Now I Know How My Colostomy Bag Feels

Watching the final goal leap just over Christobal Huet's shoulder in the second overtime last night reminded me of watching Aaron B**ne's homer in the 11th inning to end the 2003 ALCS. All that hard work, excitement and promise gone in an instant. In short, it was like being unexpectedly kicked in the nards.

I wanted to throw something, but I was at a friend's house and all the inanimate objects lying around didn't belong to me, so I refrained. I wanted to hit somebody, but didn't have the energy. Besides, I'm a lover not an idiot. (Well, OK, I'm sort of an idiot.) So, instead, I just got up, muttered something about having fun watching the game, shook my friend's hand (he really was gracious to put up with me), and left.

One of the crosses a fan has to bear is lack of control. Getting my ass kicked by some Flyer fan at 11pm on a deserted street, as enticing as it seemed at the time, wouldn't have made Huet any more able to block that last shot. It wouldn't have made the puck sit any easier on Alex Ovechkin's stick with 11 minutes left in the third period and a two goal lead a simple flick of the wrist away. It wouldn't have made a piano fall from the rafters of the Wachovia Center and land square on Danny Briere's goombahs.

All the excuses in the world won't bring that opportunity back. So you just down a beer (or 18) and try to get some sleep as visions of sheep covered in vomit (Hey! How'd that get there?) slowly jumping over Ovechkin's stick bombard your mind's eye.

The Flyers now lead the series 3-1 and the Caps backs are somewhere between against the wall and through it. Some Caps blogs are already talking about next year with the same enthusiasm they had for this series just a week ago.

You'll hear no more talk about the Caps winning the series from me. Its been a tough series from a young team and lots of lessons have been learned, I hope. Maybe enough that this young team can come out next year and put a hurt'n on some peeps.

So, I'm taking the high road. No complaining about the officiating or bitching about how the Flyers are a bunch of cheapshoting punks. Nope. High road, baby.




I can't even see you from up here.