Today is a beautiful day, full of love and gorgeousness.
There are some news items in the mix.
First, and on the lowest possible note, we have one fallen soldier in Paul Bissonnette.
He is going to play with the Phoenix Coyotes, and seeing as he used to beat the shit out of Philly, perhaps this whole Carcillo-Philly-Phoenix thing has some kind of copacetic quality to it.
The Phoenix Coyotes = probably won't even have a roof over their heads to make it through the winter.
Biz will be the last man standing.
Next, Pens signed Martin Skoula. Game, set, Shero. Okay. We'll allow it.
On to the gorgeous things on Curry's green earth:
There's no easy way to say this, but the boys got today what will forever be symbols of their achievement.
Bob Errey wears his to this day, much to the delight of women and children throughout the Pittsburgh area who have heard of his legend. Max Talbot, for example, will someday hold a similar position, wear his *cough* Cup ring, and look fly as shit for the rest of his earthly life.
They are beautiful.
They have the names of the players as well as striking reminders of all of their victories in a slick design on the side.
Here is Billy G about to go put a hit out for everyone who has ever offended his honor.
These things are powerful.
Last, but certainly not least, we have the eternal reminder, just in time for the true beginning of the new season.
Rings are cool and all, but every sport gets a fucking ring.
Super Bowl rings are like a dime a dozen. Who cares, really, about the rings? They're nice and all, but whatevs.
Listen. This is what makes what we do special. We have an enormous silver thing on which the names of everyone involved in our championship are immortalized.
This enormous silver thing is also toted around the world such that the glory of hockey achievement cheers up people in desperate or less-than-cool situations.
The names of the 2008-09 Pittsburgh Penguins will travel with them now.
And also look pimp as shit in the Hall of Fame.
Feel free to shed your last victory tears, because Friday: it's on.
No more celebrating. We've been saying it for awhile, but this time it's real.
The glory has become tangible. It's time to move on.
Our fave picnic buddy CamCam signed a 6-year deal with the Canes. Guess he's fine venturing to the mountains in the summers only.
BILL GUERIN IS GOING TO POSE FUCKING NAKED FOR ESPN. We don't understand either. But look forward to it. And want to know if this means he'll agree to the threesome.
It is a beautiful world.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Today is a beautiful day, full of love and gorgeousness.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Both teams were missing their key components, in a show of who could care less about this game. The Penguins stood on the sidelines shaking their heads saying "Nope, we won this game and we're done playing" while the Wings stared right back saying "Well we aren't afraid of you and we've got nothing to prove either."
Meanwhile the collective hockey media stood by screaming "GROINGROINGROINGROIN!"
Yeah, okay, we get it. Sidney Crosby has a minor injury.
This is all possibly a conspiracy to keep Cappy out as long as possible by riding his dick until his actually dies from groin related injuries.
We're just throwing around ideas at this point.
Had we won we would have cared just as little.
This isn't where you prove yourself, kiddies.
We save our shit for the real show.
But hey...at least this was entertaining.
Opening faceoff is like last call on dollar draft night at the shady bar down the street that doesn't card. Everyone lunges for the puck, and it takes a second before anyone even knows where it is. Bodies scatter. No one knows who won. Someone falls.
I'm sorry, is this professional ice hockey? Can we please not show up reeking of liquor and five dollar cologne?
Pascal Dupuis manages to throw a puck near the net despite the double vision. Nothing happens. You start screaming about alcoholism not being an excuse to not know how to finish. You're still convincing yourself that the preseason isn't worth the broken furniture of a full-fledged hockey freakout when Dupes tries it again. Throws the puck. It gets blocked, slides back across the ice like a gift from baby Jesus himself, and Pascal Dupuis, the man that finishes less than Bob Dole without Viagra, actually picks up his own trash and throws it back in like it's nothing.
To celebrate, all hell breaks loose. Mattie Cooke and Draper. Some dramz in front of MAF to take care of a small snow job situation. Ahhh, so it's going to be THIS kind of game.
Meanwhile, back on the Sod farm, Jordan Staal is doing everything in this game. Just...not actually getting anything done. But doing some REALLY EXCITING LOOKING THINGS that don't end in actual production. Whatever. It was fun to watch. Preseason. Not complaining.
Uncle Jordy's doing his thing making things look good when he gets on a killer breakaway. There's some debate as to if he was actually hooked or not, but we're going to put out our obvious "Well no shit he was hooked, he's a Penguin and the offender in question is a Red Wing, what are you, retarded?"
The refs agree.
Failblog, but whatevs.
He's fresh off his 21st. I figure if I was still hungover at gametime, Jordy had to be as well.
Franzen, who is a piece of shit, scores at some point.
We'd prefer to not talk about it.
Quoth the intern: "He just had like 12 interviews during the game and his oily face was blinding and his eyebrows looked like they were dipped in doughnut powder."
In fact, hold on.
I would like to compose an open letter to Franzen right now.
