire that is stoked by the home crowd screaming their lungs out. Tomorrow night is going to be perhaps the loudest crowd in Joe Louis Arena history. And you better believe the Red Wings are going to feed off that intensity. Pittsburgh's desperation level was at its peak in front of their home fans in Game 6. It's going to be pretty hard for them to match that on the road for the second straight game, especially against a Wings team that will have upped their own level of desperation and intensity.

Yeah, it's a Game 7. Anything can happen. One bad bounce, one bad penalty, one bad line change, one mental lapse can lead to the mistake that ends your season. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's to NEVER doubt this Red Wings team. We have watched them grow up right in front of our eyes. We have watched Zetterberg and Datsyuk ascend to the throne left behind by the legends whose footsteps they have followed in. Since learning their lessons in 2007, they have taken us on a marvelous journey, and answered every challenge that has been presented to them. And now, in the ultimate rubber match, the ultimate winner-takes-all showdown, the final game of the season, Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals at home in Detroit, they will answer this one last challenge like champions. And they will be rewarded as such, with another Stanley Cup.

Don't stop believin'.

Closing Time.

It's a bit of a watered down term in sports nowadays: "Dynasty." Guys like John Wooden and Bill Russell probably laugh when they hear the Patriots being declared a dynasty after three Super Bowls in four years. They shake their heads with amusement when the Spurs are crowned a dynasty after four championships in nine years. Hell, the term dynasty gets thrown around in regards to USC football, and they only have one crystal football in their possession, and only have claim to one other title. Yeah, seven straight 11+ win seasons. Seven straight Pac-10 championships. Six BCS bowl victories.

Wooden and Russell think all of that is chump change. Bill Russell says 11 NBA championships in 13 years is a dynasty. John Wooden says 10 NCAA championships in 12 years is a dynasty.

Of course, that was a different era. Those kind of standards will never be met ever again, and it's unrealistic to expect them to be. So debates rage on. It's pretty much a consensus that the Patriots were a dynasty. Winning back to back Super Bowls, let alone three in four years, in a salary cap league is astonishing. There's a bit more debate with the Spurs, as they never won back to back titles, which seems to be one of the cornerstone prerequisites for "dynasty" status nowadays.

So now we come to the Detroit Red Wings. Since 1995:

• 6 50-win seasons
• 11 100-point seasons
• 6 Presidents Trophies
• 8 final fours
• 6 conference championships
• 4 Stanley Cups

That last number might increase to five after tonight. So that would be five Stanley Cups, all since 1997, all while transitioning into a salary cap era and going through basically a complete roster overhaul. The only guys left from the 1997 and 1998 Cup teams are Lidstrom, McCarty, Maltby, Draper, Holmstrom and Osgood. From the 2002 Cup team, Lidstrom, McCarty, Maltby, Draper, and Holmstrom (Ozzie wasn't on that one). Oh, and Datsyuk. He was an unknown rookie on the 2002 team, playing behind legends like Yzerman, Shanahan, Fedorov, Hull, and Robitaille. All those guys are gone now. In their place are gems unearthed deep in the draft by the best front office in sports. Pavel Datsyuk, 171st overall, Hart Trophy finalist. Henrik Zetterberg, 210th overall, reigning Conn Smythe Trophy winner. Johan Franzen, 97th overall, and one of the clutchest postseason performers in Red Wings history. Nicklas Lidstrom, 53rd overall, and one of the greatest players of all-time whose number will join the legends hanging in the Joe Louis Arena rafters the instant he retires. Chris Osgood, 54th overall, constantly scorned and eternally disrespected all the way to the Hall of Fame. Valtteri Filppula, 95th overall. Jiri Hudler, 58th overall. Tomas Holmstrom, 257th overall. Dan Cleary, the professional equivalent of a walkon. He was invited to training camp and won a job. Mikael Samuelsson, cast off from four different NHL teams before landing a niche in Detroit. Brian Rafalski, the hometown boy who left the trap machine in New Jersey and has filled in for the departed Mathieu Schneider perfectly. Brad Stuart, rescued from hockey pergatory (Los Angeles) at the trade deadline last year in exchange for a couple draft picks, now a steady and fearsome force on the blueline who took less money to re-sign after last season. His partner on defense, Niklas Kronwall, the only player on the roster drafted in the first round by the Red Wings. Marian Hossa, the only one even close to being a "hired gun" on this team, took less money to come here for one reason. That one reason is within his grasp tonight in Pittsburgh.

Closing time draws near. Whether it be tonight or Friday night back in Detroit. It was Rudy Tomjanovich who coined the phrase, "Don't ever underestimate the heart of a champion." When did he say that? In the aftermath of the Houston Rockets winning their second straight NBA championship. Saturday night, we saw the heart of a champion. We watched the Red Wings get beaten around in Games 3 and especially 4 in Pittsburgh. We all watched what we believed to be a fatigued, laboring team that had hit a wall. We watched the media start to size up the Penguins' fingers for Stanley Cup rings. And we watched them laugh in everyone's faces Saturday night, a 5-0 wipeout that showed us all what the Wings are made of. They're made of grit, and passion, and determination, and will. And heart.

Tonight or Friday, the bell will toll, destiny will call, and a dynasty will be crowned. Because this team isn't going to accept anything else.

Empty.

Penguins 4, Red Wings 2; Stanley Cup Finals, 2-2

I was six and a half years old when the New Jersey Devils swept the Red Wings in the 1995 Stanley Cup Finals. My memories of that series are essentially nonexistant. I have only the foggiest, dimmest recollection of the Devils celebrating with the Cup while the Red Wings stood off to the side, dejected, defeated and heartbroken. And the only reason I remember that is because I remember looking across the room and seeing my dad sitting on the edge of his seat, his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands as he lamented, "It's just never going to happen for them, is it?"

Even during some of the spectacular playoff losses experienced by the Red Wings over the years - Colorado in 1996, 1999 and 2000, Los Angeles in 2001, Anaheim in 2003 and 2007, Calgary in 2004, and Edmonton in 2006 - I never felt like the Red Wings had hit the wall in terms of energy. When they lost to the Flames in 2004, I knew they had reached the end of the road. They were old, the lockout was coming, and we'd seen the end of that Red Wings roster. But never before had I watched them and seen a fatigued, gassed team reaching down into the gas tank and coming up with air.

Until tonight.

Maybe it's a combination of fatigue, maybe it's some mix of arrogance, but in the second period tonight, up 2-1, and on a power play...the Red Wings managed to lose momentum.

Think about that. In Game 4 of the Stanley Cup Finals, on the power play while already winning and a chance to grind the skate into Pittsburgh's carotid artery, the Detroit Red Wings, always lauded for their machine-like efficiency and deadly execution even in the most hostile of environments, lost the momentum. Brian Rafalski has a lot of very desirable traits as a hockey player. He's a great catalyst on the power play. He skates really well. He's a smart player in general, is usually in the correct position and is a solid puckhandler. And as a one on one defender, he's pretty much worthless. His effort on Staal's shorthanded goal...I've seen grannies swing their purses with more force than that wave he did with his stick. Ever heard of laying out and sweeping your stick across to knock if off the guy's stick?

In general though, everyone must be held accountable. Holmstrom, Hudler, Samuelsson, Cleary, Hossa. All are essentially invisible on offense now. I see Hossa motoring into the offensive zone, and then I see him doing his usual thing of dragging the puck around the perimeter. It accomplishes nothing. I know the energy level is low, but it's time for accountability. I know Nicklas Lidstrom isn't a big "rah rah" motivational type of captain like Steve Yzerman was, but something has to be done.

Oh, and yes, this is something that generally is in bad form, because I am certainly not an athlete and it's easy for people like me to play armchair _______, but Pavel Datsyuk...I'm looking right at you and I'm holding my arms up like, "Well?" Stevie Y went through the entire 2002 postseason on one leg. His second leg was his stick, and he used it as a crutch everytime he went down? Why? Because his knee was ruined, and he was in agony. Brent Gilchrist went through the 1998 playoffs with his groin muscle in pieces, something that would have any of us crying like little babies. So, Pavel, I ask, is it REALLY bad enough where you can participate fully in practice for two straight days, go all out for 90 minutes (three times the regular amount of time) and then take the pregame skate only to determine that you can't go?

And as usual, the special teams are a disgrace. I'm not sure if McCrimmon is in charge of just one or both, but his fingerprints are all over this fiasco. The PK is the PK. It sucks and will continue to suck. But the power play has been playing with fire for a while now. The passes are lackadaisical and they're being dragged down by some pitiful effort. Hudler camps out in the corner on the first unit, and Samuelsson does what Samuelsson does on the second - ill-advised shots that miss the net, ricochet off the glass and come out of the zone on the other end. And tonight, the PP was just comical. You would think that giving up one breakaway would've woken them up, but no. These guys were in such a coma they coughed it up again, and this time it ended up in our net. Bottom line, the Penguins played hungrier and with more desperation. It is unacceptable and at one time was unimaginable that the Wings showed absolutely no fire. This is the same kind of stink that ruined the Pistons. Lazy, unmotivated, sleepwalking through games and then trying to rev it up after falling behind, which the Red Wings tried to do tonight.

If the tank is empty, then there is unimaginable heartbreak ahead, because there's no recovering from lack of energy. If it's a lack of motivation and general malaise...then it's time for some kicks in the asses. Game 5 is going to tell us a lot about these Red Wings. We're either going to see a team pissed off at themselves because of their terrible play tonight and energized by their home crowd, or we're going to see a defending champion in its final days. Enough with the lazy passes and the lapses in concentration. You're a PUCK POSSESSION team, so POSSESS the PUCK! If fatigue is the issue, then get some fresh legs in there. Maltby contributes nothing, put Abdelkader back in.

In the end, it all boils down to will and determination. And Pavel Datsyuk. Babcock said that a team can only go so long without its best player before it starts to hurt. We are officially past that point now. The Red Wings need Datsyuk like humans need oxygen. The one thing the Wings need right now is energy, and Datsyuk would bring it in spades after two weeks off, even if he's not 100%. So I say again, how 'bout it, Pavel?

Saviors and serpents.

There are two smiles in the picture above. One of them is genuine, one of them is plastered on for effect. Take a guess at which is which.

