At a loss for words.
What a week—the power supply on my computer goes kablooie, Sean Avery goes off his medications (again) and starts shrieking that the NHL is out to get him, Christy does a bomb-ass job with Carnival of the NHL #13, the ‘Canes MASH unit winds up on a three-game schneid…
And then we have Monday night.
I swear, I don’t think I’ve ever been so chilled by anything in my life. Ever. Listening to the Nashville netcast and hearing the concern and fear in Greg Johnson’s voice when Pete Weber talked to him after everyone was sent off the ice was just surreal. I just sat in front of my computer in complete shock.
It was one of those times when things like team loyalties really don’t mean a lot.
I think Jiri Fischer should retire. Immediately, while he still can. The guy’s getting married soon, he has a Cup Ring and a World Title—is Olympic gold really worth dying for?
I don’t think so. You die for your country in a war, with bullets and bayonets and tanks and planes and bombs. You shouldn’t have to die for your country in a sporting event.
I don’t know how better to put it. I don’t think I need to say much more than this. The guy should hang it up and enjoy the rest of his life—and I hope that it is a very long and very prosperous one.
Just my 1/50 of a dollar.