Excuse me sir,
You are the worst person alive.
No, seriously, there are people out there who murder kittens. There are people who think that the holocaust never occurred. There's Pierre McGuire. But you, sir, you with your powdered eyebrows and old gingerness and awful, awful, existence, you really take the cake. I hope your engine blows up during rush hour on your birthday, and that Christmas gets canceled just for you. Please go straight to hell.
PH Staff and the Intern
The announcers know what our lives are like here at PH, and want us to have another great excuse to drink, so they start offering up Staal lore. Brothers, everyone. They are brothers. BROTHERSSODBROTHERSSODOMGOMG.
You can officially blame them being brothers on this partial drunkblog.
Or are they brothers because I'm drunk?
It raises some really great (awful) questions.
The game wears on. MAF is making unreal saves left and right.
Sometimes it doesn't work.
The Red Wings rack up some points.
We're talking about boats and trying to not think about it.
The conversation is something like
"Yes, yes, and tug boats too."
"Ah, I forgot about tug boats. And barges."
"Barges are a good point."
"HOLY SHIT MAF, WHAT ARE YOU ON?!?!"
The answer was acid, but you can't win 'em all. His efforts might be forgotten by many, but we'll remember some wicked saves from this game. And one really unbelievable poke check.
The Announcers start talking about movies. They are inviting one another out on dates before we know what's going on. Just...make it stop.
Eric Godard punches the blood out of someone through a ref's body. It's artful. Guerin and Kunitz beat the shiiiiit our of Franzen. It's a beautiful thing, bodies are everywhere. Somewhere along the lines, Brooks gets into a fight as well.
And that is what it boiled down to.
Fists and pain and tears and alcohol, like any good Sunday should be.
I had actually forgotten and thought it was 5-1 at this point, so that was a nice surprise.
We can't wait to get back to real games and award shows.
But for now...sleep.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Hey everyone, the bitches here. We know it's been a while since you've actually heard from us, but we promise that we'll be back on Sunday for the game. Stop bitching and listen to the Intern. We chose her for all of the right reasons and you should have faith in us and our selections. Note: Just because we haven't selected your application this time around doesn't mean we don't still have it. You may still be contacted in the future, as this is an internship, not a FOREVER AND EVER staff position. Along those same lines, all of you can still feel free to send in applications whenever you like. For now, let's give Intern Ann the stage:
That is definitely what I look like....
Five score hours ago, a great blogger, in whose shadow I write today, texted me the SOS of a game recap. This momentous decree came as a great beacon of hope to pretty much just me, who had been seared in the flames of withering hockey-lessness. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of an uncertain hockey season.
In a sense I've come to this blog to cash a check. When the architects of the Canadian Hockey Media wrote the dastardly words that hockey would never make it in the desert, they were signing a promissory note to which I was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, bitches as well as men, would be guaranteed the "unalienable Rights" of "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of a legit team." It is obvious today that Gretzky has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as the citizens of Arizona are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, Bettman has given the people a bad check; a check that has come back marked "insufficient fans."
But I refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. I refuse to believe that there are insufficient fans in the great vaults of Hockey in this nation. And so, I have come to Puck Huffers to cash this check, a check that will give upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of having people to bitch about games with at least 82 times a season.
Hi. My name is Intern Ann and I'm a Penguins fan in a Coyotes state, which really isn’t a Coyotes state because those fuckers keep trying to jack our shit right off the ice. I'm pleased as punch to be blogging for you fine fellow members of Pens Nation. I'm pretty sure les Bitches chose me because I really, really like pancakes and I'm ok with that. Also, mothers frequently cover their children's ears when I walk by on the street. I'm ok with that, too. Oh, and they picked me because I'm a Penguins nuthugger and think they're gods. So I'm here to entertain, amuse, and hopefully sick you out sometimes. To celebrate my arrival, pour a little out for Brooks Orpik, cuz he got a little older today.
Note: Martin Luther King, Jr. did not endorse this post, but if he wasn’t dead, he sure as shit would have.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Kim, Zoe and Allison are all off being drunken whores or having lives and jobs and relationships or something important like that. So, Blue Jackets are what interns are for, and this is where I come in. I'm your friendly neighborhood intern. More news on me later. For now, there's hockey:
The dramz here is that Crosby left the game with a groin strain after 3 shifts.
I'm listened to this game on Jackets Radio for reasons too complicated to explain.
So, back up a minute:
The Jackets announcers declare that Goligoski is extremely calm and confident. We already know this though, from that photo on the bus where he is staring thoughtfully like he's Bob Dylan traveling cross-country.
Malkin and Crosby are on the ice together to start, which causes the announcers to note that Bylsma must want to score. No way!
Staal got bizzay early, but some kid named Blunden scores on a rebound. Announcers assert with glee that the Penguins will not miss the net for the rest of the game. They're fans.
