Philadelphia Flyers Pregame: Bolshy Bratchny Flyers

Here’s Doug Johnson of the Puck Buddys with a spot of the ol’ superviolence. Pull up a chair at the milk bar and follow the Buddys on Twitter.

Here’s The Choodesny Pregamey: Viddy viddy, me droogies! Wellity wellity wellity well. A dorogoy game we face then, contra the Chepooka Flyers, is it? And in their gloopy domy on top, is it? Capsity-wapts fans, prepare to creetch yer yarbles biddy biddy well, and poddy thisity this: me droogs are well placed to land the tolchuks to the gulliwats and gullivers of any groody Flyer that skates with us.

To all the horrowshow krovvy to flow!

And Now Back To Sanity: So we – as in PuckBuddyCraig – were struck this morning, amid the fog and shadows, to invoke St. Stanley Kubrick and “A Clockwork Orange” for this pregame. ‘Cause, you know… orange. Flyers. Uh-huh.

So a dorogoy post – and game – it is. And yet, there may be wisdom here. O my brothers, cutter this well…

“But enough of words, actions speak louder than. Action now. Observe all.”

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Detroit Red Wings Pregame: Vive Le Revolucion!

Here’s your pregame report from Doug of the PuckBuddys. Get thee to a twittery.

Pre-après-Game: PuckBuddy Craig sorta demolished me with his last post, mixing the most potent juvenile jeers (“You smell like butt“) with contemporary culture (The Godfather) and hockey insights in the juicerizer that yours truly has been refining for months.

Whaaa…butt why dat? Well, because Craig, unlike Doug, went hunting for a stick-tap from Uncle Ted on how brilliant his pregamer was. Nice. No matter that he stole from me for months – blogging versions of the Winnipeg Head-Crash – or that I’ve been telling our opponents they smell like ass since October. But , boohoo, what’s an obvious foul between frenemies?

I kid. And yet in seriouslyness, between these partners there is no other game that divides the PuckBuddys like Monday’s test of the Caps against the Wings. 

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Winnipeg Jets Pregame: The Circus Has Left Town

Ladies and gentlemen, here’s Craig Brownstein of PuckBuddys. Tweet at ‘em.

Cycling the Puck in a 24-Hour News Cycle

Malcontents, flamers, and haters: Gentle readers, Doug is taking a pass on the WPG pregamer and it’s in my mostly capable hands today. True story – He’s penning his RMNB resignation letter and is negotiating with the New York Times on placement, word count, accompanying artwork, and possible liability issues. If I’m reading his RMNB pregaming instructions correctly (which he scribbled on the back of a cocktail napkin), this is where I: A. Write opposing team’s city smells. B. Call their fans are ill-mannered, uncultured, uneducated, slovenly, and slack-jawed. C. Say opposing players are “stupid morons with ugly faces and a big butts and their butt smells and they like to kiss my butt.” D. Sit back and enjoy the smug satisfaction of being a hockey blogger.

But no. This game, the march to the playoffs and the gravity of the Caps precarious spot requires much more than just infantile name-calling. The seriousness of the situation screams out for far more elevated and sober commentary, which in this case means adolescent hectoring. And I’m the right man for the job.

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New York Islanders Pregame: They’re Still Horrible

Here’s Doug Johnson with your pregame report. Read PuckBuddys and then follow ‘em on Twitter.

“What Wha?” There are some things that just aren’t said aloud.

  • Example #1: Oprah is a Fraud. Yeah, she could buy the Nepalese army to storm my house, or hot-wire the RMNB site for combustion, just ’cause I said it. Yet it’s true. Oprah Winfrey is, as we speak, today and into the future, a total fraud.
  • Example #2: Our Politics are a Farce. Do we really need to gut this beast further to illustrate that point? Anyone who thinks our civic culture is robust, please hold your head underwater for five minutes. Questions?
  • Example #3: Caps…Leading the Southeast?! Eighth in the Eastern? And *shudder* five points behind Ottawa? I’m not sure when we signed up to write fiction, but apparently that is now.

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Tampa Bay Lightning Pregame: Five Minutes To Midnight

Doug Johnson writes for Puck Buddys. And because we have the microfilm in a safety deposit box somewhere, he writes for us as well. Follow @PuckBuddys or we start executing hostages.

The Pregame: Hey now; any you guys see that show on the teevees, “Doomsday Peppers” or something? You know, the one where seemingly pleasant enough, if overwhelmingly white people happily share their crackpot theories of why the world will end any minute now and how they’ll survive by stocking their compounds with bullets and pig dung? Good times.

