Knockin' on Heaven's Door

Sharks 2, Red Wings 1; Western Semifinals, 1-4; season over

	Bob Dylan - Knockin' On Heaven's Door
	Found at skreemr.com

We wanted to believe. All of us, to a man/woman. Believe me, even I did. The way the Red Wings dispatched the Sharks in Game 4, it ignited a little bit of hope in all of us. A 7-1 win, Johan Franzen coming alive, that little flicker of hope that exists in all of us, no matter what the circumstance, it burned inside of us for the past two days. We wanted to believe that miracles were possible.

Over the years, opponents have tried every trick in the book to best the Red Wings. They've resorted to thuggery to try and throw the Wings off their game. They've used the dreaded neutral zone trap to try and neutralize Detroit's speed. But in this series, the Red Wings ran into something they didn't expect: a mirror. What the Wings have built a championship foundation on - puck possession, speed through the neutral zone, faceoff circle dominance, devastating special teams - was thrown back in their faces by a Babcock disciple. I don't necessarily think Todd McLellan is a better head coach than Mike Babcock. He's absolutely a better coach than Brad McCrimmon, but this was more a case of the team that yearns to breathe the air at the top of the mountain overcoming the team dizzy from being there already. I understand, the officiating was terrible. Dan O'Halloran reffing a Detroit game is a travesty. Douglas Murray's blindside hit on Franzen was reprehensible; the officials not calling it even worse.

In the end though, the Wings just didn't want it badly enough. They weren't as hungry, weren't as fast, weren't as good. I was as disgusted as all of you were with some of the calls that happened during the series, but in the end, sometimes you just have to overcome. The missed headshot on Franzen, as bad as it was - Rafalski blindly passing behind his back right onto the stick of Joe Thornton, setting up the season-ending goal by Patrick Marleau was worse. Losing a 3-1 lead in the 3rd period of Game 3 when they had to win was worse. Sometimes destiny - we like to call them the Hockey Gods - is not on your side. They were on the Red Wings' side once before, and will be again. It just wasn't our year.

It haunts me, and all of us, really, to think that this could possibly be the end for Tomas Holmstrom and Nicklas Lidstrom. Homer has been with us for so long, and he's taken such an unbelievable beating, I'm surprised he can get out of bed in the morning. I honestly thought he was going to retire after last year, he was dragging so badly at the end. When he's gone, his presence will be missed immeasurably. Franzen, Cleary and Bertuzzi are all the type that can go to the net and disrupt things, and even get a tip in, but I've never seen someone do it as good as Homer does it.

And Nick, well....what can you say? He's one of the greatest to ever play the game. When he retires, his #5 will instantly go out of circulation forever in Detroit; nobody will ever wear it again, and it will ascend to the rafters on Opening Night of the following season. This is a moment we all dread. For essentially 20 years, as the entire roster has changed, as Primeau and Sheppard faltered, and Yzerman and Shanahan bloomed into champions and then faded into the sunset, as Fedorov dazzled us and befuddled us and ultimately betrayed us, as the kids from Europe with the funny names grew up one lonely night in Anaheim, a night that would be a springboard to a championship, and as the others on the blueline shuffled in and out, from Chiasson to Coffey to Konstantinov to Murphy to Fischer to Chelios to Schneider to Rafalski, there has always been one constant - #5, Nicklas Lidstrom, patrolling the backend. He's been the safety net, and even as the media decries about the decline of Lidstrom and the emergence of new blood (Doughty, Keith and LOLMike Green as the Norris finalists), Lidstrom remains the rock we all rely upon to be there when we need it. He's our security blanket, and the day will come when he's no longer there to protect us, and I am epically sad just thinking about it.

Before Game 4, I made a promise to all of you that in the inevitable wake of defeat, I would provide something uplifting and optimistic. Up to this point, this hasn't exactly been happy. So, I'll try to commence with the optimism now:

As the final seconds ticked away in San Jose tonight, the Sharks' bench erupted, and their players spilled over onto the ice to celebrate wildly. A certain amount of celebration always ensues after a series victory, of course, but this was different. The Sharks celebrated, not just because they just got a giant monkey off their backs, but because they beat Detroit. Just as the Lakers hit the road to "BEAT LA" chants, just as the Yankees are universally despised - hatred cannot come without greatness. But even these Red Wings had to learn to become great. They had to learn to fly. Three years ago in the opening round, that process began.


In a familiar position, Game 5 at home on a weekend afternoon in a 2-2 series, the Red Wings began to shed the past. They lost in that same position in 2004 to Calgary and 2006 to Edmonton. And after 23 and a half minutes of scoreless hockey in Game 5 against the Flames in the opening round in 2007, Dan Cleary buried his penalty shot against one of the best goaltenders in the world, sparking a 5-1 humiliation. The next night, in that house of horrors called the Saddledome in Calgary, someone named Franzen provided the next memory.



