Early Morning Skate: So, the last time we were here, we were there. Filthy Philadelphia, needing a solid road win, and feeling optimistic to start. In fact, we were all, like, yay here we gowhattheflipwasthat?! and c’mon Holtbeast get it together and then yay Groooouuubsie and boooo Max Talbot grrr grrrr and ow that traffic-cone orange makes my soul weep and that was pretty much the best summary of that ugly mess of a game I can imagine.

Mmmm…tastes like Cheez Whiz

What exactly was it that happened that terrible, cold February night at the F-U Center? Where, exactly, were manimal Troy Brouwer and Captain 8 (despite being probably the best in Red on the ice that night) and John “Towelie” Carlson and the Millionaire and his wife and the nameless rest? Certainly not there to play hard, or at least battle back through a tough start. And why was it, exactly, the Lord Supreme in His wisdom didst create that dung-heap of a burg to begin with?

Now this is our idea of a hot Fly team. Really.

You see, I’d like to chalk up that bumbling bungle of a game simply to our visiting the giant spirit suck that is Philly and its moronic fans. Like to, but cannot. Yeah, there were a couple fluky puck bounces and what-not, but those things give as much as they take. No, what we saw was a failure to launch by the Capitals after a dis-spiriting start. It was not, in any possible permutation of the concept, ‘good.’

The Puck Drop: But it’s Spring, and Easter (for some) or Maru (for others) or Passover or Nowruz or we’re just going to stop this now. Traditionally, it’s a time for rebirth and renewal and rejuvenation and reloading and all that. For the Capitals’ flock, it’s once more the race to the playoffs.

For several years now, the Capitals have demonstrated fine mettle in April, much like the pale gossamer jonquils besotting the landscape, if those jonquils were angry, snarling, forechecking, glass-smashing monsters made of steel and laser beams.

In short, there’s two ways this ends. One: we leave Filthydelphia redolent of Whiz, covered in soot and chagrin; or two, you can eat me Peter Laviolette. No wait, that’s a given. Oh yes; or two, we bounce outta Barftown and kick it into grinder gear for the coming match-ups against the Canes and ugly Islanders (revenge want now) and be the team that showed up to rub Winnipeg’s nose in its own dark, dark shame. I know which one I’m hoping for.

So let’s git ‘er done.

Who’s Hot and Who’s Snot

• Let’s just get this out of the way: what is it with you and first names, Flyers? Maxime? Jody? Zac? Zac?! Fine if you’re a British boy band, but Zac? Ugh, sign two players named Herp and Derp and you’ve got a full house.
• There’s an old adage that goes ‘What comes up must come down’, which is patently untrue if you are helium or the Blackhawks or Lindsay Lohan’s legal bills. We prefer ‘What goes down stays down,’ which we just made up but will use to prove our point. The Flyers haven’t so much been stumbling of late as they have been losing, while the Capitals overall (let’s not quibble, shall we?) have been demonstrating real hockeytude across the squad. The Flyers must therefore lose, QED.
• The Flyers do have some genuine stand-outs – Jakub Voracek and Claude Giroux and a Schenn or something – who can be good deal sealers. But like we saw in their recent outings with cross-town rivals the Pittsburgh Flightless Stenchbirds, the energy and kick appears bottled up in just a few players, while the Pens (and oh how I hate myself for saying this) work well together across the squad, and that was before getting Iggy. We were suffering from this dread condition earlier in the season, too, but have at least mitigated it. Which is better: a few star talents and a bunch of mugs, or a more even distribution of skill? Capitalism or soshulizms? Hmmm?
• I have it on good authority that Jesus would particularly like a Capitals win today.
• To be “fair and balanced” – ha! – it is true that the Crapitals have some players who feel a little like large leaden weights tied around our ankles while we’re trying to swim. Marcus Johansson appears to be skating with one eye scanning for the door. Jeff Schultz (who is probably among the most decent people around, so, sorry) might as well be eating Doritos out on the ice, and Mike Green…oof, where to start. I’ve seen more spunk among members of the Whitehills Senior Center’s “Jeopardy!” fan club. (If you’re reading, Mr. Trebek, I love your show!) Is this a “Tale of Two Teams” moment? “It was the best of times, it was the blurst of times.”
• Conventional wisdom – which is never wrong I’ll have you know – has it that Adam Oates has at least one more good year here to show progress before GMGM hits the ejector button, while Coach Laviolette – which actually means “smelly cheese” in French, look it up – has but a few more games. Oooh, everyone’s getting a little snippy, aren’t they? I wonder what could be on people’s minds. I wonder…
• Rough trade. Is what’s on people’s minds, I mean. You know, like the trade deadlines? What…what did you think I meant? Ohhh…and on Easter Sunday, of all days. Hmmph. Oh, one last thing:
• JINX! Jinxjinxjinx. Doublejinx! There, you silly nannies, for those who believe in ‘jinxes’ we’ve just double-finger-crossed the jinx spirits and you can put your delicate little heads to rest now about the PuckBuddys curse, OK?

The Late Line:

While intubated in the emergency room following the Hinckley assassination attempt, President Reagan scrawled a note to one of his nurses. Cribbing from W.C. Fields, it read “All in all, I’d rather be in Philadelphia.” It was touch-and-go, but he survived.

On the whole, I’d rather we not have to be in Philadelphia. There should be a law against having to travel there on a High Holy Day, or a birthday, or any day with a “y”. But here we are. At least Jaromir Jagr isn’t around anymore (tee hee.)

Flyers lead early, Caps battle back, 4-3, but close, kids.

[Ed note: Hockey Hemingway Jason Rogers is back for you to love and adore. Talk to him via the Tweetaz at @HeyJayJRogers. Any and all credit goes to the PuckBuddys.]

15 minutes of ice time

Andy Warhol Says*: Everywhere you look, you see Pittsburgh fans. In Andy’s view, “…it’s all so beautiful.” Of course, he was hopped up on horse tranqs.

But this is Pittsburgh. And at the first insinuation of bandwagon chasing, they all claim family ties to the city. First of all, you cannot all be from there. It is just not a big enough city for every Yuengling-guzzling bar rat to crawl back to. And even if they did all somehow come from Pittsburgh, you know why they’re here now? Because they got the hell out of Pittsburgh as soon as they could. There’s even a website devoted to the phenomenon. And so with the sacred camaraderie of refugees from a land not worth returning to, the Penguins wander about the NHL landscape. On Tuesday the Capitals take the fight to them, and you can bet they’ve had their road Whites mustard-proofed.

The Morning Skate:

Besides giving you an occasion to air out your novelty #87 custom Capitals jersey with the name CRSBYSX, this game will be a barometer for the rest of the Caps’ season. [Nerd Alert!] Are the Penguins relatively on fire? Yes. Are the Capitals relatively on Hoth? You betcha. But the Caps need to win about 75% of their remaining games to make the playoffs, and like those valiant infantrymen of the Rebel Alliance, the Caps can’t expect every battle to be against hapless storm troopers or to get help from the Wampa-like Erskine.

Anyone can beat up on Florida. Hell, even the Supreme Court did it in 2000.(Look it up, noobs!) But Washington will have to beat the good teams, too. If the Caps want to be counted among the best eight teams in the conference come May, they’ll have to blaze a winning trail through cities like Pittsburgh, Montreal, and Boston. That trail will then be cordoned off and burned to prevent cross-contamination.

