This is retarded.
I can't believe I'm writing this, let alone posting it...
My dear, lovely, retarded Penguins,
When I wrote "I'm not asking for anything specifically tonight", I didn't mean you were at liberty to forego scoring COMPLETELY. For the love of Lemieux, what in the name of all that is sacred was that? Honestly? Are you trying to make this MORE dramatic than it absolutely has to be? Were you confused as to who was supposed to score tonight? Were you under the impression that I wanted to witness that epic failboat of badness? Did you figure that since you hadn't been blown out in a game so far this post-season, NOW was the time to check that off the Post-Season To Do List?
Seriously. I'm pissed. Really, REALLY pissed.
You know that commercial Sid? That one about you never wanting to be in that photo of you losing the Cup ever again? I do not want to come home to this email ever again:
Mer. Sweetheart. You cannot go another game without calling goals. No one knew who was supposed to score tonight, so no one did. You must call the games from now on.
I can't deal with being the reason you lose. I started calling goals for fun. FUN. Selfish, silly, FUN. Not because I believed it had any ACTUAL bearing on reality, of all inconceivable things. Mostly, it was for my own damn entertainment, and that of my lovely hockey girls. Now, it seems to be a fucking REQUIREMENT for me to psychically assign goal scoring responsibilities for the evening. Even if it's mostly just a joke. It doesn't feel like one when I get emails like that.
Thing is, if you want to play at this game, then I sure as hell hope you plan on listening on Tuesday night. I'm not giving you guys another night off. You know why? BECAUSE THERE ARE ONLY TWO MORE NIGHTS YOU COULD POSSIBLY HAVE TO SHOW UP TO WORK THIS SEASON, SO YOU BETTER EFFING SHOW UP ON TUESDAY NIGHT OR YOU'RE FIRED.
And then you WILL be in that photo again. And I won't cry when I see that commercial; I'll snub my nose and scoff at you for being all talk. And that may be the worst insult I can dole out.
Don't think for a second that you're getting off easy on Tuesday. If you think you can coast in Game 6, you are higher than Mike Lange on game-day goodies. You are going to freaking bring it, and you are not going to whine about it. You could have sealed Detroit's fate tonight. You could have made them scared. You could have made this EASY on yourselves. You could have taken the lead in this series. Instead you balked and gave them a 3-2 lead in the Stanley Cup Final. Again. Just like last year. Only last year, you WON game 5. Remember? Remember how Max scored with 34 seconds on the clock? And how you played nearly 50 minutes of OT before Sykora scored the goal he CALLED? Remember? Do you? Because tonight it looked like you didn't.
I'm not going to be nice. I'm not going to say inspiring things. I am not making any more bloody analogies to Beethoven. Clearly that fell on deaf ears anyways.
So, here's the plan: Go home. Get some sleep. Get laid if that's what you need. Stay the hell away from the Cobra-Scorpion Whiskey. Go to practice tomorrow, and don't think for a second that you can bring anything less than your A-game TO PRACTICE. You're going to have to bring something better than your A-game to Game 6 or you are going to lose the Cup. On home ice. AGAIN. Then, go listen to "Show Me What I'm Looking For" by Carolina Liar a few times.
I'll tell you what I'm looking for on Tuesday night, okay? I'm looking for you to shoot out of a canon and make Detroit wonder what's hit them upside the helmet. I'm looking for a couple first period goals. I'm looking for Mark Eaton and Kris Letang to play the best defensive games of their lives. I'm looking for Rob Scuderi to justify our desire to resign him for way more cap-space than we can really afford. I'm looking for Sidney Crosby to prove why he's such a big deal. I'm looking for some quintessential Geno Malkin. I'm looking for the twenty-somethings (24, 25, 26 & 27) to just plain GIVE' ER for every single second they are on the ice - if they all do, one or more of them is bound to score. I'm looking for a reason to believe that you can win us Game 7. In Joe Louis Arena. Where, so far, you've been out scored 11-2.
Now go listen to "Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting" and shape UP, or tap OUT. We don't want to watch you lose, but we, your fans, can only do so much. After all, you guys are the ones actually playing the game. You guys get the fame, the fortune, and the championship rings if you win. You get to drink 7$ bubbly out of the Stanley Cup. We get nothing but bragging rights and wicked memories. And you get those too. So, do this for us, so we ALL get those bragging rights and memories. You owe it to yourselves but, more importantly, you owe it to us. Big time. After all, the only reason you have a job is because we buy tickets.
So, going into Game 6, you do NOT get to be cocky. You do not get to be an effing superstar. You do not get to be a hero. You do not get to put this behind you. You get to move on. You get to play another game. You get to redeem yourselves. But you do NOT get to forget about what happened in Detroit. You do not get to forget that next game IS do or die.
If you know what's best for your emotional and psychological well-being, and your pro-hockey careers, you better listen up. And when I say you're going to score on Tuesday night, you better fucking score. Mess with me, and I'll have you traded to Philly. Got it?
I still love you, but if we were married, you'd be sleeping on the couch tonight.
p.s. Max, seriously. You do not get to be cocky. Confidence is sexy; cockiness makes you as bad as Ovechkin. You want to retain superstar status? Go out and score a goal worthy of your ego. I made you cookies...
You get them when you deserve them.
And my sweet little le swooon, I don't know what to say... just keep giving 'er, I guess? You're my superstar. You get all the hugs you want, pronto. lovelovelove, M.