We didn't know it at the time, but that snipe late in the night in western Canada would be the opening act of a playoff legend for the Red Wings. In the next series, ironically, the Sharks were seconds away from burying the Red Wings. They led two games to one, and led Game 4 2-1 in the final minute, when Robert Lang, of all people, tied it, and Mathieu Schneider won it in overtime, tying a series that the Wings would win going away with shutdown wins in Games 5 and 6.

It was ironic that two men who did not last long enough to partake in the future glory, Lang and Schneider, helped the growth process with their heroics.


That was the second to last game Mathieu Schneider ever played in a Red Wings jersey. He broke his wrist in Game 5, missed the Western Finals against Anaheim, and then signed with the Ducks after the season. In those West Finals against the Ducks, the Red Wings were one minute away from a 3-2 series lead, before the Fluttering Puck of Death off of Scott Niedermayer's stick tied Game 5 with 45 seconds left, setting the stage for Teemu Selanne's overtime goal and a shellshocked Red Wings team getting blown away in Game 6 in Anaheim...until Pavel Datsyuk and Henrik Zetterberg grew up in front of our eyes, combining for four points in the third period, coming up just shy of prolonging the season, but setting the stage for what was to come.

The 2008 postseason began just as 2007's did - a 2-0 start at home, but road losses in Games 3 and 4, setting the stage for another pivotal Game 5 at home. The Predators hung around, and just as the Ducks had done the previous spring, they tied the game at 1 in the final minute, much to our horror.

And then some guy named Franzen was there again, early in overtime, telling us that this was going to be different. Telling us that the past had taught the present Red Wings how to fly.


A couple of weeks later, he would no longer be "some guy" named Franzen. He would be one of the Red Wings' greatest playoff performers after scoring nine goals in a four game sweep of the Avalanche. And then in the West Finals against Dallas, even with Franzen sidelined with a concussion, they staked a 3-0 series lead, one game from returning to the Finals. They made us sweat, losing Games 4 and 5, setting up a nervous Game 6 on the road. And after one period, the nervousness was gone.


Then, after five games against Pittsburgh, two of which were laughers, two of which were nailbiters, and one of which was an epic heartbreak, destiny called. In the most hostile of hostile territory, against a foe that went down swinging to the very last second, the Red Wings claimed what was theirs, what they had worked so hard to obtain. With one final swat by Chris Osgood, the coronation took place.

"And that's it! The Detroit Red Wings...for the fourth time in 11 years, are the Stanley Cup Champions! One last MARVELOUS play!!"


Ever since that warm June night 23 months ago, the weight of the world has been on their shoulders, and it's been evident. I've gone into detail about how they're different, how they've changed. It's natural. It's human nature. Once you reach the top of the mountain, it's almost impossible to show the fire and hunger needed to stay there that you showed on your climb up, especially when trying to fight off those trying to knock you off.

But along the way, they provided us with drama...








...and reminded us just how dominant they can be.








It's been quite the roller coaster over the past four years. We've had the lowest of lows (That Fateful Night in June), and the highest of all the highs in the world, that warm night 23 months ago. That's what makes this all worthwhile. If the Stanley Cup, or really any championship, was easy to win, none of the trials and tribulations we go through as fans would be worth it. Those sleepless nights after something awful like Game 3 in Anaheim last year, that epic nervousness you feel all day in your stomach on the day of a Game 7 against the hated Ducks or against the scrappy Coyotes. The joy that surges through your veins when Darren Helm buries the puck in the net in overtime against Chicago to send the Wings back to the Finals. The awe as you watch Johan Franzen do things the normal man cannot. The adrenaline that prohibits you from normal activity on every breakaway, every power play, every penalty kill. Add it all together, and you get the Stanley Cup Playoffs. We hate them and we love them all at the same time. And that's what makes it beautiful. There is a certain undefinable charm in the chase, just as there is an indescribable nirvana in the victory.

For all of the above, I thank you, Red Wings. See you in October.

A Stay of Execution

Red Wings 7, Sharks 1; Western Semifinals, 1-3

Well...there's that.

A lot of people are going to try to pump themselves up with hope now. After three straight one-goal losses that the Wings could've had if they had gotten a couple of breaks, it's easy to draw up some wild scenarios after a 7-1 ass kicking.

Well...save it.