This isn't going to be a long, rambling post full of conspiracy theory and tin foil hats. If Gary Bettman wanted to ensure the Penguins would be Stanley Cup Champions, he would've "fixed" it so the Red Wings didn't sniff the Final. So no, it's not rigged. It's just riddled with bad officiating and overseen by a serpent who makes everything around him worse for being there. Bettman isn't smart enough to orchenstrate a conspiracy to bring the Cup to Pittsburgh.

Regardless...I have a bad feeling. Now granted, I'm an uber-pessimist by nature. I always assume the worst in pretty much everything. Whenever the Red Wings go to overtime, I expect them to lose. They've proven me wrong twice so far this postseason. But that won't stop me from being cynical. Last year I was eeriely confident. So confident I committed an inexcusable gaffe - I ordered a Western Conference Champions t-shirt in the euphoria of beating the Stars in the WCF last year. I grew increasingly paranoid as the Final progressed, worried that karma would catch up and smite the Red Wings, punishing me for celebrating a conference championship. Such thinking is, of course, complete nonsense. But rational thought is not to be expected from hockey fans in the playoffs. And in the end it didn't matter. Wings 3, Penguins 2. Wings four wins, Penguins two. Wings, Cup Champs.

So what did I do immediately after the Red Wings finished Chicago in overtime Wednesday night? I went to NHL.com and ordered a 2009 Western Champs t-shirt, naturally. It worked last year.

Okay, all nonsense aside, these things I know are true.

1. If it was The Face of the League™ Sidney Crosby nursing the injury, there's no way this thing would be starting on Saturday, followed up by the next game on Sunday.
2. Pavel Datsyuk is not healthy, and if he ever gets on the ice, that's going to be noticeable.
3. Chris Osgood is a better goalie than Marc-Andre Fleury. And since he's Chris Osgood, nobody will acknowledge this.
4. The "stage fright" that everyone says the Penguins experienced in Games 1 and 2 last year is being vastly overblown. Stage fright lasts for ten minutes, maybe a period. Not a whole game, and certainly not two whole games. The Red Wings just flat out dominated the Penguins in those opening games.
5. With that said, the Penguins will not be shut out for 120 minutes of hockey this time around.
6. Marian Hossa is going to do his best to offset any hinderance in Pavel Datsyuk's game. He's going to play in this series like his life and the lives of all of his family members are on the line. The one flaw in Hossa's game is that he's not always "there", that he can coast at times. You don't think he's going to be "there" for the Final? This is why he signed with Detroit. And all the Pittsburgh fans spewing venom at him when the series shifts to Pittsburgh is just going to make him play better.
7. Pittsburgh fans can justify and rationalize all about who wouldn't be on their team if Hossa had signed with them. Fact is, you don't lose a top 10 forward and get better. Deeper, maybe. Better? No. Just as the Wings are better with him, the Penguins are worse without him.
8. The Red Wings aren't going to bottle up Malkin for five games like they did last year.
9. Malkin (and Crosby) also isn't going to go crazy like he did for the first three rounds, because the Red Wings defense is in an entirely different league than Philadelphia, Washington and Carolina. The free-flowing, wide-open games in the East are done. It's always said that you have to be willing to get down and dirty in the corners and in front of the net to win the Stanley Cup. The Red Wings (and the Western Conference as a whole) have this down. But that's not to say the Penguins don't. This is where their experience from last year will come into play. They know more about what sacrifices have to be made to win it all. But they're also not going to do any of that "down and dirty" stuff better than the Ducks did.
10. While the Penguins haven't faced a defense like Detroit's, the opposite holds true as well: while the Wings have faced some elite players (Nash, Getzlaf & Perry, Toews & Kane), they haven't faced a duo like Crosby and Malkin (this year, anyway).

I want to be confident. I really do. I want to be brash, arrogant and full of bravado like Chief over at Abel to Yzerman. But I can't. It's not who I am or what I am. What I am is cautious, fearful, and worrisome.

Worrisome that when it's all said and done, the serpent's smile will be genuine this time.

Bias.

Blackhawks 4, Red Wings 3 (OT); Western Finals, 2-1

In 1983, Dan O'Halloran was shot and almost killed by an unknown gunman while in the city of Detroit.

25+ years later, I guess he's trying to even the score.

Last year, it was O'Halloran that immediately waved off a Red Wings goal in Game 4 of the Western Conference Finals against Dallas. That goal would've given the Wings a 1-0 lead, deflated the already sketchy Dallas crowd, and shattered the teetering psyche of the Stars.

Instead, O'Halloran ruled it was no goal because Tomas Holmstrom was interfering with Marty Turco. I posted this, along with this picture:

Dallas ended up scoring first in that game, won it, and eventually forced the series to six games before the Red Wings closed them out.

In Game 1 of the Finals last year, same thing happened. Holmstrom was in front of the goalie, not inside the crease, contact was made, and because of Holmstrom's reputation, the goal was wiped out. Didn't matter that Holmstrom has every right to be there as long as he isn't bumping the goalie in the crease. Didn't matter that the contact was negligible and it was dubious as to who actually intiated it.

The referee? Dan O'Halloran.

And now tonight. Watch the video. The CBC guys make multiple mentions of it. Not a single arm goes up from a single official when Kronwall blows up Havlat, who wasn't even paying attention. Just like Stuart's hit on Selanne in Game 7 against Anaheim, there was no penalty called until they saw there was an injury. Only in this fucked up league could the result carry more weight than the intent. In other news, I hear they're going to treat manslaughter as a more serious offense than attempted murder.

Oh wait. That doesn't make any sense at all, does it?

Obviously this did not affect the outcome of the game. The Wings came back, tied it 3-3, and for some reason coasted through the third period (against a cold goalie who hadn't played in six weeks) and then came out with their heads up their asses in OT. Chicago deserved to win.

Doesn't change the fact that O'Halloran is a joke. I'm not going to directly say that he is intentionally (or unintentionally, even) screwing the Wings as some sort of bizarre payback for what happened to him 26 years ago. But at the same time, how amateurish of the NHL to continuously put him in Detroit games. Then again, it IS the NHL I'm talking about. Might as well be an amateur league with their Mickey Mouse commissioner and butt sniffing lapdog of a disciplinarian. You want to give Kronwall two minutes for interference because by the strictest letter of the law, it probably was? Okay. It'd be a tick-tack call, but we'd live with it. But five and a game for that is irresponsible and can't help but make us question the motives of the people calling the shots. Get the fuck out, O'Halloran. You're a sideshow and an embarrassment.

Then again, maybe it's not his fault. Maybe there was no bias on his part. Maybe he's just another pathetic cog in the pathetic machine that spits out pathetic NHL referees. I thought I'd seen the lowest of lows when NBA refs essentially took the Phoenix Suns out back and made them grab their ankles in their series against the San Antonio Spurs a few years ago. I thought I'd seen the lowest of lows when Ed Hochuli literally took a win away from the San Diego Chargers last year because he blew a call.

This is definitely the lowest. Not this specific incident, as laughable as it is. But the entire situation. There is no sport, no league with more abysmal officiating than the NHL. Tired of hearing the complaining? Tough shit. Incompetence has to be exposed. I shouldn't have to look up who the officials are going to be in a game and wonder if things are going to get screwed up. This is the third time in two years O'Halloran has stuck his nose where it didn't belong in a Red Wings game.

When's the fourth one going to happen?

Closure.

Red Wings 4, Ducks 3; Wings win Western Semis, 4-3

It was exciting. It was exhilirating. It was pulse-racing, gutwrenching, and nearly heartbreaking.

And just like Chief over at A2Y, I'll be damned if I'm going to be classy about this.

Fuck the Ducks. Fuck their players, fuck their coaches. Chris Pronger can go to hell, and he can take that bitch Corey Perry with him. Special Nieds Scott Niedermayer can shave his skunk beard and take his cheap shots and retire. Wizdoucheski and Doucheimin can suck it. Ryan Getzlaf can get slapped if that's what it will take for him to shut his stupid mouth. Randy Cry-lyle can sit on it and rotate with his double talk about goalie interference and how "physical play is allowed".

This was the sweetest victory since we killed Patrick Roy seven years ago. Sweeter than the Cup vs. Pittsburgh last year. Why? Because this was personal. This was against a team intent on not just beating us, but destroying us. Last night was more than a dramatic seventh game victory that sent us to our third straight final four. It was about delivering the final blow against our #1 nemesis. And make no mistake about it, the Ducks are as close to the 1996-2002 Avalanche as we're going to get. Their classlessness and thuggish intimidation tactics drove us mad with fury, blinded us with rage as we called for blood. And yet the ones who mattered most - the Red Wings players - did what they do best: they answered goonery with goals. And at 9:32 PM eastern time, at the 11th hour of the 7th game, good triumphed over evil; Batman finally beat the Joker; the Red Wings finally vanquished their nemesis in an act of vengeance years in the making.

Rob Niedermayer's pushing of Hasek in Game 2 in 2007. Pronger's elbow on Holmstrom. The fluttering puck of death in Game 5. Lilja's giveaway to Selanne. Watching the Ducks celebrate a Western Conference title. Brown's "physical play" on Hudler. Special Nieds and Getslapped interfering with Osgood in Game 3. Brad Watson. Pronger trying to kill Datsyuk after Game 3. Special Nieds' elbow on Datsyuk after Game 6. Perry the fairy beating a defenseless Rafalski to a pulp. The constant cross checks. The constant runnings of our goalie. The constant cheap shots and trash talk.


All of the above was atoned for last night. Like I had called for for the past two weeks, the Ducks finally paid their debt. They paid for the crimes they have committed. Was this the end? Probably not. The Ducks will be back. There will come a time, probably in the near future, when they return for more. They will continue to do what they do. Perry and Getslapped are both young. They will continue to annoy us for years to come. Sasquatch is getting long in the tooth, but he's not done throwing his elbows around just yet. Special Nieds may or may not return, I'm sure he will spend time in his Prius meditating or some shit to figure out if he's going to hold the Ducks hostage for half a year again or not. Regardless, this war isn't over like the war against Colorado was over in 2002.