One of the Jackets announcers takes this opportunity to note that MAF "has not had a strong camp". The smart one counters with a blistering, "So what?"
So what, indeed, bitches.
Malkin scores 4 seconds off the faceoff cuz he's tired from the bus ride and wants to peace out early.
These sharp pencils correctly assess that Crosby has been missing for a hot minute. They note that although he is "the biggest weapon, he is not the only weapon for the team". Malkin flips them the bird, in Russian.
Jackets interview a writer, who announces that he is tired of typing the word "groin" as well as "flexor" and "stretcher". His Mom is proud. The Hemmingway then notes that Crosby has left the game with a groin strain.
Jackets Announcer: "Apparently you are tired of typing groin but not of saying it, you've said it twice now."
Writer: "I'll be groin now."
Announcer: "Hahahaha see you l8ter."
Can't make that shit up. He'll be here all week, and try the fish.
Basically they skip discussing the game and discuss Crosby's groin a bunch.
Nash attempts to decapitate LeTang on a PP. It wasn't a full guillotine so Nash only gets 2 minutes.
Biz Nasty and Dorsett get it on. Dorsett's throwing lefts, the words "pile drive" and "clothesline" are used, which leads me to believe that they were both oiled up in spanky pants with folding chairs. Love the radio.
Nash went in, got all over his own rebound, and Brassard finished it off. This led the Penguins to collectively blink and then Nash scored on a powerplay. Balls.
Guenin scores, thank Curry! This was inevitable due to the death stare he was rockin on the bus ride to Columbus.
Kennedy slugs Moore and they go down. General discontent at center ice. Kunitz goes away with Dorsett for penalties. Advantage Jackets.
There is brief elation when the announcers declare that Crosby was on the ice with Staal, but a quick check showed that they were hallucinating.
Mackenzie puts a puck through Connor's legs to score and the announcers collectively jizz in their pants.
Good Lord. Fleury's glove-side. Unassisted, some guy named… Oh, who the fuck cares.
Rupp and Roy go at it, but Dorsett decides to show them how it's done and throws everything but the kitchen sink at McKee. McKee is described as a "rag doll". The Penguins are likened to the Charlestown Chiefs. Engelland is not a fan of this and shows his displeasure by starting it with Liffiton. Thug life. Wooo!
Pens Lose. Nothing to riot about.
Fuck the bus. Fly first class.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Just when you think the insanity's about to stop and easy rest may come, you have to play the fucking Leafs again. It's inevitable.
You know it's going to be special when the Leafs top dressed forward is Jiri Tlusty.
Vesa Toskala in net. All video feeds of the game are conspiring against me, so it's Penguins radio for me.
Ryan Bayda makes the Vesa slut it up early.
Halfway through the first after some general thuggery, the Leafs get their first shot on goal.
With such fine radio commentary as "Carl Gunnarsson. . .one of the best names in hockey!" by the amazing Steve Mears, there's no reason why this can't be a real game.
The commentary of Toronto's power play is like listening to someone describe a Girl Scouts' baking competition.
Shortly thereafter, Chris Connor offers Vesa the cookies that are the fruits of their labors on a breakaway, and it's 2-0. But we know that any feeling of comfort would be misguided.
Bissonnette and Rosehill throw down.
Cupcake McKee has his own bakery and there ain't no Girl Scouts there. Shots = blocked.
105.9 HD2 is advertising Nemacolin Woodlands Resort and CalU for those of us who think there's much savory south of Pittsburgh.
We'd say Brent Johnson Stands Tall in honor of his Lord but really nothing big is happening anywhere near him.
The period flows away. The press is having a grand old time.
The second starts with an epic Wayne Primeau sighting and actual play-by-play of Vesa drinking water.
McKee interferes with someone. Leafs power play is winning blue ribbons for its creative sprinkle decorations and moist cakeyness.
Then Tim Wallace mistakes Jamal Mayers for a bear. Bad fucking news. . .for Mayers anyway.
Somebody runs into Johnson, wide open net.
Stahlberg. 2-1. Saddest day of your life.
Thug goal if you've ever seen one.
Bourque and Steve Mears bet each other "an adult beverage" on whether or not Toronto will make the playoffs. Mears thinks they will. Bourque, indignant, wants the nation to know that his vote is Absolutely Not.
Goaltending is apparently the X Factor.
But wouldn't poor baby Vesa look good in his Leafs jersey with a Stanley Cup playoffs patch? It's shiny and could probably be bedazzled.
Pens get some ridic PP.
In an epic display of Mike Komisarek's long-known mental instability, he tries to fight Jordan Staal for no reason whatsoever. Staal puts him on his ass instantaneously. Matt Cooke is assigned a bizarre charging and/or unsportsmanlike conduct penalty. Altogether everyone seems to know exactly what's going on.
Witness the insanity in the eyes again, folks:
Seems like a cool guy until he takes some mescaline and starts talking about how the cheers of Toronto fans taste like creamsicle.