Secondly, the Caps could use a gut check to find out how bad they want it. Like mayonnaise left in the sun, the Capitals have a problem with consistency. Let’s start from the net out. Like a talented escort with low self-esteem, Braden Holtby can do remarkable things with this hands and legs, but lets in a lot of softies too. He keeps them in a lot games they don’t deserve, but has a bad habit of spotting opponents an easy goal or two in otherwise winnable games.

Holtby makes a lot of saves he shouldn’t, but not enough that he should. Add that to the streaky-deeky of crucial role players like Marcus Johansson and Mathieu Perreault and the Capitals’ odds of making the playoffs start to look like a random number generator. A random number generator that only cycles between “SLIM” and “NIL.” [Fake Ed Note: Slim just left town.] There are guys that contribute night-in and night-out, guys like Mike Ribeiro, Troy “Manimal” Brouwer and –yes—Alex Ovechkin. But with such a dearth of true talent, the Capitals need the rest of their roster to overachieve. Now is when we start to see how long this team really wants to keep playing.

And with that dazzling analysis complete, we now turn to the segment UNESCO designated a World Heritage site:

Fascinating

Liable to Libel: A Baker’s Dozen Lies About Today’s Opponent:

• Marc-Andre Fleury often stops people mid-sentence and says, “Please, ‘Marc-Andre’ is so formal. Call me Marc-Andy.”
• Matt Cooke was cast as Achilles in the Pittsburgh Players’ theatrical production of Troy, but dropped out when he couldn’t cut it. Get it?!
• Looking for a mascot to strike fear into the hearts of their opponents, Pittsburgh chose a docile flightless bird easily killed by seals, whales, and anything with thumbs.
• When asked his opinion of Crosby, Mike Milbury smiled and blushed and giggled, “Why, did he ask about me?
• In a recent survey, 94% of Pittsburgh residents shown Mario Lemieux’s name written out pronounced it “Luh-MEE-ucks.”
• The concession stands at Consol Energy Center now sell a “Pittsburger,” consisting of a beer-soaked Hines Ward jersey on a trash bag.
• Tomáš Vokoun was thrilled to move to Pittsburgh after so many years of living in boring, dreary Miami, and with so many strange thingees over his name.
• When asked whether he resents playing second fiddle to superstar Sidney Crosby, Evgeni Malkin said, “No way, just like plenty of people like Luigi better than Mario….right?” (Really. PuckBuddys’ truth.)
• Marc-Andre Fleury has the best hyphen-to-soul-patch ratio of any starting goaltender in the eastern conference.
• Pittsburgh residents claim the Pirates, Penguins, and Steelers all wear the same colors for city identity. It’s really so residents don’t have do all that hard reading.
• Yuengling is releasing a limited-edition brew called “Crosby’s Tears.” When you pull the tap, it claims you hooked it and chirps to the ref.

Yup. Yup. Just that.

The Puck Drop:

• Fleury and the Beast: I mentioned earlier that the Caps need their goalie to not give away games. Well Marc-Andre Fleury could be honored by Toys For Tots for his generous donations. Le Fleur plays the puck about as well as Stephen Hawking plays the drums (heya!)  He’s less comfortable in the trapezoid than a geometry student with agoraphobia, and Captain Chrysanthemum can be counted on to generate one or two juicy chances a game. With scrappy boards men like Chimmer and Beagle, the Caps could really give Tulip some headaches. Oates should have his boys playing more Dump and Chase than a Taylor Swift album.
• The Best Defense Is a Good Defense: Though you wouldn’t know it to watch the Caps play, most NHL teams play with six defense-men on their bench. And typically, those six defense-men have played in the NHL before. Riddled with groinitis mayuer and DPS (Degenerative Poti Syndrome), the Capitals defense has been saved only by the rich chocolaty depths of the Hershey system. If not for whatever is in the water in the barn where they keep the Hersey goalies and defense-men, guys like Alzner, Carlson, Oleksy, and Orlov would not be able to step up so capably. The fairly seamless transition these AHL blue liners have made to the big leagues is not typical, and as deep as Hershey may be, eventually they’re going to run out of good defensemen to send up when we have injuries. And when that happens, the only blue line in Washington making stops will be the one that runs from Georgetown to U Street.
• Read Between the (Top) Lines: Much has been made about the Capitals’ lack of true top-six talent. I don’t necessarily buy all of it. I’ll take two lines of Ovechkin-Backstrom-Brouwer, Ribeiro-Laich-Fehr. Ribs is a center-man but he can’t win face offs, so move him outside and keep him on the ice. Brooks-and-Done has been hurt for a long time but will eventually recover, potentially soon. That gives the Capitals two pretty dynamic top lines, and like a good conga party, two solid grinding lines behind them. They may not win any President’s Trophies with this roster, but I don’t see the same barren offensive wasteland that some in the city seem to. I believe the Capitals are an average team in a terrible division that average is good enough to win. They have 20 games left to prove who’s averagest-est.

So that about does it. Puck drop is 7:30 in the Steel City. See you there, and Go Caps.

*Ed note: We really don’t really think Holtby is that remarkable with his hand and legs…or if we do, we’ll just not discuss it.

*”Don’t pay attention to what they write about you. Just measure it in inches.” — Andy Warhol.

Doug Johnson is back to amuse and torment. You know him as one-half of the PuckBuddys. The first one to get them to 3K Twitter follows probably wins a car or something.

The Morning Skate: Gentle readers, before we [CENSORED] all over our Bruins friends,  let us pause a moment, as you scramble in blind panic preparing for snow that will never, ever come again, to consider the hazards of making predictions. Especially about the Caps.

For example, if I predict no snow Wednesday, it’s gonna get all crazy 20″ up in here. Conversely, I stone cold guarantee that if I dash to the store today to buy a terror shovel, we will be mopping our brows and sipping Mint Juleps on our verandas by Friday. The point is: predictions can go so wrong. Britain’s Lord Kelvin (he of Downton Abbey, we guess?) said heavier-than-air machines could never fly. Harry Warner said no-one would pay for talkies. The Skipper predicted a three-hour tour. Boom.

Brad Marchand…stay classy, you devil-may-care lug!

Now before you get all Nate Silver-y on my behind with a lecture about the differences between prediction and guessing, let me remind all you smarty-pants that even that guy can be as wrong as a clam-juice birthday cake (who did he pick for the Superbowl? Hmmm?). Which brings us to Tuesday’s meeting of the Capitals and Bruins.

Heading into the vortex of despair we call Winnipeg last weekend, following as it did our emasculation by the Flyers, which itself followed our manhandling of Sasha and the Canes, and a bunch of other smart reasons articulated here, we did not have big expectations. Truly, given our flukey history with the Jets, we almost napped through the game. That would have been a shame, as it became a great display of what this team can do when they pull it together.

The real question here, the one I’ve been dithering around, wasting precious precious minutes of your life that you will never get back, is which Capitals team will show Tuesday? The bumblers that allow three points in the 1st period and just sorta of sleep-skate thereafter, or the gladiators that snap together like a Spartan phalanx and crush the will of their opponents? Flinging fate to the winds, I predict the latter, because that’s our roll.

OK, back to [NOPE, STILL CENSORED] on Boston.

The Puck Drop: Research suggests that the B’s are, in fact, chemically, the single worst concentration of terrible humankindism going back to, oh what, the cast of The Love Boat we reckon’. The bean team has been tearing it up against just about everyone in the Southeast recently, turning away teams that have done so to us, while holding their own in the Northeast. Even Sunday’s just-loss to the Habs demonstrated a squad willing, and mostly able, to take it to their foes on the ice.