But we have closure. The trangressions for which they are responsible over the past two years have been answered for. I'm sure somebody will admonish me for this post, calling me classless and saying that karma will get me. To that, I say: nyah nyahhhhh. This WAS karma. The Ducks had karma coming to them for all they've done, and they got it, the most glorious of ways. It's the job of the players and coaches to be classy (which, by the way...the Ducks aren't), not the fans. If you expect people to be superficially gracious and respectful, you picked the wrong blog to read. The wrong sport to follow. The wrong species to be a part of.


Go golfing, bitch. Have fun on that golf course. Maybe you can find a caddy to beat the shit out of and make yourself feel good. Make sure you tell him that's he's gonna get it.

Finality.

I suppose it couldn't have ended any other way. The Red Wings' effort last night was terrible for two periods. The conditions of the ice were atrocious and probably a deliberate ploy by Anaheim to slow down the Wings, allowing their one-line Ducks to keep up. The Ducks were, as usual, a bunch of gutless assholes when the game ended. I'm sure Corey Perry felt really good about himself after he jumped Brian Rafalski, a non-fighter in his first game back from injury. Scott Niedermayer throws his elbow at Datsyuk's head, and then makes sure his visor is pulled down to protect himself should Datsyuk throw a punch. The Ducks are what they are: a bunch of spineless cheap shot artists.

And none of that matters anymore.

What matters is that the latest chapter in this bitter war will come down to one of the greatest things in sports. The Seventh Game. Just the words "Game Seven" evoke memories of warriors past. Those who saw it will never forget Stevie Y's blast against St. Louis in 1996. We all remember where we were for Game 7 against Colorado in 2002, when the Red Wings finally won the war against Patrick Roy, sending him away for good, ending the Detroit/Colorado rivalry.

For outside observers, nothing is greater than Game Seven. For fans of the teams involved, there is nothing worse. The obsessive qualities that make us diehard fans, they all work against us in a Game Seven situation. The emotional investment we pour into these teams threatens our sanity. Four years ago, during the day of Game Seven between the Pistons and Spurs, I felt sick to my stomach all day. I was literally trembling from anxiety and fear. Is it unhealthy? Is it over the top? Yeah, probably. For most, sports is just a hobby. Something to follow, something to be interested in. For me, it has become something more. Some people become addicted to certain types of food. Some people become alcoholics or worse, drug addicts. Me? I'm addicted to sports. It's a religion, as far as I'm concerned. It dictates my mood. I'm in the category of Red Wings fans who are like drug addicts. When the Red Wings win, it's a high that can't be matched. When they lose, we shiver in the corner, we zone out, we become irritable, irrational nutcases incapable of rational thought or reason. It's a passion that those who don't have it cannot begin to comprehend. For people like me, Game Seven is a cathedral and a cemetary all at the same time. It's the highest of highs and the lowest of lows.

Tonight will be a restless one of Red Wings fans of my ilk. We know deep down that we cannot affect the outcome. We know that the ones who will decide it are the players who lace up the skates and put it all out there on the ice. And yet, we still have our superstitions and rituals that we go through, perhaps simple, naive belief that there are higher powers at work that will strike us down if we deviate from the motions we go through. "Hockey Gods", as it were. There are coaches and players who believe in the Hockey Gods. In this case, they believe that if they work hard enough, do all the right things and keep hacking away, the Hockey Gods will reward them for their dedication. For fans, it is similar in the sense that we naively believe that if we follow the same stringent procedures, the Hockey Gods will smile on our team. Since Abel to Yzerman busted it out earlier in this series, I have included "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" in my pregame ritual, along with my usual "Hell's Bells". The latter is just one I rock out to so my adrenalin is up for the game, but the former is effective too, I've noticed. It does a great job serving as the calm before the storm.

We sometimes like to refer to the players of our favorite teams as "heroes". Politically correct people take offense to this, preferring to reserve that title for people in the military, firefighters, police officers, etc. Me, I don't see the big deal. I don't think it's disrespectful. I fully recognize that the people putting their lives on the line to keep us safe as heroes, and I acknowledge their heroism is much more significant than that of those who make a living playing a game. I'm comfortable calling professional athletes heroes if I deem them to be. The Red Wings are heroes because they lay it on the line for us every night (well, almost every night). They bring us happiness. They provide us an escape from the real world. We live vicariously through them. Their success is our success. Their pain is our pain. They are our heroes for this.

Tomorrow night, we will live with them. Or we will die with them. I'm not a big believer in "fate". I don't think it's "fate" for the Red Wings to win or lose tomorrow night. If I believe in anything close to it, I may choose to believe that it was destiny for the Red Wings and Ducks to meet like this. Game Seven, with everything on the line and nothing to hold back. For two teams that have hatred in their hearts for the other and have been through the wars against each other, I can think of no more fitting conclusion than one final game. One final game to decide who advances and who goes home. If destiny is real, that it was indeed destiny that the past two Stanley Cup Champions should meet in a Seventh Game. In less than 24 hours, the final chapter will begin. I characterized this as a battle of good versus evil. We should've expected that evil wouldn't go down without one final salvo. The Joker always has one last trick up his sleeve. He always has an ace in the hole. Last night, he used it. And tomorrow, Batman will face the Joker, one last time.

And like Gordon Lightfoot said, they'll pray in a musty old hall in Detroit.

Collection.

The last time the Red Wings closed out a series at home was in 2002 when they won Game 5 against the Hurricanes to win the Stanley Cup. Since then, they have won eight playoff series. Nashville in 2004. Calgary and San Jose in 2007. Nashville, Colorado, Dallas and Pittsburgh in 2008. Columbus in 2009. Every last one of those series has ended away from Joe Louis Arena. Some in the most dramatic of ways, others in laughable fashion, and one in the most glorious way imaginable.

Tonight, our Winged Wheel warriors will take the ice in a place we have grown to hate. Twice before, we have seen our hopes and dreams end in this detestable arena. We have suffered the indignity of seeing the defending champions swept away in overtime in the first round. We have endured the pain of seeing the retooled Red Wings that had learned to fly get cut down short of their goal when we knew they were better.

We have seen that goddamn team lay claim to what should have been ours.


Tonight, well...tonight is about retribution. It's about payback. It's about justice. It's about righting a wrong two years old. But it's also about sending a message. You won't hear this during the two minutes ESPN dedicates to the NHL, and you certainly won't hear it from the CBC or the Hockey Night in Canada dinosaurs, but guess what? Hockey fans want the Red Wings to win tonight. Not because they're Red Wings fans, and not because they want to see a repeat. But because they see the Ducks for what they are, just as we do: a dirty, cheapshotting, bushleague team that relies on goon tactics and thuggery to wear down opponents because they aren't talented enough to win straight up. This is a battle of good versus evil. And it's time that good prevailed.

This is about atonement for the sins of 2007. It's about erasing memories. Memories of Rob Niedermayer nudging Dominik Hasek into the net in Game 2 to score the tying goal in a game the Ducks would win in overtime. Memories of Pronger slamming Holmstrom's head into the glass and busting him open and then having the audacity to give a "physics lesson" after being suspended. This is about atonement for that dreadful Game 5, for that goddamn puck that fluttered into the net, and for Andreas Lilja, who, while he may not be on the ice, will certainly be watching and praying for absolution for the mistake that still haunts us all.

Sometimes I wonder what the players think. Do they hate this enemy as much as we, the fans, do? Do the players who were on the ice at the Honda Center two years ago cling to the that bitter, disgusting feeling we all felt in our mouths while the Ducks celebrated their Western Conference Championship? It was like sucking on a rusty coin. Do they use that for fuel? Do they use the unconscionable blown call from Game 3 a week ago? Do they experience some of the same sadistic, evil things some of us feel but suppress? Wait, you mean I'm the only one who has a tiny voice inside me yelling for Babcock to send McCarty in tonight to stop Pronger's heart and make sure it stays stopped this time? Oh.

Collection time has arrived. The payment's past due, and the taxman cometh tonight in Anaheim. And when it's all said and done and the Red Wings have more goals than the Ducks (and it WILL happen, because the thought of a Game 7 against this team is too much for me to bear), I will savor this like a championship victory. I'll savor it more than any of the previous eight closeout games on an opponent's ice. When the buzzer sounds and the legions of Red Wings fans invading Honda Center are whooping it up while the fake, fairweather Ducks fans bail out and focus on the Lakers or Dodgers, I'm going to cling to the endorphin rush that follows. I'm going to relish the looks on the faces of Chris Pronger, Scott Niedermayer (and his wife Rob), Teemu Selanne, Ryan Getzlaf, Corey Perry, Randy Carlyle, and every other SOB wearing black.

They say revenge is a dish best served cold. It gets very cold on ice, from what I hear.

Precipice.

Hey Perry, tell Niedermayer he's gonna get it. You better tell him. And Pronger. And Getslapped. And the other Niedermayer sister. And Selanne.

Oh, you're gonna get it too. About 10:00 PM Eastern time Tuesday night, you're gonna get it, for sure. Make sure everybody on your team knows it and has their golf plans well laid out.

You better tell em.

Lessons.

May 20, 2007: Ducks 2, Red Wings 1, OT; Western Finals, 2-3

It's a familiar scenario. The Red Wings and Ducks in a nail-biting series, tied 2-2. A one goal Red Wings win in Game 1. A Ducks overtime win in Game 2. A narrow Ducks win and a Red Wings blowout in Anaheim. A pivotal Game 5 at Joe Louis Arena scheduled for a Sunday afternoon. For Wings' fans, this is one of those horror story games that we wake up in the middle of the night yelling incoherently about. For 59 minutes, the Red Wings controlled that game on May 20, 2007. And for all that, they earned precisely one goal. And in the final minute, the above happened - the Ducks got the luckiest of lucky bounces. That rat bastard Scott Niedermayer got it in the slot, and was off balance and hacked at it. He was falling down, so it's hard to tell if he was shooting it or trying to pass it to Andy McDonald at the side of the net, but regardless, Nicklas Lidstrom did what great defensemen are taught to do - block the puck from reaching where the shooter/passer wants it to go. So he lowered his stick toward the ice to block it. And it inexplicably fluttered upward, and it sort of...floated...through the air, and somehow Hasek was caught offguard. I don't know if it was just his reflexes, which were abysmal at this point in his career, or if the deflection just sort of threw everything sideways. But whatever it was, it fluttered over Hasek's left shoulder and into the net. That rat bastard was so discombobulated that he fell back down while celebrating the most inexplicable of goals.