Mark Eaton then trips someone. Thank God.
Survival mode. But Brent Johnson does in fact stand tall.
Period goes out in nail-biting fashion.
For the third, Curry has risen.
Johnson is apparently forrealz hurt and is not on the bench.
Not that we hope for injuries, much less on our own team, but could this mean. . .?
Biz Nasty goes wrestling with Beauchemin after Beauchemin makes Timmy W go down.
Second fight of the night. Gotta love preseason.
Here is a beautiful photo to break up the text. Luke and Jordy are enjoying their dance together.
Bourque finally gets around to mentioning that Lovejoy isn't on the bench and we only have 5 defensemen. In the regular season, you get super worried.
Curry spends a lot of time being unfuckingreal to keep the score 2-1. But the Pens ice the puck repeatedly.
With Vesa-baby pulled, Nazem Kadri destroys all of your hopes and dreams.
Regulation pisses itself.
Leafs keep hitting the post. You have to think the Powers that Be want it to be our day. But is it?
6.7 seconds left is plenty of time to score after Beauchemin has a brain fart and ices it.
But. . .nope.
First round, Kadri has Curry's number. GOAL.
Staal goes in. Toskala with the pad save. NOPE.
Bozak skates in. Curry with the Holy Pokecheck. NOPE.
Chris Connor is next. Toskala is out of his mind. NOPE.
Stempniak can win it. And, well, fuck.
Are you surprised?
Really, these are the same frustrating problems that often lose games for our boys.
Preseason games are always different. We had a great preseason last year, but that didn't prevent us from eating shit all winter.
Nothing like raising a Stanley Cup Champions banner on opening night to boost morale.
Hockey is here, but it's not the hockey we thirst for.
These are mere nuggets of the joy to come.
JC had a gameday today.
Witness the poise.
Also, if you're interested in complicating your life in the best way possible, you can be our slave.
We will still be getting back to you on our Blingee contest. We haven't forgotten. Rarely do we forget anything, just sometimes we lose it in a haze of Tostitos and inappropriateness.
Monday, September 21, 2009
The game started with a Simple Plan interlude and an almost instantaneous sighting of Pierre McGuire. Televised preseason with NHL network? An indescribable taste, like cum in the back of your throat. You wanted it but you'll have to clean up afterwords.
Omens everywhere. Anything could have happened.
What is the identity of the Montreal Canadiens? asks James Duthie.
Clearly puck possession and hard defense.
Youth hockey turns your children into majestic birds.
Aaaaand Curry in net? Heaven has arrived.
Bill McCreary resides in his fortress of Barad-Dur, awaiting movements of interest. This is going to be a wicked evening.
Right off the bat, shit is fast-paced and crazy like we're on a mission, like we just realized the Cup ain't ours anymore.
Already Crosby is stickhandling while prostrate on the ice, John Curry is standing tall before his children, and Deryk Engelland and Eric Tangradi are beating the living shit out of established individuals in the league.
TSN announcers are audibly giggling about how we won the Cup.
If there are any doubters in the crowd, Curry silences them. Multiple times.
Price continues to defend his 2008-2009 Cam Ward Memorial Trophy title.
And, unsurprisingly, Pierre talks about men sensually. In case you were playing the Staal Brothers Drinking Game at home, you could have taken two shots in the first. And if you're playing that during a Pens-Habs game, feel free to e-mail us for some good alcoholism help lines.
Late in the period, Brian Gionta commits heresy.
Caputi tries to save the motherland, but the heritage of CamCam runs deep.
Second period starts a lot calmer.
You feel insanity setting in.
Blah blah blah. Only a matter of time until. . .
GONCH BLAST, and Montreal will no longer be burned in hellfire.
Lovejoy flips the puck over the glass just to see what will happen.
Wait. . .penalty.
Curry had this happen on purpose because he knew Benny would, immediately out of the box, would set up Malkin to make Carey Price give back his PH Trophy.
And Curry Stands Tall.
Let us pray.
And so goes the period.
Gionta has an amazing chance in the slot. Goes wide. Montreal has some PP but you don't actually realize it.
Jaroslav Spacek tries to kill Crosby and gets a 4 minuter.
Period ends, cutting it short.
We will now listen to Craig MacTavish talk about how the world is made of pussies unless their names are Craig MacTavish.
And apparently Billy G wants to be fine at us.
Apparently everyone accepted.
To start the period and work on the power play, we give up a shorthanded goal to Scott fucking Gomez.
Further heresy later on. Latendresse will be tested heavily during the Inquisition.
After some bullshit Cammalleri runs into Curry in a blatant act of disrespect to the Lord. Late PP city. One of those moments that would matter in the regular season.
Billy G doesn't play preseason games.
Has one more big chance with Curry pulled to do it again. Eh.
It's cool for the Habs to beat the Cup champs in a preseason game.
Our only selfless concern is: how much will this matter in April?
Answer: clearly a lot.