And so for this, our first meeting this shortened season with the big bad Back Bay baboons, let’s conjure the spirits of our last meet-ups – specifically such sweet, juicy memories as:

• Mama June-clone Tim Thomas stumbling around apparently on horse tranqs and totally getting faked out of his cup by Matt “The Paralyzer” Hendricks, Braden Holtby, also known in our house as Braveman Holtbeast, staring down twerp Rich Peverley, and our favorite, Joel Ward‘s hero clutch shot and OT playoff game winner from game 7 last April. There now, isn’t that like better?

Who’s Hot And What’s Not:

• Lines of Death: Say what you may about the Bruins…for example, “I’d rather stick forks in my eyes than cheer them,” that’s a good one. Still, barf, they have several lines that act like a coherent…well, line. Lucic and Krejci up top, followed by a killer of Marchand, Seguin and Bergeron (“Patrice”? Rly?) And they’re working, while we can’t even get our first line settled. #sadface
• Who’s On First: In 19 out of 19 games this season, when the Bruins draw first blood, they win. In our 20 games, we can say that only 50% of the time; exactly 1/2 as good. Similarly, they trail at the end of the 1st, they win 50% of the time; for us, it’s 25%. This is NOT a team you want to chase down in the 3rd, as we have made a habit of doing. First shot, and especially a lead at the end of the first should suggest what the next 40 minutes will look like. So there.
• Man The Barricades: Overall, with last week’s Hurricane’s alpha-male performance, our Philly floppy fish imitation, and a don’t-give-up tightening in Satan’s playground Winnipeg, we had a good week. Capping a crapital month. Animal-man Troy Brouwer may have wondered which Sasha would show up last year, but we’re questioning which team shows up game to game. As I read wizard and competitor (so don’t click on the clicky) Peerless Prognosticator, perhaps our weakest two areas – continually this season – are defense and turnovers. Oh, and stoopid freaking penalties. Both of which speak to one basic idea: D-FND your Holtby, and keep your puck. Dépêchez-vous sur les barricades! Allez!
• Road Warriors: This is taking on a decided Hollywood-tinged theme. Still, we haven’t exactly been the model road team this year, eh? Ho ho, I’ll say! It’s like we’re flying non-stop to Kinshasa, playing on empty stomachs and typhoid water, and swimming back home – exhausting. We don’t really have a lot of time to figure this out. Easy for me to say: fat old man sitting in his jammies tapping out ill-informed hockey analysis. So we’ve got a home stand now until making the runs to Long Island… but it gets much worse after that. Two solid victories at home are what’s on the menu, boys.
  

  Red Rally Balloon > Kernkraft

• Red Rally Balloon: I’m totally ready for this plucky little latex friend to reappear. Although I’d do it with a Macklemore remix. Yuh-huh.
• O Captain! O Hai My Captain! OK, given one more poor performance, of which we’ve admittedly seen too much of this year (ahem), the media wombats will be all over Alex Ovechkin, bleating about this or that or the other. (Didja see wha I did there?) For three years your PuckBuddys have been hearing wha-wha-wha from who cares about our Captain’s inability to share and play nice. Pish. How many different Caps have gotten a piece of a winning puck in the last two weeks? And how many of them (other than, you know, that one game) have been Ovi? Yes, less curl-and-drag. They’re already doing that on RuPaul’s hot mess of a TV show, so please stop.
• Speaking of… I know he’s been prepping in a bunker in Idaho or doing shortwave radio shows from East Egg, Long Island or somewhere, but when was the last time I had a Chick-fil-A, and thought tender, juicy crispy thoughts about Mr. Thomas? Oh that’s right, in Hell.

Post Game: Spring is in the air, and we’re feeling a bit frisky. But so well-behaved! C’mon, an entire Bruins post and not one shirtless pic of Tyler. Or Dougie Hamilton? (You seen that guy?) So we’re casting our bread upon the water in this Easter season and putting together a PuckBuddys party in several weeks, likely hosted at Nellie’s, duh. We haven’t even run this past our RMNB overlords yet, but we tote want a huge turnout, so we’ll see what we see. [Ed. note: we're there. - Peter]

Prediction: I’m writing it down and sealing it in a dated envelope that I leave with my neighbor (serious.) I’ll let you know the results Wednesday. #predictionwin.

[Ed. note:Today, the latest member of the PuckBuddys team hits the ice. Jason Rogers currently hangs his hat in Virginia, has studied in Paris and worked in China (always one step ahead of Interpol). But where ever he is in the world he’s a Caps fan through and through. He knows the game and we're not holding that against him. Jason currently sports #8 – and the “C” – playing center for the Manassas Sperm Whales. Srsly. Give him a follow on twitter.]

Morning Skate: Well, Saturday’s game against the Devils sure was fun to watch, no? Alex Ovechkin bowled a Magician, and the whole team clearly ate their morning Oates with breakfast. It was a real big-boy win against the defending Eastern Conference champions for this Caps team, and like a really nice yard with an unmarked septic field, hopefully something they can build on. Today, Southeast Division rival Carolina Hurricanes blow into town like a hot, smelly belch from the South. I hope they brought illegal fireworks.

The unbearable lightness of being Sasha

The Puck Drop: There are a couple big plot points to this match-up for the Caps. The first, of course, is the Return of Sasha. Yes, the man who once shared a banner with Voldemort is coming back to Verizon. If I had to guess how Semin feels about this, I would play the averages and assume he doesn’t care.

But I predict the Verizon faithful are going to let him have it, with a few scattered apologists wailing, “Guys, but that wrister!” He’s been an alright pickup for the Hurricanes with three goals on the season. Or, differently, as many as Ovechkin had in his last game. And speaking of Ovechkin, my God, we might get to see Ovi absolutely train track Sasha in the open ice. Think about that, and salivate over it. I need to go change.

The second big plot point is that the Caps have a chance to take two more points off of a division rival’s plate and put it onto theirs. As Jeff Kleiman said on Twitter: “The Southeast Division has really ‘just become a dumpster fire’.” With no teams over .500 and the winner of the division likely to have fewer points than the eventual eighth seed, there’s not a reason in the world the Capitals shouldn’t rise from this trash pile like Rocky over the city of Philadelphia. If they keep playing like Saturday, we could well have a new banner to hang from the rafters at Verizon, even if we have to shake the coffee grounds and band-aid wrappers off it first.

So that’s about where we’re at, which brings me to where we’re going next, and a segment I call:

Liable to Libel: A Baker’s Dozen Lies About Today’s Opponent

• The Hurricanes have petitioned the NHL for permission to change their name twice: once to the Katrinas in 2005, and once to the Sandies in 2012. Let’s see what 2013 brings.
• Eric and Jordan Staal learned to possess the puck so well by being made to fight over scraps of meat tossed to them by their parents, unable to ween all 37 of their hockey-playing children.
• North Carolina ranks first in the US in occurrences of adorable children’s ice cream scoops falling off their cones and making them cry.
• @AlexSemin has blocked @tbrouwer20
• Raleigh, North Carolina was originally called Staalopolis, named for the dinosaur of the same name. It’s true.
  