Start at about 2:55:



And listen to the crowd. Normally the crowd gets really quiet when the opposition scores, like any usual crowd at any venue in any sport. But here, it sounds like everybody's screaming in horror because they can't believe what they just witnessed, it was so out of nowhere and terrifying.

If you play the video to the end, you obviously see how that abortion ended. Lilja, who a friend of mine has never forgiven and has, since that godforsaken day, called him LOLja, gives it away, Selanne goes forehand-backhand-water bottle, the Ducks lead 3-2 and finish the Wings in six. Me? I didn't even see it live. I was so shaken by the Niedermayer goal, I left. I had seen that movie before; I knew how it ended. So I went out and mowed the damn lawn. I HATE mowing the lawn, and that day there wasn't enough grass to cut, not enough to keep me out there for hours like I wanted.

So, two years later, here we are. Ducks and Red Wings, two games apiece, Game 5 in Detroit on a Sunday afternoon. I can honestly say I want to beat the Ducks worse than I ever wanted to beat the Avalanche. That's probably just me, and I can understand how some might find that a bit extreme, but whatever. I ache for the closeout game against these thugs. Pronger's a neanderthal on skates and a genuinely detestable human being. Perry's an elbow thrower and he hits players in scrums as he's backpeddeling because he's a bitch. The Niedermayer sisters are weepy little girls. Getslapped just irritates the shit out of me. Carlyle learned from Brian Burke well, he has the practice of crying and bitching to the press down to an art form. Wisniewski too.

I said before Game 1 that I wanted the Ducks and I got the Ducks and that it was time for the Ducks to pay the debt they've incurred. The last nine days and four games have done nothing but increase that debt. All the things I hate about that fucking team have been there. They've run the goalie and cried to the media about how we run the goalie. They've mugged and harassed our players after the whistle and then accuse the Red Wings of instigating. They sent an insignficant goon into the game to take a shot at the smallest player on the roster, and then have the audacity to accuse one of our players of a dirty hit on an already-injured man of theirs. And, perhaps worst of all, they won a game under false pretenses. Game 3 is going to stick with all Red Wing fans. It's just a matter of whether it sticks with us like Game 5 against Pittsburgh stuck with us (an irritant, but ultimately irrelevant), or whether it's another one of those horror games we look back on.

I firmly believe that the Red Wings solved Hiller and the Ducks Thursday night. After the wretched start, when Babcock changed the lines, it was lights out. The Ducks were begging off at the end. They didn't belong on the same ice. The chemistry between Datsyuk and Zetterberg was there like it never left. Two of the best defensive forwards on the ice to hound Getslapped and Perry the Fairy and still have enough juice to control play in the offensive end? Bingo. And then the Franzen-Filppula-Hossa line. Yeah, good luck defending that with Todd Marchant and Scott Niedermayer's wife Rob. Didn't work Thursday, it's not going to work now. The depth advantage we all crowed about before the series started was out in spades at Honda Center in Game 4. And it's going to be there at Joe Louis Arena around 5:00 today.

There's blood in the water now. Duck blood.

Instinct.

Last year, the Red Wings didn't face this kind of adversity in the playoffs. Yeah, they lost two games in Nashville and needed overtime in Game 5 to go up 3-2 in that series. They had to deal with some awful officiating in Dallas, and they lost two straight games before refocusing and winning in six. They took an absolutely horrifying body blow in Game 5 against Pittsburgh when they were 34.7 seconds away from the Stanley Cup, only to lose the lead and lose the game in three overtimes. They bounced back from that to win Game 6 in Pittsburgh.

This is different. At no point last spring did the Red Wings trail in a series. They never had their backs pushed up against the wall like they do now. The last time they trailed in a series before now was against these same Ducks two years ago when they lost Game 5 at home in overtime. They bowed out with a whimper and a way-too-late roar in Game 6. Before that, they trailed the Sharks 2-1, and were 30 seconds away from going down 3-1 before Robert Lang tied it and Mathieu Schneider won it in overtime.

So now we'll get to see what these Red Wings are made of. The unconscionable screwjob that took place two nights ago won't ever leave us, as Red Wings fans. If the Wings lose this series, we'll never forgive Brad Watson, and we'll have just another notch on the belt of inexplicable, terrible moments. Game 5 against Colorado in 2002. Game 6 in Calgary in 2004. Game 6 in Edmonton in 2006. That Game 5 against the Ducks in 2007, and Game 5 vs. Pittsburgh last year. If Anaheim beats Detroit again, that moment in Game 3 on Tuesday might top them all.

Abel to Yzerman summed it up nicely:

Time for bluntness: losing this series would be worse than ‘06, worse than ‘03, even worse than losing to these cheating scumbags in 2007. This would be the biggest waste of talent in NHL history. This would be the most heinous missed opportunity we’ve ever seen. Dynasties don’t lose to one-line (plus Selanne) teams. Dynasties don’t lose to a Swiss boy, a forest myth and a deadhead. And Marian Hossa didn’t sign for 5 bucks to lose to this team, in this round.

It's time, Red Wings. It's time to put the skate to the throat of this fucking team. I'm not saying the Wings have pulled a Pistons on us and dicked around these past couple games. But I'm saying it's time to turn it up a notch. That dominance we've seen in the third period the past two games, it's time to bring that at the opening faceoff tonight. Don't wait for the Ducks, with their one quality line, to wear down. MAKE them wear down faster tonight. Hossa came here to win a Cup. It's time to show it, Marian. It's time to assert dominance on this team. It's time for Datsyuk and Hossa to control play in the Anaheim zone, make the Ducks weary, make them take penalties. And make them pay on the power play. It's time for these lazy, half-hearted passes into the neutral zone to stop. The Ducks have clogged it up and choked off Detroit's speed. It's time to adapt and attack.

Meanwhile, in the category of insanity, we have this from James Wisniewski:

Ducks defenseman James Wisniewski was at the Honda Center Thursday morning and addressed the media, a day after being released from the hospital following a lung contusion suffered in Game 3. He said he is hoping to play in Game 5 Sunday, and he called Tomas Holmstrom's elbow to his face, about 10 seconds after he had taken a puck to the chest, "a gutless play.'' "I was kind of out of it the whole time I was skating around. I looked back and I see it was a blatant elbow when I was hunched over coughing up blood, not even battling,'' Wisniewski said. "So it shows a little bit of a gutless play by one of their players.''

I mean...do I really need to comment? It's alright, I will anyway.

1. Wisniewski was not "hunched over". He was upright and still involved in the play 10 seconds after he got hit with a puck in the chest while he was cross-checking Holmstrom.
2. The blood wasn't even from the glancing blow that Homer landed. He was coughing up because HE GOT HIT IN THE CHEST WITH A PUCK!
3. Shut the fuck up, Wisniewski. You play for the dirtiest fucking team in hockey with the dirtiest fucking player on your blueline. Pronger's been suspended EIGHT times in his career for his goonery, and you're going to call another team dirty? This kind of hypocrisy is going to give me an aneurysm.

While we're on the topic...this whole series is making me sick. The Ducks were the most penalized team in hockey this year. The Red Wings were the least penalized. And yet, the Ducks continue to get away with murder. Scott Niedermayer is allowed to throw himself at Osgood and Ryan Getzlaf is allowed to slash Osgood in the arm, and the goal counts when it's scored. The Ducks' defensemen CONTINUALLY interfere with Red Wings at their blueline. Why? Because we saw what happens when they don't in Game 1 when Franzen blew past Beauchemin and scored on Hiller. Oh, and then he ran Hiller over and Carlyle cried about it, even though his team is crashing the net on every play, trying to run Osgood and get the puck loose. And the Ducks continue to instigate after the whistle, throwing punches and cross checks nonstop while the refs stand there, doing nothing. They have the audacity to call out the Red Wings for dirty play when Nicklas Lidstrom had to restrain Pronger because the neanderthal was trying to remove his glove and throw a closed fist at Datsyuk after Game 3 ended.

I hope the actual Red Wings aren't dwelling on this petty shit like I am. Because that will be their undoing (asides from the bullshit officiating). It's time to get back to Red Wings hockey. Stop letting the Ducks drag you down into the gutters with them. Come out tonight, hair on fire. Don't wait until the third. Score first. Play smart, and this team of thugs will fold.

I wrote this last April when the Pistons were down 2-1 in the first round against Philadelphia. I detailed about how we would find out what the Pistons were made of as they faced a possible 3-1 deficit in the first round. They responded brilliantly (in that round, anyway), rallying to win Game 4 before blowing Philly out in Games 5 and 6.

Now the same applies to our Stanley Cup Champions. They've been through the wars together, and now we will see where their instincts lie. Facing a 2-1 deficit against a nemesis that is intent on making this personal, while dealing with officiating that is so maddeningly inconsistent and awful, what will the instincts of this Red Wings team be like? Will they crumble like they did in Anaheim two years ago, or will they rise above the bullshit and put their skates on the Ducks' throats?

Killer instinct. It's time.

Abomination.

Ducks 2, Red Wings 1; Western Semifinals, 1-2

You want to know why hockey is very, very solidly behind the NFL, NBA and Major League Baseball in popularity in this country? I mean, besides being stuck on a no-name network, losing an entire season to a lockout and the Dead Puck Era that strangled the fun out of the sport for a decade?

It's nights like this. Events like this. Screwjobs like this that will keep the NHL in its place in the pecking order. The casual, prospective fan gets turned off when any team, and especially the defending champions, get robbed blind by incompetent, abysmal officiating put in place by one of the worst commissioners in major American sports history. Seriously, and I say this with extreme prejudice, extreme contempt, and pure, undiluted hatred: You suck, Gary Bettman. You are a disgrace to the sport, a disgrace to the office you hold, and a disgrace in general. It took an entire lockout for you to loosen the rules to inject some excitement into the sport. And you still have rules in place that ruin the game because you put pathetic, lapdog-like people on the ice, give them striped shirts, and call them officials. In a group that includes Bud Selig and David Stern, you have the "worst commissioner" title locked up and hidden away, buddy. The clowns that you call referees are an embarrassment. Brad Stuart checks a guy behind the net with the puck, and the ref near the play does nothing, while the one all the way out at center ice, who probably didn't even know where the puck was, calls interference. A year after Tomas Holmstrom gets called for goalie interference twice when he was firmly planted outside the crease and was not touching the goalie, Ryan Getzlaf is allowed to slash Osgood in the right arm as the Ducks score their second goal. The Ducks are constantly allowed to crash the net in an attempt to drive Osgood into the goal. The Ducks are constantly allowed to punch, jab and cross check after the whistle. The penalty on Niklas Kronwall in Game 2 that resulted in a Ducks goal? Scott Niedermayer has built a Hall of Fame career using that same interference move. He perfected it and led the New Jersey Devils to the top of the NHL and ushered in the Dead Puck Era with it. And yet he still does it without penalty.