- Why do Habs fans boo so much?
- Eric Godard eats, sleeps, and breathes penalties of all kinds, and yet he's still among the best team players we have.
- Burning at the stake in Montreal tonightttttttt.
- bitches we got this
Friday, September 18, 2009
For whatever reason, Pens/Leafs games are always bloody, messy, and generally have wildly unpredictable results. Would you have been surprised to blow the lid off of this game 6-0? No. Would you have been surprised if they had done that to us? Hurt, yes. But surprised? We're talking about a team that has rubbed our faces in the dirt when they least had any place to. The team that has stopped glorious winning streaks by bending us over the penalty box and showing no mercy as they raped away the last of our dignity for a single night. When the Leafs are on their game, they have a way of unlacing the Penguins. When they aren't? They can be a complete joke. Nothing shocks us anymore.
We're still not in award-night mode. This is our pre-season as well. We're just kind of dicking around and watching games and living our lives for the last possible days before blogging becomes our number one priority, above grades, relationships, family, and a number of other vaguely important things.
Oh, hey, there was a game tonight.
Press was bitchin'. Did we get some new interns this season?
Leafs show up big in the first period with penalties.
Finger trips Biz.
It would be enraging if they hadn't made the best faces ever.
Is it just us, or does Biz kind of look like a 5-year-old boy having the time of his life?
Reimer makes a Vesa-face, but we couldn't care less because he's not bedazzled. Rather than feeling sorry we kind of feel like...well, how Mattie Cooke feels.
Damn straight I made him cry. What's that? Yeah, I know it's only preseason...I didn't make him bleed, did I?
You're a wizard, Guenin!
One of the best parts of the game was the Leafs announcers going bat shit crazy over Marc-Andre. Any time he did something right, it was NOW THAT'S SOMETHING YOU DON'T SEE ANYMORE IN NET or THAT IS A CHAMPION GOALTENDER RIGHT THERE. They act like this is something they've known all along. We'll play your game this time, Leafs announcers...but step out of line again and we'll...
Well, we'll say something mean and pithy about it. That's really all we have the power to do.
Oh, and burn down your houses.
Anyway, when MAF saved the world, there was almost a moment of stunned silence from the media booth. Yeah, we know he fly. You're the ones a little late to the show.
"...get Man Purse up here. We want to have a little chitchat with him about this."
The new press interns came all over themselves when they got a chance to snap this shot in the second period:
It's really artful.
Good job, interns.
Can we get interns?
Let us get an application here...
Here we go.
E-mail us your completed application for employment consideration.
While we didn't win this game, we still did get some awesome moments.
Need we remind you?
He will end you and everything you love.
We're so not concerned about this loss. It's preseason. It's the Leafs. Brooks Orpik scored, Craig Adams was a fuckin' hero, Billy G let his pimp hand get a little wild, and MAF was still laughing like a lunatic behind his mask every time he knew he made an awesome save.
We're going to get back to you guys soon on this Blingee contest.
Give us a minute to regroup over here.
Zoe's in the Netherlands.
Kim has work to go to.
We're sorting things out.
Never losing again.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
By this point, you know that after a friendly invite to Minnesota Wild training camp, Petr Sykora has signed a one-year deal with them via GM Chuck Fletcher. Considering the fact that we thought he was going to abandon us and take the KHL by storm by beating the entire league with a belt, we're just happy he's staying in the good old National Hockey League.
But now we're overjoyed, because he seems to be sharing personal space with one of the finest, most gorgeous people to ever exist:
It's like Christmas or some shit.
But isn't it always Christmas in the Minnesota Wild locker room?
Watch the entire interview here
KTHX to reader [1wingangel] for the heads up. It may have been awhile before we decided to check WildTV. Not going to lie to you all.
Petr Fever will never die.
Minnesota better watch out.
Women and children first in line for the preventative medicine.
We're going to miss being sick.
Black and Gold game tonight. Gonna be amazing, clearly.
And tomorrow we play Toronto.
For the preseason, we still feel relatively epic.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
There was in fact a time when you thought that defense of the Stanley Cup might involve getting shut out in the preseason by the rookie squad of the Columbus Blue Jackets.
Some kid named Maxim Mayorov was going to have a hat trick while Sidney Crosby was held scoreless.
But it was the preseason, it didn't matter, you were probably too busy laughing at the dude in E28 wearing a Dallas Stars Marty Turco away jersey.
First period, people beat the shit out of each other, and the Pens had nothing to show for it.
Deryk Engelland = bloodthirsty monster of doom
Second period = stunned. Maxim Mayorov? Really?
Entering the third period down 3-0 with Mr. Undefeated in the National Hockey League Daniel LaCosta in net was like the kiss of death. . .but preseason style so whatevs. Nikita Filatov had an assist. It tingled in your pants the same way it did when you first saw a commercial for High School Musical 2.
Then, of course, Sid took over the world a little, with some help from Eric Tangradi, who was charging around the net as if it had been threatened by terrorists.