  The Staal Family

• If you rearrange the letters in Cam Ward’s name, it spells Raw Clams.
• Alex Semin is actually trying really, really hard, guys.
• Passersby often stop the Carolina Hurricanes on the street and say, “Boy, it’s obvious you’ve won a Stanley Cup.”
• Seriously, Alex Semin wants this more than anybody.
• When approached by the league about the possibility of Raleigh hosting an NHL franchise, Mayor Tom Fetzer reportedly began foaming at the mouth and firing a pistol wildly into the air like Yosemite Sam.
• Jussi Jokinen prefers for his first name to be pronounced, “Juicy.”
• The entire cast of Les Mis were all Staals and performed under pseudonyms.
• South Carolina is really grateful the team chose to call themselves “Carolina,” and is totally gonna make it up to North Carolina.

Hot And Hotter: Here’s who and what I’ll be keeping an eye on in tonight’s game at the SIM Card:

1. Ain’t Eight Great? - Much like Hansel, Ovi is burning hot right now. And in DC we’re basking in this fairweather praise like cool whip from Katy Perry’s brassiere. In the home-and-still-home against the Devils, OBestkin played like a Russian with a fire lit under him, with a meteoric ‘See what I did there?’ rise that many would tell you was long in coming. In addition to finishing his checks with gusto and roaring into the zone on breakouts, finally – finally – his buckets and buckets of shots started to hit pay dirt. Whether playing the 1812 Overture from the top of the circle, or creating room for himself with a little dink-and-dunk puck play, the Russian Machine seems to be revving up. Woe unto the rest of the league if he is.
2. The Ebb and Flow of John Carlson - Once hailed by the Screen Actors Guild as the world’s greatest living actor, my jersey-sake #74 has been a sore subject for me this season. J.C. Superstar was once the roll bar on our Miata, keeping us secure when the cycle got rolling on us, pinning us to the boards sharply when we lost our way, and other shallowly extended metaphors. He made smart, lockdown plays in his own end, and was never the weak link going the other way on the rush. Early this season, Spike Strip was blowing tires nightly and leaving Holtby on islands like his name was Tattoo (children, go look it up.) Lockouts are tough on young players to whom acclaim has come quickly. Big things are expected from you, and accomplishment is no longer a pleasant surprise. It’s demanded from you, and Captain America now seems to be lifting himself up off the mat and coming out swinging. He’s keeping pucks in the zone, working the wheelhouse on the power play like Steamboat Willie, and winning footraces to the puck. Also, I bet if you stuck a fork into his hair, it would stand straight up. And that’s gross, but I respect it. [Ed note: Johnny cut his hair!]
3. “Now I ain’t sayin’ he a goaltender, but he ain’t messin’ with…” We’ve been a hot mess between the pipes, like the area rug of a crack house. We have a list of old boyfriends like an experimental trip through Europe: Cristobal, Jose, Semyon, Michal. But Holtby could be our guy; a just-inked, two-year deal underscores that. We all fell in love with Braden during last year’s playoff series against the Bruins when he stared down that little twerp Rich Peverley like a consummate boss and stood on his head so long he got CTE. Yes, Braden Holtby will give up goals if you don’t play defense in front of him. Just like that other guy – what’s his name? - Oh, everyone. But boy, if you give this kid a a demi-snowball’s chance to make a stop, 9.31 times out of 10 he makes the save over the last four games. He’s making quick decisions with the pads and ought to take that glove with him over to Nats spring training. We’ve had our share of streaky goalies, but Holtby could be our Windex man. He’s currently starting in the most consecutive games of his career, and we may be able to keep doing so thanks to the shortened season. I hope that in so doing, he can find his groove and keep doing his weird, Jedi thing.

And with that, I leave you to eagerly await the drop of the puck at 7pm tonight at Verizon. Let’s go get ‘em, boys.

[Ed note: After a year of doggedly researching and documenting the panoply of awfulness that are the Washington Capitals' rival cities and teams, the PuckBuddys'  physicians grew concerned, recommending they take a nice, quiet rest somewhere so they could forget temporarily about hockey and focus instead on finger paints and macaroni art. Helpfully, Gary Bettman and Donald Fehr gave them just the right opportunity to lay down their burden.

Now, no longer able to keep them involuntarily committed, the Buddy's have returned to crash our net and empty the NHL's septic tanks that you, wisely, would rather not. Because that's just the sort of stand-up guys they are.

However, we caution they are still a bit on edge. So please, everyone...no sudden movements.]

The Scene: The pioneering urban anthropologist Ulf Hannerz once remarked “That which most repels us in other cultures is very often what lies buried and secret at the heart of our own.”  Well, no he didn’t; I just made that up. But then again, I doubt that Ulf ever visited New Jersey.

New Jersey is for Lovers

Oh ho, you say, can an entire state truly be so bad? If scabies wanted to go on a holiday, it would visit Jersey. If the EPA listed lip gloss and Drakar Noir as hazardous wastes, the effluvia of glitter and reek oozing out of Jersey’s pores would require us to wall it off for one hundred years. If New Jersey didn’t exist, Alabama would have to rise up and invent the place from whole cloth, just so the rest of us would stop pointing and laughing at them. It’s exactly that bad. (John Carlson: love you, but we’re watching your hair closely.)

Thus our recommendation for full haz-mat suits for everyone on hand to welcome the New Jersey Devils this Saturday to Verizon. Which is not to say don’t go: despite their continuing habit of screwing things up for us, we like the way this game is shaping up for the Caps. Screamingly brilliant analysis follows.

The Morning Skate: Ugh, that last Devs game, amirite? Sure, that’s when we were still in our “1st Period OK/2nd Period SUCK/3rd Period PANIC” phase. Although not completely broken, the Caps have more often than not been snake-bit in the second; our last meeting with the Devs saw us 0-2 and charting up four penalties, giving smelly Patrik Elias (he not of the Big Boy Elias’) all the room he needed.

Neuvy was good (.914 Sv%) but breathing fossil Martin Brodeur was better (.929) as was the Dev’s defense as a whole. Thank heavens for Greenie’s long-distance blast in the third that tied us up. Oh wait, did I say thank heavens to Mike Groin Green? Because I meant that it was his OT interference penalty that likely cost us the game. What Greenie giveth, Greenie taketh away, I supposeth.

Moving on…

Puck Drop: Like most teams, the Devils are out-shooting us, in regular play and earlier against us specifically. Despite that, we’re nearly even on goals for and those allowed, which suggests Coach Oates’ “system” is working better against the Devs than, say, the Pens. (And let us never speak of that again.) Here’s our take: tired offense and unusually sloppy defense will put the Devs behind early, a deficit they’ll struggle to erase without ultimate success. More Caps players other than Ward, Brower and Fehr will step into game. Fans will once again hail this as a sure sign the Capitals “are back.” We’re not sure what “back” means, but don’t expect this to be anything other than just one more game.

But srlsy, only a White House reporter would take one source as gospel for a story. So we tapped PuckBuddys’ Devils correspondent, and all around cute guy, Brian Marshall for his take on how this game will shape up. Brian:

Which Devils team will show up for Thursday’s game?  The elite team that went 3-0 against the state of Pennsylvania in the last two weeks?  Or the lackluster team that lost to the Canes, Islanders, and Senators?  My guess is Coach Peter DeBoer is spending the two day layoff getting the Devils focused on Thursday’s game (especially since they face the Caps in back-to-back games – no chance of looking past them to the next game).

The rest was no doubt welcomed after playing 3 games in 3 and a half days over President’s Day Weekend. The Devils special teams have been less than special of late, the power play is an acceptable 15.3% (2 for 13) the last four games, but the penalty killers have been atrocious, giving up 6 goals in 14 chances (57.1% PK) in the same span.  If the Devils take a couple of stupid penalties it could be curtains for the good guys wearing white.As for players to watch out for, Patrik Elias continues to play amazing hockey.