And just when you think the officiating could not be anymore incompetent, anymore of a farce...they manage to top themselves. Everybody likes to complain about the refs, in every sport. And yet tonight, Red Wings fans can legitimately say that Brad Watson determined the outcome of the game. The puck was loose, Marian Hossa poked it in, the game was tied...and then it wasn't. Instead of skating in behind the net to make sure the puck was dead, Watson made the move to blow his whistle as he skated in. He even blew the whistle AFTER the puck was in the net. And yet, because of another one of Bettman's laughably awful rules, the act of the referee moving his hand toward his mouth to blow the play dead overrules the actual blowing of the whistle. In what other sport does this apply? The answer is none, because other sports aren't run by a clown masquarading as a commissioner.

Hockey is a beautiful game. It's exciting, it's heartstopping, it's gutwrenching. It's a wonderful, awesome sport. And it will never reach its potential while the human excrement Gary Bettman is running it. His TV deal, his refs. His mess. Gary Bettman running the NHL gives hope to idiots everywhere. If you're lucky, you too can be successful at life. And you can employ people of equal stupidity to ruin a good thing.

In a perfect world, the Red Wings use this robbery as a rallying point to finally cave the Ducks' skulls in. But hey, in a perfect world, these two teams are in overtime right now and Gary Bettman is hitched on the back of a garbage truck gathering trash. In a perfect world, this scene doesn't happen:

Smelling salts.

Ducks 4, Red Wings 3, 3 OTs; Western Semifinals, 1-1

This really wasn't surprising to any experienced Red Wings fan. We've seen this same song and dance before. The Red Wings dominate play in OT, throwing shot after shot and chance after chance at the opposing goalie, and in the blink of an eye, the other team skates down the ice, throws a harmless looking shot at the net, and it finds a corner and bam, it's game over, and you feel like somebody just punched you in the groin. It happened last year in the Finals against Pittsburgh with much, much more on the line.

What has to happen now is the Red Wings have to respond to this like they responded against the Penguins. Today was pretty awful, not just because of the end result, but because the Wings, for the most part, sleepwalked through the first two periods. They allowed the Ducks to control play and were lucky to only face a 3-2 deficit after 40 minutes. They came alive in the 3rd and were swarming for the better part of three periods right up until Marchant fluttered the winner over Osgood's shoulder a minute into the 3rd overtime. But it shouldn't have gotten to that point anyway. This was a smelling salt game, in the sense that it's going to serve as a wakeup call in one way or another. We all hope it's the type of smelling salt game like Game 5 vs. Pittsburgh was; it refocuses the Wings as they hit the road in hostile territory, and they control the game, and emerge victorious.

Or, and what we fear, it could be the type of smelling salt game they instead causes you to spasm violently and throw up your lunch all over yourself, like Game 5 vs. these same Ducks two years ago. The gut punch of Niedermayer's fluke tying goal in the final minute combined with the sheer horror of Selanne's winner in the overtime ruined the psyche of those Red Wings, and it showed in Game 6 back in Anaheim. The Ducks mowed through them in the first two periods and staked 3-0 and 4-1 leads that couldn't be overcome because the Wings were too dazed early on. I would hope, after going through the experience against the Penguins, that the Wings will avoid such glazed looks in their eyes when Game 3 begins Tuesday night.

In fact, we need the exact opposite. We need fire from the opening faceoff. The sense of urgency that showed up in the 3rd period today? We need that in the first period in Anaheim on Tuesday. We need Datsyuk, Zetterberg and Hossa to bring the heat. Ryan Getzlaf has been a horse through these first two games. It seemed like every time he was on the ice, he generated a scoring chance. It almost felt like Babcock and company were adjusting to the Getzlaf line instead of forcing them to adjust. The Ducks' top line dictated play when they were on the ice. In Anaheim, the script needs to be flipped. When the Datsyuk-Hossa line or Zetterberg-Franzen line is on the ice, the Ducks must be forced to adjust. Darren Pang (who has proven to be just as annoying as Pierre McGuire - must be a bald thing) suggested at the second intermission that Babcock should reunite Datsyuk and Zetterberg on the top line - reuniting the Circus, as Wings fans know it as. That didn't happen today, and it wasn't a detriment, as the Wings tied it anyway. But for Game 3, why not consider it? Hossa is every bit as dangerous as the Euro Twins are, but he seems to be snakebitten right now. So I say bump him down to the second line with Franzen and either Cleary or Helm (who was probably the best player for Detroit today). Let Datsyuk and Zetterberg wreak havoc like they did in the postseason last year.

Oh, and we need Rafalski and Draper back. Now. The Ducks will be able to control the matchups in Games 3 and 4, being the home team. You can bet they're going to put the Getzlaf line out there when Lidstrom isn't on the ice. Ericsson has played well over his head, and Stuart and Kronwall have been dependable through the first two games. But I don't trust Lebda, and Chelios has no value anymore. We need Rafalski back there now. That will allow Ericsson to go back to the 3rd unit with Lebda, and allow Chelios to go away like he needs to.

As for Draper, he's probably our best faceoff man, which is saying something since Datsyuk, Zetterberg, and Helm are all awesome at it. If he ever gets the green light to go, it'd be a hell of a decision on who to sit. I'd lean toward Kopecky, personally. He looked a step slow out there today, but I wouldn't envy Babcock if he has to make a choice like that.

Nobody expected a sweep. Most picked six or seven games, which means the Wings had to lose. This one was definitely gutwrenching, but we just have to hope that the Wings who took the ice in Pittsburgh 11 months ago show up on Tuesday and take the war right to the Ducks in front of their wine and cheese crowd.

To close, I'm going to steal a line from a commenter at Abel to Yzerman, who quoted Paul Gauguin:

"Life being what it is, one dreams of revenge."

Retribution.

In 1996, Claude Lemieux delivered a hit that sparked the epic Red Wings/Avalanche rivalry. In an instant, the amount of time it took for Lemieux to maim Kris Draper in Game 6 of the 1996 Western Conference Finals, he became Public Enemy #1 in Detroit, and the Avalanche became the source of bitter, seething hatred in Hockeytown. The blood lust was shocking, really. I remember the "Screw Lemieux" shirts around town when the Avalanche came calling the following season. If Claude Lemieux had been walking down a Detroit street in broad daylight in the spring of 1997, he could've been gunned down, and the crime never would've been solved, because nobody would've confessed to seeing the guy who did it. That's how much hatred there was for Lemieux. That's why Darren McCarty is a made man for life.

Lemieux paid his debt that night, March 26th, 1997. And the Red Wings ultimately won the war against the Avalanche. They won the 1997 Western Finals en route to the Cup, and delivered the final salvo in 2002, sending Patrick Roy away in the seventh game of those Western Finals. That marked the end of the Red Wings/Avalanche rivalry. Goons like Lemieux and Adam Foote faded away. After Game 7 in 2002, Roy never again faced off with the Red Wings, his career ended in overtime the next year by Minnesota in the first round.

Coincidentally, it was in that same first round in 2003 that the seeds of a new hatred were planted. Far away from the traditional hotbeds of hockey, in the land of Disney, the Red Wings were ousted in the most humilating of ways.



That foghorn still gets my blood boiling. The hatred I have for the Ducks franchise may not equal the hatred I had for the Avalanche, but it's close. It's the closest we as Red Wings fans have come to equaling the passion we felt when we hated people like Roy, and Lemieux, and Foote, and Forsberg, and Ozolinsh, and Drury, and Deadmarsh. It's hard to hate teams like St. Louis or Nashville or Columbus when you roll over them time and again. It's hard to really hate Calgary or Edmonton when they aren't repeat offenders. But when a team comes after you more than once, and they put players on the ice who excel in goon tactics and thuggery, it gets pretty easy to hate them. It gets pretty easy when you see the blood flowing.


The Ducks avoided the Red Wings' wrath a year ago. Their debt is far past due, and it's time to collect. I don't just want the Red Wings to beat them. I want them to humiliate them. I want satisfaction. I want the Ducks to pay for their sins. I want Getzlaf to break his stick in frustration because Lidstrom and Datsyuk are shadowing him every second he's on the ice, smothering him so efficiently his balls ache. I want Datsyuk and Zetterberg and Hossa to skate circles around that goonish neanderthal Pronger. I want Pronger to take cheap shots at our guys, because that means he's pissed off and frustrated. I want the Red Wings to make it very clear to the Ducks that the better team didn't win two years ago; that the Stanley Cup they hoisted in Anaheim in 2007 should've been ours.

And I want it to end in Anaheim. If it can't be a clean sweep, I want it to go six games, because I want those preening, arrogant, nose-snubbing, fairweather Anaheim fans to watch their team's season end in front of their eyes at the hands of the Red Wings. They deserve it so much. They deserve the same humbling that Columbus fans got last week. They deserve the same humbling that Colorado fans got last year in Game 4, an 8-2 LOL'er.

But most of all, I want to see the look on Chris Pronger's face. I want to see his face when he's in line shaking the hands of the players who just ended his season. I want to see the look in his eyes when he realizes he's done playing and should start looking for golf courses to play at while the Red Wings play on. I want to see Teemu Selanne and Scott Niedermayer hang it up for good after this series and know that it was MY team that retired them. Just like the Pistons finished Reggie Miller in 2004. I want to live with the satisfaction of knowing that those two douchebags were finished by Detroit.