Chris Conner nabbed one for the big tie, but then some other kitten got Brad Thiessen to slut it up to make the score 4-3, with only two minutes remaining.
Kunitz and Sid and everyone else with a Cup ring coming to grace their perfect hands had a special meeting at this point and decided that the jig was up. They also may have slipped LaCosta some vintage puka shell necklaces. Either way, Our Hero Daniel's life ended and Kunitz put a pretty one in.
Overtime was a joke.
Kunitz wide-open in the slot? Sidney Crosby with a fairly awesome pass?
Sorry Dan LaCosta. We ruined your record.
But, as with all preseason games, no matter how cool it is it really doesn't count.
Some miscellaneous notes:
- Alyonka sang the national anthem. Jeff Jimerson was not in attendance. Scary.
- PA announcer filling in for John Barbero doesn't know a goal announcement from his own asshole.
- The Blue Jackets bus had a lady standing outside it with a clipboard who had all of the players state their names and provide identification before they were allowed on the bus. In a perfect universe, this happens because the Blue Jackets organization feels that their boys need a little extra looking after, so they are monitored at all times and asked to abide by the buddy system for all excursions outside of the arena. Clearly Jakub and Andrew Murray are buddies. Jared Boll is exempt from the buddy system because they're trying to figure out if he can find his way around a city alone for the amusement and morale of the team (they're not sure if he can read).
Defense of the Cup: so far, so good. It's not our Cup anymore, kids. It's everyone's. It's our job to take it.
WHAT A GAME.
Note: this recap is fake as hell because both Kim and Zoë are in varying states of death. We love the Blue Jackets and we love the Pens and this game didn't actually matter, so it's what you can consider a win-win situation.
Ken Hitchcock approves this message.
R.J. approves that Gatorade bottle.
Jakub approves his own haircut.
Nothin' like overtime to get the people excited.
Monday, September 14, 2009
It was nearly a year ago that Kim was in Philadelphia, frantically searching for a feed of the first Pens v. Lightning game of the 08/09 preseason.
Zoe, situated in Boston at the time, saw the away message "FML NEED TO FIND THE GAME. ANYONE?" and decided that despite having avoided her for about five years due to bitchiness during their last attempt at friendship, the Penguins came first.
She sent Kim the feed.
A week later, the ho-mance was impossibly strong.
A month later? A blog was born.
Preseason changes everything.
It was a different year, and in some ways, a different team. We'd equate seasons to snowflakes in that they are all unique, but that's a little too homo for us. We'll say they're more like children. You like 'em overall, they disappoint you a good deal form time to time, there's possibly one or two that you don't like but you can't talk about it, and in the end the problem child is really your favorite.
Look at last season. If the low hadn't been THAT low...well, the high would have still been fucking ridiculous, but we feel that it adds something.
Tomorrow is the official end of the "We won the Cup" argument. The summer of gloating has passed, and we trust you spent it well. If you didn't get drunk and loudly mock fans from at least two different teams, you abused your privilege as a Cup winner and deserve death, or to be forcibly turned into a Kings fan.
Tonight we say goodbye to kneeling in puddles of champagne on our friends' living room floor and smoking cigars on the South Side as the riots rolled past. While we are defending the Cup, it is no longer ours to brag about, it is only ours to protect.
The celebration has ended, the pursuit of glory has begun once again.
The G-20 summit is kicking our season in the balls to start things out.
The Penguins are running on three practices. No one seems to give a fuck though, seeing as it is only preseason. But then again, how quickly does "It's only preseason" turn into "It's only October", "It's only November", "Hey...guys...it's December" and "Oh fuck, it's January"?
We're kind of kidding.
It'll be great to see the rooks playing, especially because it means an on-ice appearance for Zac Efron.
Ladies, get excited.
Clearly the sex is happening.
So here we go. No more bitching. No more complaining about the lack of hockey. In a few months you're going to be thanking Curry for long weekends with no games. We forget how hard being a hockey fan is in these trying times of the off-season. Sometimes, if you recall last season's blanket forts, this shit gets to you. But we love it, of course.
How about we do it? Let's kick some Blue Jacket ass just to start this shit off on a good foot. We have no expectations for this season.
Minus never losing again.
Take it, Billy G:
“The games are the ones that really get you in shape and get you prepared for the season. We’ve had three days of practice and guys have been skating for weeks. Let’s just play.”
Friday, September 11, 2009
Yesterday, the boys cleaned up real nice and visited the White House.
President Kennedy was glad that his team won the Cup this year so he could, for one glorious day, not have to sneak into the building to administer his nation.
Sports fandom brings out the old boys' club of politics that has been missing since the days when if you didn't like a guy you could take him out back and see who pulled out their gun and fired the fastest.
President Obama was basically like, "Pittsburgh is awesome."