As of this writing, he’s 8th in the league in scoring (4G 15A) playing his more natural LW (he played C most of last year).  On the other side of Elias’ line is David Clarkson, who’s tied for 4th in the league with 10 goals.  And don’t forget about our Russian-Left-Wing-Who-Shoots-Right-Has-A-Contact-That-Runs-Until-Forever-And-Never-Seems-To-Leave-The-Ice-On-The-Power-Play, Ilya Kovalchuk.

Kovy is continuing his remarkable transformation from “one-dimaneional goal scorer” to “workhorse all-situations player with explosive puck skills, and Marty Brodeur is still between the pipes for the Devils.  He’s still pretty good.  And don’t let him play the puck – he’ll kill you with his outlet passing just as easily as with his catching glove.

Like we said: Caps 4, Devs 2.

Who’s Hot, Who’s Not: Oh gosh, this is probably the reason we got into this whole farkakte blogging thing to start with. (Did you know that off all the dazzling writing and insights we’ve offered over the years, still the biggest search term to our site is “naked Ryan Kesler”? We’re hoping that just by writing that here RMNB’s SEO will sky-rocket.)

All that

Our RMNB overlords likely hate this section, but every time they delete it we just go in and paste it back. So if you’re squeamish or hate Downton Abbey or are just questioning your ability to look at pretty people, skip to the end. Wait, not skip. Leap with masculinity.

• Capitals: The Ribeiro trade has never looked better (forget all that crap I said earlier, heh heh,) but Mike, bubeleh, a little more care with the hair will only increase your trade value.  Troy “Wolf Eyes” Brower has been firing on all cylinders and Eric the Fehr and Jay Beagle have obviously run a can of Gumout through their systems in response. O Captain, you’re still our Captain, but please a little less fluffer-nuttering out there, K? Nicky, you’re more over-due than alimony. But our Caps hottie of the week crown goes to Joel Ward: shine on you crazy diamond. Runner up: Joey Crabb ain’t too bad, either.
  

  Nice, if you go for that sort of thing

• Devils: Oh, this is so much easier. As in - have you seen dese guise? We’ve seen more appealing faces on The Smoking Gun”s mug-shot hall of fame, and that includes the guys who sniff paint and end up with silver smears across their cheek. Which is not to say they’re not performing: Elias, Kovalchuk, Gionta and Ryan Carter will no doubt (ahem) be-devil us this game. On a numbers-only basis, David Clarkson would win this week’s tiara, but woof.  Instead, the prize goes to Steve Bernier, a 6’3″ rasher of Canadian bacon who should probably be playing better, but still looks good out there.

New Jersey’s finest

The Take Away:

Every game lately has felt like an ordeal. “Arrgh, we do we stink so much?!” “Darn you, GMGM!”  ”OMG, the Caps actually won; we’re BACK!!!”  Everyone needs a few fewer exclamation marks and a little more Xanax if we’re going to make it through these next two months. We’re overall an OK team with some great individual talents that seems to be struggling to make its round square peg fit into a pre-ordained round hole.

The Devils have had a history of tripping us up when we’re feeling our head in the clouds. So Caps: keep the skates on the ice and the eyes on the puck, and we should be good.

Hate mail may be addressed to PuckBuddys, c/o:

The Permanent Representative of the Democratic
People’s Republic of Korea to the United Nations
820 Second Avenue
New York, NY 10017

Neuvy run over during the second period. (Photo credit: Mel Evans)

[Editor's Note: Peter Hassett wisely took the opportunity to leave DC this week. Ian Oland is in protective custody. Chris Gordon has joined the circus on the trapeze. The PuckBuddys are entirely responsible for this week's tragic events.]

“Nothing ever really goes away – it just changes into something else.” – Sarah Ockler.

There’s a last bit to that quote that we’ll share at the end. (Spoiler!) Still, we can’t help but watch the Capitals 2013 and wonder: what are they changing into? And where is this metamorphosis leading? Answers – now.

First period: Some early testing by the Caps heartens us. We like what we’re seeing on defense from Ward; once again, the Caps look dominant in the first. Can’t hear the name “Travis Zajac” without thinking about buying a vowel. Yes, that’s what we’re down to. Sadly, Jacob Josefson to Stephen Gionta (brother of Habs’ Brian) with a snapper past Neuvy puts them 1-up.

We feel you, Meryl.

Second begins with a dash to the Caps net, gobbled up by Neuvy. Mike Ribeiro and Jason Chimera denied what shoudda coudda been. Troy Brouwer passes to no one, which is somehow emblematic of the team this year. Phew! on a Neuvy save during a Devs attempt at a shortie, leading to both teams feeling a little better about themselves, while Martin Brodeur notches another lump on his coconut. Phew! again as Neuvy (again) saves the Caps on a Devils PP. Tonight is a good night for Neuvirth, so heck, let’s give him a 5-on-3 because why not? Of course,  Patrik Elias scores (nothing you can do, Neuvy) bringing Devs up 2-o. Please let this end.

Last period starts with us wondering if the mullets (*ahem Carlson*) are slowing the Caps down. Adam Oates looks sour like the Dad in “That’ 70′s Show,” which we’re coming to understand. Caps PP yields zip, and we get another shot. MoJo sends it off to nowhere, and Phew! (3x) Neuvy saves the day. Finally, Ward knocks to Ribeiro and the Caps are on the board, 2-1. And then HURRAH! Greenie sends a sizzler into the net, Caps tied 2-2 with less than three minutes remaining. An almost heart-stopper brings us to:

OT: Pushups everyone! Hero becomes the goat as Greenie gets sent to the penalty box and Caps go on PK. Neuvy is on his best game tonight: how many times can we “Phew!”? Caps kill effectively kill the penalty, while Ovechkin is sleep-skating. Twenty seconds to go and Ilya Kovalchuk takes advantage of Ovi’s slop, firing it past Neuvy and ending the game.

SCORE: Devils  3, Capitals 2.

• Sarcasm Is Still Dead: Our jousting at Caps ‘stars’ like Alzner and Carlson last night was off-pitch. We would blame our innate faulty wiring, but personally I think it’s the Nyquil. Either way, we still are not seeing high-dollar stars like Ovi and Backstrom – and Alzner and Carlson – perform where it counts, while they rely on Joel Ward, Matt Hendricks and Tom Poti. So let’s say it; some of the Caps stars appear to be over-paid…and under-performing. At least so far.
• Power Failure: Despite Mike Ribeiro’s 5-on-3 power play goal, the Caps power play still stinks. Is it anything more than guys randomly skating around? We’ll leave it to smarter people to dissect how, but it always comes down to guys not moving to keep the puck in their paint. And yes, we know what that means.
• No Sale: Win or loss, even by the first period we can say we’re still not sold on Ribeiro. OK, good head’s up play tonight – the Caps only score and still with three points on assists. But wasn’t he supposed to be the magic to bring back Ovi? What can we say, we’re not sold (not like we were buying.)
• Hold It There: So in the last four games, the Caps have been down two men three times. That’s not just bad luck or poor calls; it’s sloppy play.
• Remember Tummy Pats?: We’re finding it hard to do so. Is Ovechkin still even a Capital?
• Golden Gate Years: Wah wah, Marty Brodeur is old, shut up. Wanna talk durability? Professional jockey Russell Baze had his 50-thousandth career start today. At an average of 6 1/2 furlongs, that’s one and 1/2 times around the Earth, riding a thousand-pound rocket with hooves and teeth. The old dude is still better than anyone we have.