I wanted the Ducks. I got the Ducks. Now I want to beat their skulls in and piss on their brains. I want them to pay for Game 4 in 2003 and Steve Rucchin. I want them to pay for having Rob Niedermayer push Hasek into the net in Game 2 in 2007, illegally tying a game they would win in overtime. I want them to pay for getting one of the luckiest bounces I've ever seen that tied Game 5 in the final minute. I want them to pay for having the luck of Andreas Lilja choking on applesauce and giving the puck away to Selanne for the game winner in OT which effectively ended the series.

I want them to pay the debt they've incurred.

A night in Columbus.

Detroit 6, Columbus 5; Western Quarterfinals, 4-0

About damn time those Columbus people got humbled in something. Gotta love their culture of rioting they still have down there. Never mind the fact that the penalty that did them in was absolutely 100% legitimate and not open to interpretation whatsoever. The sixth man on the ice played the puck before the guy he was replacing was off. It wasn't a hooking penalty or an interference penalty that is the judgment of the referee. Six men on the ice is as black and white a penalty in hockey as there is. But no, lets throw things at the opposing team's coach!

I also found this particularly amusing:

Once I got out of the Jackets' room, I headed straight for the area near the officials' dressing room. I hoped to find Kevin Collins, and ask him about the call. Collins is a supervisor of officials and he was working this series. Prior to his management gig, Collins worked 28 years as an NHL linesman. He worked 11 Stanley Cup Finals. He might have been the best linesman in the game before he hung up his skates in 2005. I had run into Collins after Game 3, and chatted with him then. He is from the same neck of the woods. We are not pals; in fact, we've only spoken with another a few times over a dozen years. Regardless, he's the expert. He could provide a definitive description of the linesman's point of view. Collins said he would have made the same call himself. He said it is automatic. He said, "How could I live with myself if I didn't make the call? It's the right call." He said, hypothetically, that if the player in Modin's position doesn't touch the puck, then there is no whistle.

So one second, this Columbus blog writer is saying how it was the right call and a 28-year veteran official said it was absolutely the right call without question.

Then...

For the vast majority of Jackets fans, the Miller call will be the searing memory of Game 4. For many, it represents another in a long line of incidents which show how the league looks down its nose upon the small-market Blue Jackets.

Yes, it's all a conspiracy to keep the small-market teams down. The league conspired to make sure the poor small-market team that was in the playoffs for the first time ever didn't upset the defending Stanley Cup Champions. Just like they conspired to keep Tampa Bay, Carolina and Anaheim from winning the Stanley Cup in 2004, 2006 and 2007, respectively.

Oh wait...those teams actually did win the Cup those years!

Give it a rest, Columbus. The team from Michigan beat you. I know that's a shock to your systems nowadays, but it happened. Move on.

Moving on...bring on the Ducks. I mean it. Yeah, wanting to play the team that is on the brink of knocking out the #1 seed and President's Trophy winner is a risky proposition, but eff it. I hate the Ducks almost as much as I hated the Avalanche in the late 90s and early 00s. I've had to see Jean-Sebastien Giguere stand on his head for four games in 2003 and see Chris Pronger and the Niedermayer brothers bully their way against a depleted Red Wings squad in 2007 on their way to the Stanley Cup. I still believe the Wings were better in 2007, with a few factors swaying it in Anaheim's way:

1. Mathieu Schneider and Niklas Kronwall, two of Detroit's best defensemen, missing the entire series with injury.
2. Rob Niedermayer pushing Dominik Hasek into the net in Game 2 when the puck was tucked into Hasek's pad. The officials completely ignored this and counted the goal, which tied the game at three. Anaheim won 4-3 in overtime.
3. Andreas Lilja - who probably wouldn't have been on the ice if Schneider and Kronwall had been healthy and in the lineup - giving the game away with that abysmal giveaway to Selanne in overtime of Game 5.
4. Hasek doing his best fish imitation, flopping all over the crease in Game 6 while the Ducks poked rebounds past him.

The Wings are healthy now. Kronwall and Brad Stuart are on the line with Rafalski in the place of the departed Schneider. Osgood, while not an elite goalie, is much sturdier than Hasek was in his last couple years. The Ducks are the more physical team. Of course they're also dirtier. Let Pronger throw his elbows around. Let the Ducks be their usual stupid selves. They'll play themselves right out of the series with all the penalties they take.

Of course, they haven't even finished the Sharks yet. But regardless. I hope they do.

Eulogy.

Cleveland 102, Detroit 84; Eastern Quarterfinals, 0-1 (like it matters)

My relationships with the teams I follow are bizarre. Michigan football is far and away my first love. If I could pick any single team of mine to win a championship, it would be them. I've been "aware" of and followed the Red Wings for the longest. My earliest memory of any of my teams is the 1995 Stanley Cup Finals, with the Red Wings getting swept by New Jersey. Since then, I have seen four Stanley Cup Championships, and I immensely hope that a fifth is a couple months away.

And yet, I haven't felt "closer" to a team than I have to the Detroit Pistons over the past seven years. Which it makes this even harder to say: the end has arrived.

I suppose it's already come and go, because the Pistons I watched vanquish the Lakers and battle valiantly to the end against San Antonio have been gone for some time. Some of the faces and names may be the same, but the sum of the parts has long since departed. We tried to convince ourselves that Larry Brown was replaceable. We tried to convince ourselves that Ben Wallace was expendable. The truth is, no part of the machine that produced back-to-back Eastern Conference Championships could be replaced. When you build something that is based on chemistry and teamwork above pure talent and skill, you can't lose any of those parts and expect a favorable outcome.

Back in 2001-2002, Detroit was still very much Hockeytown. The splash arrivals of Luc Robitaille, Brett Hull and Dominik Hasek made the Red Wings the odds-on favorite to hoist the Stanley Cup in June. Adding those three to a lineup that featured names like Yzerman, Fedorov, Shanahan, Lidstrom, Larionov and Chelios meant that anything short of a championship would be deemed a failure. Ultimately the Red Wings lived up to those expectations, surviving a scare against Vancouver, winning the blood feud against Colorado in the Western Finals, and vanquishing the Hurricanes in the Finals. Hockeytown, indeed.

But on the undercard to the Red Wings in the spring was a scrappy, imperfect bunch of basketball players in Auburn Hills. After a 32-50 season in 2000-2001, the Pistons ditched the abysmal teal jerseys and went back to the trusty red, white and blues. It was a ragtag lineup that most general basketball fans would scoff at: Chucky Atkins, Jerry Stackhouse, Michael Curry, Clifford Robinson and Ben Wallace. Of those five, only Stackhouse looked the part of an NBA star. And yet with the mentality of backstreet brawlers, the Pistons muscled their way to a 50-32 record, a Central Division title, and the 2 seed in the East. They won the first two games against Toronto at home, and then dropped the next two in Canada, setting up a decisive Game Five at the Palace. I remember it well. Stackhouse was awful until the end, and the end was all that mattered, because the Pistons had won 85-82 and won their first playoff series since the tailend of the Bad Boys era in 1991. They quickly bowed out in five games to the more experienced Celtics in the second round, but it seemed like the franchise that had toiled in mediocrity for over ten years was finally looking up.

It was in 2002-2003 that the Pistons began to show signs of something special - along with a flair for the dramatic. Chauncey Billups and Richard Hamilton replaced Atkins and Stackhouse in the backcourt. Another 50-32 record, another division title, and the #1 seed this time. And yet it looked like it would all be for naught, as Orlando jumped ahead of them 3-1 in the first round. That's when we got to see that resiliency that would endear these Pistons to our hearts. When their backs were to the wall, they responded with ferocious vigor fit for a champion. They throttled the Magic in Games 5 and 6, setting the stage for another elimination game at the Palace. The Pistons revved their engines and blew Tracy McGrady away, 108-93. The Game 6 win in Orlando would be the first of eight straight Game 6 victories for the Pistons.

The second of those eight would come in the next round against Philadelphia. They still had problems on the road, as they again lost a 2-0 series lead in Games 3 and 4 in Philly before escaping by the skin of their teeth back home in Game 5. Chauncey won us over in that Game 6, returning from a badly sprained ankle to score 28 - including nine on three triples in OT - and lift the Pistons to the conference finals, 93-89. Despite being the 1 seed and having homecourt, the Pistons were underdogs against New Jersey. The Nets were the defending Eastern champions, and they played like it. They won two nailbiters in Detroit and two laughers in Jersey. In a swift four games, the Pistons were done.

We all know how it went from here. Exit Rick Carlisle, enter Larry Brown. It was ugly, unattractive basketball. And it worked. Throw Rasheed Wallace into the mix at the trade deadline. They played backseat in the Central Division in 2003-2004, as Indiana won 61 games and claimed the one seed, while the Pistons finished 54-28. After easily dispatching of Milwaukee in round 1, the Pistons' pride was tested as they once again met up with New Jersey. Those damn road jitters struck again. After two dominating wins at home, Detroit got absolutely dusted in New Jersey. Game 5 was one of those games where you always remember where you were at when it was going on. Me? I was bowling with my then-girlfriend. I HATE bowling. I hated it then, I hate it now. I eventually stopped bowling and ended up watching the Pistons on one of the TVs they had there. As the 4th quarter wound down, it seemed like the Nets would get away. I was disgusted, so I turned away and drifted back toward a lanes. A few moments passed before a roar went up from the same group of people who had also been watching the game. I turned and ran back to see replays of this:

Like I said, everybody who watched remembers where they were when that shot went down.

Of course in the end, the Pistons lost the game in three overtimes and were down 3-2, having to win in a place where they had been blown out four straight times over the past two postseasons. It was here that I developed a bizarre, weird superstition: I withdrew. I didn't watch. I wasn't bailing on my team or anything. I just had the amusingly naive notion that if I didn't watch it, they wouldn't lose and be eliminated. I haven't the faintest idea how I came up with that. I don't apply it to any of my other teams. And of course, I can never make it last. I was a sophomore in high school at the time and I had some useless project or something to work on, so I stayed away from any TV. And even then, it didn't work. I lasted most of the game, but I eventually caved and put it on - and saw the last couple minutes of an 81-75 win. THIS was that fabled "Pistons Basketball" everyone talks about. On the road in an elimination game in a place they had no luck at coming off the most gut-wrenching of losses...and they got the job done. And then like they did to Orlando the previous year, the Pistons held no quarter in Game 7 at the Palace, this time to the tune of 90-69.