Regardless of your political bent, it's a surreal, beautiful, and bittersweet moment for a Pittsburgher to realize: "Wait. . .shit. The rest of the world knows we're here. We kind of forgot."
In many cases, this is just a symptom of being from southwestern Pennsylvania and can be slightly remedied by venturing out of state occasionally, not that you should fucking want to.
In this case it's just the glare off of the Stanley Cup blinding us to national issues.
The video is pretty sick. Malkin has no idea what's going on but apparently doesn't care. And the fact that Eric Godard was invited to the White House and displayed such remarkable decorum is going to be a lesson to children for decades. The man is pimp city, though we may have a question or two about his haircut.
Brooks must have mastered the intense!stare and is now practicing it full-time, much to the discomfort of our souls and ovaries.
Max is laughing like there is a hot tub full of bitches just out of frame.
All in all, just an amazing moment.
As per Billy G's face in this photo, a swagger has been captured that will last a lifetime.
Gonch is like, "I know I said goddamn this country. . .but really, I could get used to this shit."
They made Brooks talk to the media as well because he effectively gave up his number to the puppet regime.
It's like he's still on high alert for Darren Helm.
Really, if you haven't seen these videos you've been living under a rock.
Or maybe you were just trying to watch it live on WPXI but kept getting John Fedko and some drunk people talking about the Steelers.
Not to discount the defense of the other championship currently residing in the city of Pittsburgh, but come on. . .like we said, Eric Fucking Godard was at the White House.
The real big deal of the day may be that the Penguins site has finally transitioned over to the new template that all of the NHL team sites have been adopting.
Go take a peek at it.
The design itself isn't much to write home about, but its simplicity belies the fact that our summer with that big, shiny thing is coming to an end.
Website is functional.
Pens won the Cup.
Bitches and ponies for everyone.
Training camp Saturday.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Well, you'll be happy to know that we're kind of back.
Day-to-day posting is on the horizon. Not quite here, but approaching. Does that get you pumped? It should.
Today, in the traditionally epic fashion that has made Puck Huffers an international success, the responsible party for the 1994 suspension of the UN's Trusteeship Council and first blog to be translated in over 54 different languages*, we intend to let you know what you should look for this year. Look no further, we mean everywhere. In the world.
WELCOME TO THE GLORIOUS SEASON THAT THE GODS SHALL CALL
First up on the menu:
THE PITTSBURGH PENGUINS
DID YOU KNOW?
In 2010 all hockey happens in space.
In desperate need of some killer instincts, the Penguins will climb the highest mountains in the Andes in search of Brooks Orpik, who has been living in a straw-and-mud hut and raising alpacas, valuable both as beasts of burden and as sweaters. Brooks has been teaching them commands in Quechua and while they have become both his livelihood and his best friends, the Great City calls him back to fight. After turning the alpaca business over to native children (with untranslatable words of wisdom) he returns to share his personal hell with all those who dare to cross him, displaying their bloodstains on his jersey for eight more glorious months.
Malkin, freshly back from burning a small village in the Pitcairn Islands, takes the NHL into his hands and turns it into a relentlessly obedient army for when he plans to take over the world. He misses two games all season, one due to a head cold, and one to kill a man in Reno for reasons we can't quite understand.
He breaks every NHL record ever set, and then some MLB records just for the lulz.
Replaces his hockey stick with a lightsaber. Game, set, match. Bring it, Ovie.
The President is very busy with political issues this year, tending to his very serious stance on the rights of ponies and hot bitches remaining equal to those of champions. His busy schedule will not, however, prevent him from burying 35 goals shooting from the goal line. If it does for some reason, the stats will be adjusted by a House committee after the season is over.
Pens vs. Toronto Maple Leafs Sun. Dec 27th, 2009
This game will prove to be the most memorable of the 2009 side of the season.
In an uncharacteristic display of effort, the Maple Leafs head into this game on a three game streak after ripping through the Sabres, Isles and Habs in an almost heroic fashion. Vesa Toskala has his promise ring on securely and isn't spreading his legs for anyone. Luke Schenn is a man on fire, beating the shit out of anyone who gives him so much as a sidelong glance. Don Cherry is in a strawberry print suit.
The game starts with Jiri Tlusty getting a natural hat trick in the first 10 minutes of play. Second period begins 0-3, and Mellon Arena is deadly silent.
Cupcake Jay jumps from the bench to begin his shift, scoring on a Malkin-esque spin move, eyes closed for dramatic effect. Seconds later, MalTal buries it from the defensive zone after shooting backwards between his legs. Billy G literally kicks a puck into the Leafs net in the last seconds of the period, but McCreary was too busy grooming his finely trimmed mustache to make the call.
The third period begins 3-3 and no one knows what to expect.
Having equally dominated a period each, the third period of play is a neck and neck race between the Leafs and Pens. It is one of those "next point wins" situations, but the next point never comes.
Overtime, nothing. Shootout.