Nice tie, Joe.

What Did We Learn Tonight? Over the last two years GMGM seems to have slowly broken off pieces of what used to be the Capitals. For all of those we cut (Knubs, Varly, Jose, Aucoin, Sasha, et cetera) what have we got? What exactly are we building, and why was winning like we did a few years ago so bad?

Go ahead and crawl down my throat, but I’m going to start saying it: maybe it’s time for George McPhee to go.

The end to that Ockler quote? “Something beautiful.”  That’s what we want again; some beauty on ice.

What’s Next?: Sunday back at home with the Sabres. Meanwhile, we cry.

If it’s any consolation, the PuckBuddys are yielding back the keys to the RMNB Recap Car, meaning we fully expect the Capitals to start winning again. Yes, we’re taking it that personally.

Oy. (Photo credit: Patrick McDermott)

[Editor's note: With RMNB's Peter Hassett out in California for the week, the PuckBuddys recap the latest Caps loss.]

Sometimes, platitudes are the only comfort we have. Like “Third time’s a charm!”  Or “All in to win!” Or “Shomer f—-n shabbos!” Yeah, like that.

Be real. We went into this game feeling queasy; like Taco Bell Doritos Volcano Nachos queasy. Walking into Verizon we were already outscored two-to-one in the first two games; an unappealing start. Some pointed fingers at Coach Adam Oates‘ inability to instill discipline. (Those worries may have been answered by Oates’ curious decision to bench Marcus Johansson and Matthieu Perreault, and then re-start Matty.) Some demurred that the team is still learning a new coach and new style, and we’re willing to go some distance here. A few fickle fingers pointed at under-production by Ovi, Holtby, Greenie, Carlson…

Enough. Tonight brought one hard answer: the Capitals aren’t firing.

The first frame saw some testing on both sides of the other’s defense. Good efforts by Green, Backstrom and Ribeiro, and a surprising amount of icing from Montreal. Michal Neuvirth made several great saves (a few too close,) and we were hopeful with Nicky’s late flick to Wojtek Wolski until Ovi spoiled that. The PPs yielded nada, leaving both teams relatively balanced both offensively and defensively (though the Habs lead with hits.)

Second period: oh crap, 5 on 3? Ovi and Brouwer leave the Caps naked, yet Beags and Carlson, while never clearing it out, keep the Caps alive. Then with only :04 in the first PP, Plekanec cracks one in (with Markov on the assist) bumping the Habs up 1-0. Moments later, Andrei Markov (with Pacioretty) snaps one over Neuvy’s shoulder bringing the Canadiens up 2-o. Oxygen slowly leaving Verizon. Can it get worse? Yes. Rene Bourque sails it down the side and snaps it to Brian Gionta, who knocks it past Neuvy, tippling the score at 3-o. You want more? Francis Bouillon, on assist from Josh Gorges, blows one past a clueless Neuvy; Habs go up 4-0, Caps fans register their displeasure.

Third quarter squishes out with pretty much everyone in the wrong spot at the right time. Shots still favoring the Caps, although you’d never know that. Time dribbles by, our RMNB editors suggest a game recap isn’t even worthwhile. We soldier on, as does Matt Hendricks. At least someone’s trying. So is Beags to Chimera to Joey Crabb! Well at least John Carlson’s hair won’t get shutout, even though he’ll get one last penalty.

SCORE: Canadiens 4, Capitals 1

• Circus of the Stars: It’s not a perfect measure, and we’re sure someone (all of you) out there will get all up in our grill about this, but this game saw better performance by those who are supposed to perform. By that we mean the stars: Greenie, Alzner, Carlson, and our newest star, Tom Poti. Of course, performance ultimately means winning, and what we’re seeing so far is more appropos of the Washington Generals. Leading to….
• It’s Not All First: These last three games the Caps have performed generally well in the 1st, actually scoring and defending. We’ve seen deflation in the second, and belated rebound in the third, too late. So, let’s shoot more in the second and third, and defend better.  In fact the Caps have spent far and away the majority of their time on the ice trailing. So that means…
• Rebound Nobound: It’s easy to say, and hard to do; we get that. But we’re seeing too many one-shot runs at the goal. Ovi, Green and Ribeiro seemed to work it hard, but we’re just not working well on second effort. We’re trying to be kind here, people.
• Mains Tied Behind Our Arrière: The Capitals roster hosts some of the most talented hockey players alive. What is going on that we have our hands tied behind our backs? Penalties have been pummeling us – just about every time we get one of our guys on the bench the other guys sink the puck. Of course it’s not time to…
• PANIC! FIRE EVERYONE! FIRE BOUDREAU AGAIN IF IT HELPS!  Oops.
• Honk Honk Honk: So hurrah, Horn Guy is back home, and the crowd rallied. The fans are ready for better. Better yet:
• RMNB Rules: So here’s something to honk about – Fedor Fedin‘s analysis was cited in the CSN pre-show AND Joe B. quoted Olie Kolzig who was quoted in Ian’s post on Neuvy’s new goalie mask. Hey, victory where we can find it, right?
• Hero: Adam Oates is a bona fide hero. Hero play maker on assists, hero turn remaking the Bolts and Devs, freakin’ here Hall of Fame inductee. So OK, we said that. It’s unfortunate he need to figure out being top coach in an abbreviated season. But that’s what he needs to do. Be a hero once more, Mr. Oates.

What Did We Learn Tonight? (WDWLT): Well we hate to say this, but Neuvy is streaky. Offense is halting. Defense is filled with holes. In short, the team does not look good. Paraphrasing the newly-signed Flyer Mike Knuble from last year, the Caps are “…playing like clowns and losers.” Oof. They don’t need us to say that: it’s obvious. So guys, stop playing like that. That’s what we learned. Oh, and maybe Sasha was actually important for the Caps chemistry. Something’s obviously missing; unless someone can give us something better, we’re saying it’s Sasha.

Joe B suit of the night

What’s Next?: Stimulating Newark!  Home of hairspray, hopelessness and the Devils! (And haha, yes we know Newark is in New Jersey, even if we were but a bit confuzled about the exact Province of the Black Pit of Winnipeg.) We’ve said before that our biggest worries this season for the entire conference exist in our Southeast Division – looking at you Tampa and Carolina. But that said, the Devs are among out greatest threats in the entire conference. Patrick Elias, Ilya Kovalchuk – even old goat Martin Brodeur.

Repeat after us: the season isn’t over. The season isn’t over. The season isn’t over.

And remember – this isn’t our fault. Although we think our RMNB masters are beginning to re-think asking us to write the recaps.

Editor’s note: The playoff series gives Caps fans a chance to learn all about our stupid rivals and the exotic (i.e., terrible) places they come from. For the second of their Stanley Cup travelogue series, the PuckBuddys offer “How To Spot A Rangers Fan” and helpfully explain why a trip to Manhattan is only slightly worse than a colonoscopy. Follow @PuckBuddys.

Sometimes literary fiction can teach us something great and truthy. I’m thinking here about timeless classics like “Escape from New York,” “The Stand”, or “I Am Legend” (Will Smith version, duh). In these worlds, Manhattan’s streets are littered with drooling ghouls, shuffling corpses and brainless zombies, with a few rapists tossed in for good measure. The entire island is alternately either a prison or a graveyard, both equally wretched, and always there’s one or two smart people trying desperately to flee, usually to Washington.