Meanwhile we in America’s Hockey’s Capital are not so much having da good times of late. I’m thinking closer to the pig dung. Or better – remember those snobby nuclear scientists with their finger-waggling about nuclear Armageddon, bringing us down during the happy heydays of Ronald Reagan and “Family Ties” with their elitist Doomsday Clock? (Kiddies: go look it up while we drink our Metamucil.)

Yeah. Sitting here, looking at Thursday’s game and the remainder of the season, it feels like five minutes to midnight…with the clock ticking. And here’s us, without a stockpile.

Want more feel good snuggles?  Keep reading.

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Philadelphia Flyers Pregame: Who Got Game?

Ed. note: Here comes your Puck Buddys pregame! Check out their lovely website and delightful twitter thing.

This is a test. This website is conducting a test of the Emergency Capitals Broadcasting System. This is only a test. 

The Pregame: Crazy… you know crazy? Not like “dingo ate my baby” crazy, or “I love Dan Snyder” crazy, but like, Groundhog Day crazy? As in: not only have I seen all this before, but I recall the precise taste of last week’s warm beer and bitter defeat? And why am I tasting it again? Am I at the Mystery Spot?

You have good reason. Here we are, thinking back to Friday’s collapsing defeat on the tail of a hot performance or two (or three), wondering what went wrong, how it could have happened, and what encouragement we might have to offer. Alan May: help us!

And suddenly we’re seized with deja vu; worse, even – not that we think we’ve sorta kinda been here before, but that we’ve been exactly completely here before, several times, right down to Alan May tossing us the lifeline of straight talk, to have it fall on plugged ears.

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New Jersey Devils: Where Dat Rally Balloon?

The PreGame: Close your eyes for a moment. Now fling your head out the window.

Wait. Stop that. Open window, fling head, close eyes.

Better. Breathe deep…deeplier deep. Now, what do you smell out there? Summer? Winter? Victory? Streak?

Us? We get mulch, daffodils and notes of flattened street rat. But we much prefer these others. Summer – remember buoyancy and cautious cockiness? Winter; well, early winter means Christmas, and Christmas last was a Capsmas miracle against the Devils, so thank you Baby Jesus!

Victory? Contrary to Maj. Kilgore, victory doesn’t smell like napalm in the morning.  Rather it’s a man-handling of the Habs, a swift start and sustained margin against the Leafs, and a ‘You-Ain’t-Gonna-Win” sass against the dreadful Islanders, all in a row. Yum.

And Streak? Actually, we haven’t really smelled that this year for a long, long time. But still, I think I might recall…

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New York Islanders Pregame: Five Past Serious O’Clock

Photo credit: Mitchell Layton

The Pregame: Strap in, ladies, because here we go. Good news and bad news. And you know which doesn’t come with fancy French nibbles. Radishes for you.

Life Post-Deadline

Ugh, here’s the bad. Over the next five+ weeks, 20 nights, every one of you will be simmered into a jersey jelly of slimy aspic. Demi-glacé, oui? You get it: a trebling, molten slop of hope and desire and fear and torment, exactly as smelly as that sounds, and with no escape possible, all watching on the stovetop that is the Capitals’ next 20 games. Stupid French chefs.

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Montreal Canadiens Pregame: The Puckies!

The Red Carpet: Oh Lorda Mercy. Sunday = Oscars. Monday = Trade deadline. We don’t know which town is more nervous, Hollywood or Washington.

Larfs, what a silly question! Of course we do. Exactly because we’ve served our time in both, and we know which town is more bloodless:

Phone call in DC: “Hello. Yeah, but what can you do for me tomorrow?”

Phone call in Hollyood: “What? You again?” *click.*

Check it out. Starshines like Julia Roberts or Harrison Ford disappear from the screen. A little too… seasoned. Anonymous tradesmen like James Cromwell or Melissa McCarthy: can’t book you enough. Proven winners… and we hate this more than you do… like Brad Pitt or Meryl Someoneorother. Well, they win. Because they’re winners. Until they don’t.

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Ottawa Senators Pregame: The Post Apocalypse

Kathy Kmonicek

Here’s Doug Johnson of Puck Buddys with your pregame report. Follow @PuckBuddys.

The Pregame: Well, hello you! Pollyanna Sunshine, reporting for duty! And here’s my colleague, Peppy Miller! Rah Team!

OK, glum-dums. Tides have a way of turning. Or so Barbara Streisand tells me. Sure, watching the Capitals this season has been exactly like watching the tides rush in and out, depositing a fresh crop of flotsam and hope on the shore at high tide before sucking it all back out to sea, leaving behind dead jellyfish and despair. But…

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