To outsiders, the 2004 Eastern Conference Finals were an abomination, a display of offensive ineptitude that set the sport back for years. Neither the Pistons nor Pacers broke 90 in any game. Four times, the losing team didn't break 70. And yet, for my money, it was one of the most exciting and gritty series I've ever seen. Was it bad offense? Sure, probably. But it was also excellent, excellent defense. The entire series was really summed up near the end of Game 2 in Indianapolis, with, in my opinion, the defining image of the last eight seasons of Detroit Pistons basketball.
Nowadays I often rant to friends and family about the Pistons. Last year after their season ended I was downright poisonous, cursing them for not playing "Pistons Basketball". When people would ask me what that is, the image above is what I tell them. Tayshaun Prince's block on Reggie Miller won Game 2 for the Pistons, and it symbolized everything that these Pistons were about and built upon. Defense. Hustle. Determination. Never giving up.

The Pistons split the first four with Indiana before blowing them out 83-65 in Game 5 in Indy and gutting out a grueling 69-65 win in Game 6 at the Palace. We all remember what happened after that. The Pistons dominated the Lakers in every facet. Honestly, maybe that's why they hold some sort of special place in my heart. Michigan football is always expected to contend for championships. The Red Wings are always expected to hoist the Cup. Hell, even the Tigers in 2006 were expected to roll over the Cardinals in the World Series. But the Pistons in 2004 were decided underdogs against the Hall of Fame Lakers, and took them apart with brutal, deadly efficiency. That might be the only time in my life my team wins a championship as an underdog.

It's sad to think that that was the pinnacle. Five seasons have passed since that glorious June night where the Pistons reigned as champions. The next season was sort of crooked. The expected championship hangover was there, but it was compounded by the Malice at the Palace between the Pistons and Pacers and the constant, never-ending rumors of Larry Brown looking for other jobs. They eventually picked it up, duplicated their 54-28 record, and reclaimed the Central Division crown. They dispatched Philadelphia in round 1, retired Reggie Miller and Indiana in round 2, and then, for the third straight year, went on the road for the Eastern Finals, this time against Miami. It was this series that produced one of my proudest moments as a Pistons fan. After splitting the first four, the Pistons lost their cool and were dusted in Game 5, again facing elimination. They responded cooly in Game 6 at home with an easy 91-66 win. Game 7 was in South Beach, and the odds were definitely stacked against Detroit; history is almost unanimously on the home team's side in Game 7. And the Pistons won anyway. 88-82, to be precise. Going into hostile territory against Shaquille O'Neal and Dwyane Wade in a win-or-go-home situation and coming out the other side as conference champions...I don't know if I've ever been prouder of a team of mine. When my brother, who was living here at the time, returned home, I just gave him a bro-hug and said "they did it." Nothing else had to be said.

Everybody knows what followed. Four games, four blowouts, a 2-2 tie with San Antonio. Game 5 being considerably closer. Rasheed leaving Horry is something I guess I have to live with. It's one of those sports moments that never leaves you. All big sports fans experience some. There are always games or moments that haunt you throughout the years, like you're just randomly doing work or watching TV one day years later, and suddenly it pops into your head. For me, there are a handful. The Michigan/Texas Rose Bowl. The 2006 Michigan/Ohio State game. Forsberg's OT goal in Game 5 of the 2002 Red Wings/Avalanche Western Finals. And Robert Horry's shot. In a way, that shot stings me more than Game 7 of that same series does. Weird, I guess. But I was just...lost after that game. As the game went deeper and deeper into the 4th quarter and overtime, my brother and I gradually got closer to the TV screen, first inching toward the edges of our seats, and then up to our feet and still moving closer to the screen....until Horry's shot sent us both into fits of despair. When it was over, I wandered the neighborhood. That's become a tradition of mine, too. I can't stay at the scene of the crime whenever a gutshot like that happens to one of my teams. So I just walk. In this case, it was like, 12:30 at night. And I just walked.

Per my other unusual tradition, I stayed away from Game 6. It was one of those frustrating nights where it's hot out, but not hot enough to justify having the air conditioner on, so I ended up sitting by myself in my pitch black living room with the lights out to keep the heat down. And of course, I caved. I ended up turning it on with like, 90 seconds left, in time to see Rasheed drain a shot from the perimeter. The image of Chauncey looking at the ABC camera with a look of supreme confidence on his face and one finger extended on his hand after the game still lingers with me. I was sold. They were going to do it. They were going to defy the odds and finish the Spurs deep in the heart of Texas.

It almost happened, too. They led by nine midway through the 3rd quarter of Game 7. It was tied after three quarters. And the defending champions finally succumbed. Part of me is almost afraid that this is the fate that awaits the Red Wings this year. That the pressure to repeat and having everyone gunning for you and having to face tight game after tight game will finally catch up to them at the end.

The "Pistons" as we grew to know them died that night in San Antonio. Their last shot at glory, their chance to repeat as champions. When it ended, so did they. The relationship between Larry Brown and the Pistons ownership was fractured beyond repair. To this day, for the life of me, I cannot figure out why he wanted to leave. He had the perfect job. A group of players that would go to war for him, that had completely bought into what he taught them, that had delivered a championship for him. And yet he wasn't content. Maybe it's just the way he was wired. But for whatever reason, he flirted with too many jobs, and couldn't stay. And for that, I hate him. And I miss him. And I hate him because I miss him.

At the start, hiring Flip Saunders looked like a genius move. The players were motivated by their loss in San Antonio, the fire still there. The motivation to "get the belts back" was there, so the defensive intensity would remain while Flip's offense pushed them. Nobody was complaining after a 37-5 start. But the truth was, the loss of Larry Brown was the death knell to the Pistons' title hopes. Flip couldn't get through to the players, because deep down, the players felt like he wasn't needed. I don't know if it was ego fueled by chips on their shoulders from being slighted earlier in their careers, but for whatever reason, the players put it in their heads that they could operate by themselves, without a coach's leadership.

The 05-06 Pistons finished 64-18, the best record in basketball. That was one of their goals, as they felt that if Game 7 in 2005 had been in Detroit and not San Antonio, they'd be going for a three-peat. But the fact was, they were burned out. Flip was a terrible bench manager, and he had alienated the starters even further by running them ragged. Combine this with the growing sense of entitlement in the players and the thought that they could police themselves, and you get a ticking time bomb. It didn't go off in the first round, as the Pistons dealt Milwaukee away in five games. But after winning the first two games against Cleveland with relative ease...the lights went out. The Pistons dropped the next three, and were suddenly up against it against a team that featured LeBron James and little else. Even with their killer instinct slipping away in front of our eyes, the Pistons went to the well and pulled out another gritty one, beating Cleveland 84-82 in Game 6, forcing another Game 7 at the Palace. And like past Game Sevens against Orlando and New Jersey, the Pistons took no prisoners, holding the Cavs to a stunning 23 second half points in a 79-61 win.

But they were done. They had senselessly toyed around with Cleveland, taking their foot off the gas and needing seven games to win a series that should've been over in five. Miami was fresher, and Pat Riley coached circles around Flip, who was in way over his head. After splitting the first two, the Pistons were drilled twice in Miami, and faced elimination at home. Their reign as Eastern Champions was ending, and in front of the home crowd for the final time, Ben Wallace laid claim to his kingdom. The bell tolled for Big Ben one more time.



But that was the end. There were no dramatic Game 6 heroics this time. From 2003 to 2006, the Pistons won eight Game 6s in a row against Orlando, Philadelphia, New Jersey, Indiana, Indiana (again), Miami, San Antonio and Cleveland. Six of those eight were on the road, and five of them (all on the road) staved off elimination and forced Game 7. But that luck ran out in the 2006 Eastern Finals, as Miami crushed the Pistons 95-78, ending the Pistons two year run as Eastern Conference Champions and ending Ben Wallace's tenure as a Piston. Big Ben couldn't stand Flip, he didn't respect him, and in the end, he took Chicago's blood money and left. He could've sat atop the Detroit sports throne with Stevie Y and Barry Sanders. Instead he left. And while Larry Brown took the Pistons' soul with him when he left, Ben Wallace took the heart. He took the defense. He took the sledgehammer.

And yet still, somehow, the Pistons convinced their fans that things would be different, that they would regroup and be better. Flip utilized the bench more. The starters got less minutes and would be fresher come playoff time. Chris Webber was added in January in a move many compared to the addition of Rasheed Wallace three years earlier that put the Pistons over the top. The record was only 53-29 compared to the previous season's 64-18, but the Central Division and #1 seed was still Detroit's. And the early returns in the playoffs were excellent. The Pistons breezed past the Magic in a four-game sweep, something they hadn't accomplished in their multi-year run yet. In the second round the Pistons revved their engines, beating the Bulls 95-69 and 108-87 in Games 1 and 2. They then staged a huge comeback in Game 3 in Chicago, erasing a 16-point halftime deficit to win 81-74. Seven games, seven wins. One sweep, with another imminent.

And then the lights went out. The Bulls buried the Pistons again in Game 4, and this time they stayed buried (102-87). In past seasons, the Pistons would circle the wagons, regroup, and pummel the Bulls in Game 5 back home. This time? The lights were still out, the Bulls humbled them 108-92. The Pistons did finally gather themselves and dispatch Chicago 95-85 in Game 6, but here's the difference between Larry Brown's Pistons and Flip Saunders' Pistons: where LB's teams would fight and scrap and deliver the killing blow when it was there (7-1 in games where they could eliminate their opponent), Flip's teams would lose focus and get lazy and eventually have to scramble.

What SHOULD'VE been the nail in Flip's coffin was the 2007 Eastern Finals against Cleveland. The Cavaliers were still pretty much LeBron and a bunch of guys. After two close wins at home, the Pistons were in good shape. Except where the fatigue issue killed them against Miami in 2006, in its place was mental fatigue. The Pistons had become mentally weak. They were soft. There was no killer instinct. And they lost Games 3 and 4. And they lost Game 5 in spectacular, meltdown, double-OT fashion, thanks to Flip's ridiculous defense that allowed LeBron to destroy them. Shame on Joe Dumars. How could you justify keeping someone so obviously incompetent?