Just another commute to work in Manhattan

Oh wait, I’m reading from the official NYC tourist guide. Ha! Amirite? Huh?!

The larger argument here is self-evident: the Big Apple is, in fact, just a mealy, worm-infested piece of fruit. A collection of hollow men, shallow women, and entitled infants huddled in shabby walk-ups. A mass delusion of curdled narcissism, a sisyphean slog for dreams of avarice, and, uh…and it smells like butt too. Quoting here: “It’s a dirty place and it smells bad.” Yes Mr. Gortat, yes it does.

Of course, ’twas not always thus. No it ’tweren’t. Manhattan was arguably the place that, more than any other, best expressed American hopes for the 20th Century, but no more. Where once the Gershwins played and the Algonquins zinged, now we have Donald Trump and “The View.” These days New York looks like nausea feels. It is a cyclone of suck; and, in our view, the very vortex of suckitude circles around the Rangers and the Garden.

Just how much do they blow? Let us count the ways:

• 

  "Whoever you are, I hate you!"

  Like a fish rotting from the head down, we begin with Coach John “Retorts” Tortorella. He’s a strange mix of arrogance and impotence, alternately yelling at fans and crying about unfair treatment, all with a face face so sour he appears to constantly be smelling used baby diapers. He may have a great record this season, and have defiled the Cup once before, but Torts embodies all that’s wrong with New York and the Strangers. Is he whiny? Yes. Is he a bully? Yes. Is he secretly the guy behind the “Two Girls, One Cup” thing? Well, no, that’s just a rumor that we’re starting here. Suffice it to say he’s awful.

• The awfulness spreads from there, although manifest in a very different way than, say, Boston. At least their goons know they’re goons. Rangers like Marc Staal (the fugly one) and Marian Gaborik (Marian, snicker) have apparently decided that talent won’t win them games but brass knuckles will. We’re betting Dan Girardi and Michael DelZotto are probably the guys they bought them from. To be fair, it’s hard to say much bad about Ruslan Fedotenko or Ryan Callahan, except that we wish we weren’t playing them. And who ever said that everyone under 25 is cute obviously never met Chris Kreider. Yikes.
• We don’t care that they cut Sean Avery loose to go make handbags this fall; giving that bedbug a home for even one game says all you need to know about the Rags. Speaking of, perhaps Avery could have helped them with their dresses unis — zounds, they’re horrible! A drunken chimpanzee with finger paint could come up with a better design. Well, of course that horror show pales next to soiled blankets their fans wear, but we’ll get to that in a minute.

Everything about the Rags– from their crappy coach to that putrid thing they play after every New York goal– reminds us of an infestation. Which brings us, conveniently, to what the self-important noodniks at MSG comically refer to as “The World’s Most Famous Arena.” Well, OK, just like you might call Bernie Madoff the “World’s Most Famous Investor,” but we really don’t think either should be bragging. Honestly New York, we’ve all wanted to tell you this for a long time now. Consider this an intervention: the Garden is a toilet.

Its seats are filthy from years of unwashed Rangers jerseys, its floors are as sticky as a vermin glue trap, and the sight lines could only have been planned by Helen Keller. And then there’s the playing sheet itself. To call it dim doesn’t come close: we’ve seen Bergman movies that were lit better. And since when was the surface itself supposed to be like walking on gravel? Are those Zambonis or Emmet Kelly’s clown cars down there? Hey Rangers! When all the rest of us leave your house we laugh and laugh and laugh some more. Just thought you should know.

How To Spot A Rangers Fan:

• Potty Mouth. You pretty much hear a Rags fan before you see (or smell) them. Specifically, they’re the ones loudly complaining about everything on the planet, usually with the sobriquet “sucks” somewhere. Certainly, we’ve been known to complain, sometimes loudly, about this or that while employing a colorful phrase or two. But Rangers fans only have one volume (too loud) and one mode (too foul) and toss around “suck” and “blow” more than James Dyson.
• Ranger Stranger. There’s an image of what New Yorkers look like. Tall, slim, artfully layered, we think they all look like Parisian university students having a drag while discussing their ennui. Well, we’ve been to Paris, and to Rangers games, and can tell you without exception that Rangers fans do NOT look like Parisian university students. Except maybe the smoking part. Imagine, instead, a casting call for a “SlimFast” commercial — the before part of the commercial. Dumpy, sloppy, torpid; these are the accurate descriptors (and I say this as a shaggy, doughy Caps fan) of the Rangers fan. You know those people on those hoarding shows? The Rangers fan dresses like they shop there.
• 

  Yeah. But we'll still take Braden.

  Hail the King! We used to think New York was a democracy; perhaps Ed Koch should have been our first clue. Now ruled by Baron-For-Life Michael Bloomberg, New Yorkers have fully jumped aboard the monarchical band wagon, and Rangers fans have but one true King: Henrik Lundqvist. That’s probably because, hey, who the heck else do they have to be proud of? (Boom! Like that!) And also because, you know, he’s impossibly good looking. I mean like if-they-put-his-face-on-money-it-would-burn-up-because-he’s-so-hot good looking. We still prefer our dowdy elected crooks representatives, but we admit he makes the case for divine rule.

Most importantly, if you run into more than two or three Rangers fans in a group, it is imperative not to interact with them. Even looking them in the eye may be taken as an aggressive act, prompting a predictably defensive response. Remember: the Ranger is not in his native habitat of Manhattan. He is not accustomed to clean streets, fresh air or well lit arenas. You can out think him every time, as long as you remember where you’re from.

This is what Swedish revenge looks like. (Photo credit: Mark Baer, US Presswire)

The playoff series gives Caps fans a chance to learn all about our rivals and the exotic places they come from. For the first of their Stanley Cup travelogue series, the PuckBuddys offer “How To Spot A Bruins Fan” and helpfully explain why living in Boston is worse than gargling with cat litter.  

The Geography of Bad: Let’s just put a few things on the table. Some cities are horrible because of where they are. Tampa comes to mind. Not quite poor enough to be swamp trash, not quite rich enough to be coastal, it’s the worst of Florida compressed into one atomically fetid spot. Or take Winnipeg. God help anyone who has to go to Winnipeg.

Other places aren’t so much insufferable because of where they are, but because of who lives there. Philadelphia, for example, where entire generations have refined the art of being over-privileged and grating. Dallas, which is just about all we need to say about that hole. Or pretty much the entire state of Arizona.

That said, there’s a whole special category of wretched for cities that, were the Lord truly merciful, He would just dump into the ocean and pretend it never happened. Can you guess which blighted dung pile is featured in this week’s list of awful?

Ding ding ding! Boston, America’s capital of bedbugs and mange. And sitting atop it all are Boston Bruins fans. To help with this week’s influx of overly loud and underly mannered Bruins, we offer “How To Spot A Bruin.” You’ll thank us.

But first, let us briefly explain how curdlingly ghastly Boston is.

See Scenic Boston!

How Much Awful Is Awful?

We all know their entire team is terrible; from Coach Claude “Ratso” Julien to Zdeno “The Kraken” Chara to Patrice “Bite Us” Bergeron, they don’t so much compete as throw a 60-minute tantrum on the ice. I would say it’s hard to know where to begin, except it isn’t. Any game will do. Like Saturday, when we saw human blimp Tim Thomas taking pot-shots at not one but two Capitals and Brad Marchand– that sophisticated gentleman– grabbing hold of Nicky’s visor, giving it (and him) a good shake the way a cracked-up inmate might.