In a display of courage and faith, Danny B puts Gonch in the shootout lineup. Gonch skates directly into Vesa's crease, laughs, explains 18th century Gustavian period of Finnish art for a few moments, and then taps the puck across the goal line.
Pens win, 4-3.
Write it down.
Pens vs. Florida Panthers Mon. Nov 23rd 2009
The Penguins' first foray into Florida for the 2009-10 season will be a night of incredibly epic proportions. We're not necessarily at liberty to discuss how exactly it will change your life, but we can tell you that the final score will be 10-4 and that midway through the second period, hellfire will begin to rain down upon the Earth as several plagues are sent down in an effort to cleanse humanity of its wrongs. BankAtlantic Center will physically move five miles, riding on a solid swarm of copulating locusts. Vermin will flood the arena; all in attendance will be seized with the urge to speak in tongues. The plagues and mania will cease at the final horn and one of the most amazing hockey games of the century so far will come to a dramatic end. The planet will have been purged of all of its major evils, though the Detroit Red Wings franchise will remain, as, like Tolkien's Gollum, they will still have a part to play, for better or worse, before the saga is over. (Read: we have to wait until January 31st to kick their asses again.)
-Tony Granato will eat someone this season. The league will enact no suspension or penalty.
-The world water supply will run out and Penguins bottled water will save the population of Pittsburgh from certain death.
-Never losing again.
Now that we have that all cleared up, we'll open up the range of topics.
The San Jose Sharks
For once in their existence, the San Jose Sharks won't choke in the playoffs. In fact, they will knock out Detroit in the first round with a solid shutout sweep. Detroit never even sees the Sharks net. Rather than unceremoniously choking out, the Sharks' will make it to the Western Conference finals where they will meet heartbreaking defeat at the hands of-
The Louisiana MuskratsAfter PH staff purchases the Phoenix Coyotes, relocates them to New Orleans, and changes their name to the Muskrats, they will become a Western team to be reckoned with. Trust us, we know what we're doing here. Bryz looks awesome in this shit.
The Muskrats will make it to the SCF with little problem, and then lose to the Penguins in a hard-fought game seven, after which the Captain of the Muskrats commits honorable suicide at center ice, a franchise tradition.
This same match up happens for the next 5 years, until PH staff decides to sell the Muskrats to Damon Albarn, because we feel like he can maintain the awesome of anything and should be rewarded for providing the hockey world with the services of Blur.
The New York Rangers
The LA Kings
Give Peter Harrold to the Preds, where he wins the award for Best Defenseman Ever, which they invent just for him. Dany Heatley is sold to the Kings. Heatley and Rob Scuderi on the same team would sound like a recipe for awesome, but without Peter Harrold the team falls apart.
And now, to reveal the unhealthy obsessions that developed towards the end of last season and over the summer, and prepare you for odd interests to come-
PUCK HUFFERS WATCH
The Phoenix Coyotes
Our interest in the Coyotes is at maximum capacity right now, just because despite the deal having not yet gone through, they are already our very own Louisiana Muskrats in our hearts. That said, they have several players on our watch.
-Bryz. Because Bryz is always on our watch, always has been on our watch, and always will be on our watch.
-Álvaro "Al" Montoya - Being a third string goalie automatically makes us love you, but it helps that he is the first Cuban-American player in the NHL. We love trend setters.
That, and he's kind of dreamy.
-Vernon Fiddler Looks like the mug shot of a disgruntled hobbit. His name is literally Vernon Fiddler. The NHL creates people like this just to torture us.
Speaking of -
Cal, like Bryz, is always on our watch list. Another record breaking year in store for Cal, and another wonderful year for all us Calbunnies.
THE MONTREAL CANADIENS AND THE OTTAWA SENATORS
The teams that we shouldn't like, haven't liked, but are kind of starting to get soft around the edges for.
An irrational love we've developed in the past 6 or so months. Watch out for him. He's kind of awesome.
This season is going to be another season of awesomeness. Ups, downs, hope, fear, faith, praying to Curry, blanket forts, three AM celebrations, drunkblogging et cetera. That's hockey, it's why we're here. No matter where this season takes us, and no matter how the hell we end up getting there, we're with the Penguins.
And the Penguins have an enormous chance to repeat.
We're talking legendary shit here, folks.
Prepare yourselves for it. We're just a few weeks away from those sweet sounds of blades on ice, Gonch slapshots, and Cappy giggling like a little girl before destroying the lives of others.
As always, it's going to be the time of our lives.
You have from this moment forward until September 15 when the puck drops at preseason:
- Photoshop Hal Gill onto the USS Constitution. Use any pictures you like.
- Blingee it.
- Send it to firstname.lastname@example.org with the subject line "ON A BOAT" (uncreative, but easy to sort).
- Win shit if you do it well. Or better than the others. Or more tackily than the others.
As always, our hearts are in this for the Penguins.
Season 2010? Not a problem.
We're looking forward to spending another season with you fine folks.