This was one time I DID bail on my team. I was filled with rage and betrayal. I knew it didn't matter if I watched or didn't watch - the Pistons weren't winning Game 6 in Cleveland this time. And I was right. In the past when the chips were down and their backs were against the wall, the Pistons would flex their muscles and punch the other guy in the mouth. But this time, just like the previous season in Miami, the Pistons folded. Cleveland won, 98-82. The addition of Webber had failed. Two years, two meltdowns from Flip. And yet he was retained.

I was pretty bitter by this point. I had lost faith in Flip. And yet still, once again, they managed to hook me back in, because Boston was the talk of the NBA. The Celtics, with their "Big Three", won 66 games, while the Pistons were a stout 59-23. I looked at that and thought, okay, they're the underdog again. The chip is back on their shoulder. They'll be out to prove something.

Wrong. They lost Game 1 in the first round to Philadelphia, fell down 2-1, and needed a miraculous comeback from 14 down to win Game 4. That seemed to wake them up, as they won Game 5 by 17 and Game 6 by 23. Against Orlando, they lost by 27 in Game 3 and fell behind by 15 in Game 4, but Chauncey was hurt early in Game 3 and missed Game 4, so I excused that too. Besides, they rallied to win Game 4 and won Game 5 to win the series on another brilliant block by Tayshaun Prince. And the fatigue wouldn't matter, since they ended up waiting around for Boston to finish Cleveland in seven games.

In an ironic twist, it was rust that got them in Game 1. They came out flat and looked lost. So they DID lose. And then they showed some of that old Piston grit, manning up and stealing home court with a 103-97 win in Game 2 at Boston. Now consider this: Game 3 of the Eastern Finals was on the same night as Game 1 of the Stanley Cup Finals with the Red Wings hosting Pittsburgh...and I opted to watch the Pistons. And they opted to get blown off their own court. Those weren't the same Pistons. The old Pistons that I knew would never squander homecourt advantage like that.

They bounced back again, blasting the Celtics in Game 4. But this was so typical of a team coached by Flip - there was no consistency. The light would flicker on and off. They fell behind by 17 in Game 5 before trying to rally, only to lose by four. I was incensed. How dare they. How dare they try to come back, like they were toying with everybody. And then came the final nail, in Game 6. Up until then, throughout the run that started in 2003, the Pistons had never been eliminated on their home court. And here they were, facing elimination, trying for one final gasp to preserve their legacy - and there it was, a 10 point lead on their home court in the 4th quarter.

And there it went. 29-13 Boston in the 4th. 89-81 for the game. 4-2 for the series. What the Pistons proved in that 4th quarter was that they had indeed lost any semblance of a heart in the three years under Flip. He was done. They were done.

And now here we sit. 39-43, the 8 seed. One beatdown from the top-seeded Cavaliers down, three more to follow. Larry Brown's gone. Ben Wallace is gone. Chauncey Billups is gone. I'm not going to cast stones at Dumars for the Billups trade. The timing was bad, it should've been done before the season, but that's moot. I WILL criticize him for two atrocious hires. Flip Saunders stripped this team of its balls. Michael Curry is in way, way, wayyyyyy over his head, and I'm sure he'll be retained because of some excuse like the trade messed with the chemistry. That's true, but it doesn't excuse Curry for having no clue how to run a rotation. And these players don't respect Curry any more than they respected Flip. They WANTED Curry to be the coach because they still feel like they can run things themselves. Except they don't squawk about it anymore. There are no more Guaransheeds. There is no more bravado in the newspapers about everything being okay. Maybe three years of coming up short has humbled them. Or maybe the reality of 39-43 and being completely overmatched by LeBron has finally reached them. Maybe they finally know that it's over.

Once Cleveland finishes the Pistons, Iverson will walk away, not welcome back and not wanting to come back. I'm sure it's guaranteed that Rasheed will walk too. He's aged, and to be blunt, he has poisoned this team. He put them over the top in 2004...and has done nothing but drag them down since. He continues to hover near the perimeter when he should be in the paint, he was exposed by Garnett last year as having lost a step on defense, and his attitude has left a stain on the entire team. He must go, and like Flip, he will have been gone a year too late. In the three previous seasons, Rasheed has vanished into oblivion in the decisive Game 6s that eliminated the Pistons. Ever since he arrived, the Pistons have gone as he has gone. And now he must BE gone.

What else? There are some nice young pieces in Stuckey, Bynum and Maxiell. Prince and Hamilton still have some years left, but will they be back? There will be an absurd amount of money available for Joe Dumars to use. For me, it boils down to this. Joe D built a title contender. And, and this may not be popular, but he has also had a hand in tearing it down. He sees these guys all the time, he knows the ins and outs. And he still kept Flip in place too long. He kept Rasheed. He put Curry in after Flip. So now, he must fix what he has done. He has a plan, you can be sure of that. He knows who's going to be available with all that money out there to spend. He knows who he wants. All that matters now is getting them. This version of the Pistons is dead. The Pistons themselves don't have to be. It's up to you, Joe D.

In the heyday of 2004 and 2005, I would stay up til around this time, 5:00, 6:00, 6:30 in the morning, and I would wait for the Free Press to arrive, because I couldn't wait to read the front page and the sports section. I loved seeing the headlines and reading the articles. I'm a packrat, so I've kept them all over the years, tucked away. I began to associate these warm spring nights and mornings with the Pistons and reading about them in the paper.

So here's to the Pistons. Here's to the Fro. Here's to the bell tolling after a block. Here's to 20-rebound games. Here's to Mr. Big Shot. Here's to the mask. Here's to Roscoe. Here's to that lanky, long-armed twig from Kentucky. Here's to Mason. Here's to one of the most intimidating venues in sports. Here's to the pyrotechnics and the sirens. Here's to the thundersticks. Here's to "Goin' to Work." Here's to Larry Brown calling timeout late in the 4th quarter of Game 7 in Miami just to tell his team that he loves them.

Here's to Chauncey Billups, Rip Hamilton, Tayshaun Prince, Rasheed Wallace and Ben Wallace - the five warriors that put on those red, white and blue jerseys and went to work. We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them.

Here's to those spring nights and mornings, waiting for the paper.

New Devin Gardner video.

Ironically, it's against my alma mater (Dearborn Edsel Ford). Can't say I'm sad to see Mr. Gardner carving them up, though. I'm sure Mark Tyler (Edsel football coach and my former English teacher) was a bit chagrined, though.

Obsession.

One of the most arrogant things about the internet portion of the Michigan fanbase is whenever somebody points out how many topics are about Michigan at any given time on a Michigan State message board. It's the old joke about how Sparty is always obsessed with Michigan and would rather see Michigan fail rather than see their own team succeed.

Well, right now, at The Fort, Michigan's premium Rivals message board, there are roughly 30 topics about Michigan State. Now obviously, this isn't the norm, and I WOULD guess that on any normal day, there are more UM topics on MSU message boards than vice versa...but obsession goes both ways.

So, the big debate is was it proper for Michigan fans to cheer for Michigan State against Louisville in the Elite Eight? One side says that an MSU win would bolster the image of the Big Ten in the media, and that would be beneficial for everybody. The other side says that MSU playing in the Final Four in Detroit is damaging to John Beilein's efforts at rebuilding Michigan. I tend to lean toward the latter argument. Michigan and Michigan State always battle over top basketball prospects in the state of Michigan, and in the city of Detroit in particular. MSU, naturally, has won the vast majority of these battles over the past dozen years. So the thing is, how does this effect things? When MSU went to the Final Four in 1999, 2000, 2001, and 2005, it didn't really matter, because Michigan was in the toilet anyway; MSU was going to win those recruiting battles no matter what. But now that Michigan is on its way back, and the fact that the Final Four is right there in Detroit...does it matter? Does it really make a difference to guys like Trey Zeigler and Ray McCallum? There might not be a way to tell. If pushed for an answer, I'd guess that the effect is minimal. MSU is already very high on the minds of all the kids in Detroit and elsewhere in the state. If MSU getting to the Final Four is the event that pushes some of those kids to commit to State, then they're obviously the kind of kids that want to go to the established program instead of the building program, and that means Michigan didn't have much of a chance at them anyway.

But there is another aspect of this whole thing, and this is where I have much more resolve. This whole "cheering for the conference business". Ask yourself, do you think MSU fans were rooting for Michigan in the 1998 Rose Bowl? Do you think they wanted Michigan to win a national championship because it was good for the conference? Do you think they weren't cheering for USC and Texas against Michigan in recent Rose Bowls? Do you think they felt bad for Michigan during last year's 3-9 nightmare? Do you think they're upset when Michigan loses or misses out on a recruit because that's bad for the Big Ten? Do you think they were depressed when Michigan basketball was exposed by the rolling SUV and had to remove the banners?

The answer to all of the above is "hell no". MSU fans don't just want Michigan to fail. They want Michigan to fail in the most public, spectacular, and humiliating way possible. That's why Mike Hart called them "Little Brother". That's why the MSU Rivals site employs people who rank William Campbell as the 12th best player in the state and launch personal attacks on recruits who commit to Michigan. They cater to the fringe element of the Michigan State fanbase. Their lunacy is grotesque and an embarassment to "journalism".

But that works both ways, too. The elitist side of the Michigan fanbase doesn't like to admit it, but the schadenfreude flows freely out of Ann Arbor, too. When Johnelle Smith was in charge in East Lansing, Michigan fans loved it. When Memphis had MSU punched out at halftime last year, Michigan fans loved it. The hatred Michigan fans have for Michigan State is different by design but almost equal in intensity. While MSU fans hate Michigan because there IS a sense of inferiority, Michigan fans hate MSU because of that same maniacal fringe element that is much more vocal in the MSU fanbase than the Michigan side. I'm not saying all MSU fans or even the majority of MSU fans are stark raving mad psychopaths...but they're much more noticeable. It burns MSU people up that they're 3rd on the pecking order of programs Michigan dislikes. It burns Michigan people up that the loonies of the MSU fanbase seem to speak for all of them.

In the end, it's all equal. There is strong dislike on both sides for the other, and personally, I think it's an abomination for a Michigan fan to cheer for Michigan State to get to the Final Four. Not because of anything that may come of this in recruiting, but because MSU fans aren't going to do the same for UM. I cheered for Kansas, I cheered for Louisville, and I'll be cheering for Connecticut. I'm a Michigan fan, not a Big Ten fan, and a Michigan fan doesn't cheer for Michigan State.