And we know that what passes for officiating during a Bruins game is just slightly less of a baggy-pants farce than Dancing With The Stars. Every bully needs a compliant tool to help them maintain their bully aura, and the NHL zebras are exactly that for the B’s.

And then, somewhere underneath all that, you’ll find the Bruins and their fans.

How To Spot A Bruins Fan

• “What Did You Say?” The Bruins fan is instantly recognizable not by what they look like, but what they sound like. At first encounter you may think you’re experiencing a bad case of tinnitus, but it’s most likely the Bruin. Operating in a register that psycho-acousticians classify as “annoying,” Bostonians don’t so much speak English as they torture it. Think of that sound the dentist’s drill makes on your molar and you have your basic Bruin.
• “Wicked Pissah!” Once you adjust to the shrill tenor of the Bruins’ voice, you’ll next notice that you can’t understand a thing they’re saying. ‘Perhaps they’re having a stroke?’ you might ask. Don’t worry. What you’re hearing is the Bruins jumbled jargon they call “speaking.” Semioticians such as Noam “Boston Red” Chomsky speculate this may be little more than an effort to confuse non-Bostonians, lulling them into a stupor so they might then steal your doughnuts.
• Giant Mutant Bumble-bees. Next is the native Bruins’ traditional costume. What’s white, black and gold, and covered in mustard stains? Either Don Cherry on a bad day or a Bruin. (Ha! A tw0-fer!)
• 

  Another good give-away of a Bruin: bad tattoos

  Shambles. Next, note the Bruins’ manner of movement, adopting a sort of shambolic shuffle between their seats and the Sam Adams beer stand. Experts have long been puzzled by this almost devolutionary quirk, yet Bostonians have been quick to adopt it as their own. I believe it was Elizabeth Barrett Browning who once said “…the native Bostonian, in all elements, possesses the grace of a swan…a really fat, drunken swan.” Or not, we don’t care.

• Seatmates. If all of these clues don’t alert you to being in the presence of a Bruin, there will be no mistaking them should you be unlucky enough to be seated next to them. You may notice the faint whiff of brackish water, or a vague nausea washing over you, as if you had just found forgotten baby diapers. But once the game begins there will be no mistaking them. They will be the ones with the blood-lust in their eyes. They will be the ones loudly sharing their complete lack of hockey knowledge. You will want to turn to them and ask,’Pardon good Sir, but why are you an idiot?’ You must avoid this temptation; go to your mental happy place, keep calm and carry on.
• The End. Finally, you will know a Bruin this week by how fast they scurry out of the Verizon Center when their team loses like crazed lemmings flinging themselves off a cliff. Think how quickly Timmy the Whale left after being harpooned by our Swedish fishermen.
  

  Actually Zdeno Chara

We could continue (and we may!) for sometime chronicling the waking nightmare that is Boston and the Bruins. But we also learned something else recently. For all their bluster, the will cracks just like anyone else. And we believe it has.

Oh, and I’ve just been informed it’s “Fatso” Julien. Wicked good!

Craig Brownstein of the Puck Buddys gets you primed for Holtby vs Thomas. Follow @PuckBuddys …unless you hate smiles. You don’t hate smiles, do you?

So. Here we are. The Caps’ long, strange trip to the playoffs wasn’t easy, not by any stretch, and their first round opponent doesn’t look so easy either. We know what’s behind us – a roller coaster season of consistent inconsistency, and we know what’s ahead of us – the defending Stanley Cup Champions are big, physical, and chock full of talent. So this probably explains why hockey’s literati almost to the person predicts a Boston win for the series. We don’t put much stock in that, of course. We don’t because we’re homers. Homo homers to be precise.

We look at the Boston match up as a series of If – Then statements: If Ovi, Sasha, and Nicky fire, then we’ll be OK. If we can match them physically, then we don’t get pushed around. If our special teams perform, then we’ll have a real shot. If we put rubber on that creep, Timmy Thomas, get in his head and face, then we’ll score moar goals. If we crash the net, you know the rest. And it’s Timmy and his counterpart at the opposite end of the rink that we think this series revolves around.

That 70 Show

But there’s another big “If” looming in this series, and in this case, he wears #70. Just when we thought we couldn’t take anymore goalie drama, we lost Vokes. Then last week, in the blink of an eye, Neuvy went down. Braden Holtby stepped up huge in the Rangers game Saturday evening and all eyes and hopes in Washington rest on his shoulders. His stick, pads, glove, and blocker too, for that matter.

Our young net minder is certainly another factor that those scribes lean on when giving Boston the edge. Braden, the youngest of gun vs. Timmy Thomas, the experienced veteran who was instrumental in last season’s Cup run. And on paper, that makes sense, of course. But hockey isn’t played on paper; it’s played on ice with space-age composites, steel blades, and blood. We’re reminded of old racetrack chatter about race horses that may seem outclassed on paper. Two railbirds are handicapping a race and the foolish says, “The tote board says the 5 horse can’t win; he’s 30-1.” The wiser of the two responds, “It doesn’t matter; the horse can’t read.”

A lot of hockey remains a mystery to us, and most confounding are the goalies. And Braden with his Holtbyisms seem like even more of a riddle. His grace under pressure against the Rangers was a huge relief to Caps fans and we think he can handle the Boston drama and whatever they throw at him too. He has to; he has no choice and there’s no turning back. Neuvy is making the trip up there, but all eyes remain on the Caps’ Hershey (eye) candy. We liked what Braden had to say to the Post’s Katie Carerra on Tuesday:

I’m not really trying to focus on the playoffs, I’m focusing on making saves,” Holtby said. “The saves don’t get any harder in the playoffs. I’ve watched them since I was a kid. They’re the same type shots, same everything. Obviously it’s more intense but it doesn’t change your ability at all.

The kid has spunk. And we love spunk.

All Politics is Yokel

This is the spot where we’d take wicked potshots at Lil Timmy’s ill-mannered slight of the President earlier this year. But two C-SPAN veterans like us know better than to belittle someone’s ideology, no matter how half-baked and laughable it may seem to DC sophisticates. Lord knows that we’ve taken viewer calls from some of the best backwoods trailer parks and hippie communes in these United States. We don’t judge because we pretty much find everyone’s personal politics to be objectionable, and Timmy’s are no exception. Tea Party, Toga Party – who the hell cares; the Obama snub was just plain bad manners. What’s especially delicious is that it was the Boston media that hounded Timmy this week about the Obama snub. We weren’t even going to mention it, but since they started it.

Change You Can Believe In

And ever since Timmy dissed the POTUS, his numbers have taken a hit. Call it regression to the mean, we’re gonna call it The Obama Curse because that’s a lot sexier than post hoc ergo propter hoc. In the 20 games after he snubbed Obama, Thomas’ save percentage fell by 5% and his goals against went up by over half a goal per game. Peter will have more on that later.

But we’re not here to debate stats; we’re here to illustrate the more intangible differences between the pure Braden Holtby and the brutish Timmy Thomas. This actual photo from Bruins HQ of Thomas and bench boss Claude Julien says it all:

Everybody Dance Now

What’s creepier than Timmy haunting the TD Garden? Nothing – not even the Man from Another Place and the Black Lodge, the realm of pure evil that he inhabits, too.