Grilling It: Sports. Right? Errr!

I remember the Wiz used to say that Benson and Hedges Silver cigarettes reminded him of "newspapermen." Let's do this (notice the spot on the pack for "notes").

A diletante's dabble in the cliched quagmire of sportswriting by Jason P Quinton.

Pens Mightier

Last night, a contrast to the freshwater grace of Lake Michigan the Pittsburg Penguins dismantled the engine of the mighty motor city Detroit Red Wings. To fly, the dream of man and flightless bird alike, was realized when the Penguins Peter Sykora scored halfway through the third overtime period. They should've called him Sick Aura, cause that dude is ill and magic.

After getting off to a great start, the Penguins then waddled through the second and third period, squandering a two goal lead like so many rotten fish carcases, discarded on the frozen arctic tundra. With ten minutes left in the final frame of regulation time, Detroit took a one goal lead.

The champagne buckets were wheeled amongst the jock straps and bloodied tape and beard trimmings of the Red Wing's dressing room. The Stanley Cup was polished and positioned in the hallway leading to the ice, just out of view of players on the bench, but sparkling in the mind's eye of all fans. For Detroit boosters, it's shine a promise of a return to late 90's glory, not unlike the new Weezer album. For supporters of the Penguins - including the chubby and morose Mario Lemiueux who sat in the press box teetering on the edge of what looked like a full blown poutine overdose - the presence of the cup on their TV screen meant that the excitement of their young but composed team was set to fizzle, like Danny Devito's Oswald Cobblepot in Batman Returns.

With goalie Marc Andre Fleury out of the net (risky), and all Penguin honkers (and the Penguins themselves) seeing red, in a sea of red, Maxime Talbot jammed a puck in the net to send the game to overtime. It was not pretty, but the beauty of the goal lay in the sheer determination and importance, like the migration of a certain dapper, portly avian creature.

We sat through three overtime's. In Sweden and Newfoundland, the fans didn't even know where they were as the time ticked later into the night. Imagine the pain of staying awake all night in Sweden, suffering through Bob Cole's consistently warbling and unsure fifth hour of commentary, to have to go to work on no sleep, not knowing the victor.

In the end, the Wings were clipped. Peter Sykora aka Pee Sick aka THA CORE was able to help the Penguins make an escape from the biggest little chop shop in Michigan, taking the series back to Steeltown. They will heat it up, but hopefully not bend.

The Penguin may wear its natural tuxedo with pride today. Everybody hates Detroit, but it is not shadenfreude, but rather honest joy in the glow of the flashing red light (that heavenly light) and saw a bird soar while still on the ground.