There's a reason 0-3 deficits have only been overcome twice in the history of the sport, and never since 1975. Well, a couple reasons, actually. The number reason being, more often than not, the team in the 0-3 hole is there because simply put, they're not as good as the other team. But to delve a little deeper, it's borderline impossible to climb out of that hole because it's unbelievably hard to match the intensity required for four straight games. The Red Wings played tonight like their season depended on it - because it did. The Sharks played like they had the kind of cushion that allows for a throwaway game - because they did. It would be foolish to expect a similar outcome on the road in Game 5. The Sharks will play with much more intensity than they did tonight, and it will be quite a chore for the Red Wings to match the fire they brought in front of the home crowd in Game 4.

We'll see in a couple days whether tonight was the groundwork for history to be made, or if it was the final salvo of a champion whose time has come. I have prepared something in advance when the moment comes that they are eliminated. It is uplifting, warming, and downright positive. But until that time comes, I shall remain the pessimist, and I predict that the season ends Saturday night for the Red Wings. It's not a guarantee. These two teams are pretty close, talent-wise. But for three games, the Sharks got the breaks. They got some help from the refs, and some breaks, they created on their own.

We'll see in Game 5 who creates the breaks for themselves.

There Are Things That Drift Away

Sharks 4, Red Wings 3 (OT); Western Semifinals, 0-3

	Iron & Wine - Passing Afternoon
	Found at skreemr.com

It's never easy to say goodbye to someone, or something, that you love. It's even harder when you say goodbye to those that you adore so much, but realize they're not the same as they once were. What once was vibrant is now haggard. What once was fiery is now extinguished. What once shined under the spotlights now sweats.

Maybe it's just me. Maybe in my head, I've elevated the 2007-2008 Stanley Cup Champion Detroit Red Wings to a level of reverence that they never truly reached. Maybe the perfection I have envisioned in my mind didn't exist. Either way, it certainly exceeded what's transpired since that warm summer night in Pittsburgh 23 months ago. In my mind's eye, I see the definition of "Red Wings hockey": precision, speed, execution, grace, intelligence. You could throw a dart at every synonym for those words, and you'd hit one that accurately described the Red Wings on their quest to a championship two springs ago.

Now? I'm not sure if any of them apply anymore. What began to crack last spring has broken completely now. Whether it's a result of players getting older, or someone behind the bench being really, really bad at what they do, or some combination of both, it doesn't matter; the Red Wings no longer possess many of the qualities that we as fans have grown accustomed to seeing night in and night out. Losing battles in the corners, losing possession of the puck, passes failing to connect through the neutral zone, defensemen being turnstiled and burned by being out of position. None of these were present two years ago. They began to pop up last season, culminating in one of the most painful nights in the lives of Red Wings fans. Even The Perfect Human, one Nicklas Lidstrom, has become mortal.

This goes beyond officiating. The refs were bad, but they're hardly to blame. Tonight's scapegoats, as if it really matters, could be a few select players, I suppose. Jason Williams, in the lineup for some unknown reason, does what he does and fires a wild shot that, of course, ricochets out the other side and produces the 2-on-1 that ends the game, because, just like last year in Pittsburgh in Game 4, Brian Rafalski is completely and utterly worthless in this situation. He does nothing to stop the pass, and bang, it's game over. And it's game over because of two completely unacceptable goals given up by our rookie goaltender, Jimmy Howard. The first goal was horrible enough as it is, Howard inexplicably lifting his pad off the ice and exposing his five hole when that was the only shot available; but to give it up with 1.8 seconds left in the period and going to intermission up 2-1 instead of 2-0 is garbage. Second goal wasn't his fault, it was on the five players playing in front of him, losing another faceoff battle and doing nothing but watching as Joe Thornton skates around the net and out front with the puck. Hard to blame the goalie when the players in front of them are picking their noses. But the third goal? He deserves to be cussed out for that one. I'm not kidding. Somebody in that locker room, a player, a coach, whoever, should read Howard the riot act for that. The Wings fell asleep after going up 3-1, and predictably paid for it, but Howard woke up them with his two saves on Martin Hanzal in Game 5 in Phoenix. And to give it up on a goal like that, in a one goal game in the third period in a game you have to have, when your team needs a wakeup call - well, how can you defend somebody after that? I understand Chris Osgood is finished as a #1 goaltender, and this was the mindset of the Red Wings headed into the postseason - it's Jimmy's show, sink or swim. Meanwhile, the Red Wings' defense is aging, there are heavyweights in the Western Conference significantly younger than this Detroit team, and sacrificing a postseason for the sake of getting your new goaltender experience, well...it is what it is, I guess.

And what it is is over. This isn't like 2007 when the Red Wings' #2 and #3 defensemen didn't play a second of the West Finals against Anaheim. This isn't like last year where the Wings were a walking MASH unit by the time That Fateful Night in June rolled around. No, this is the case of a championship window as we know it getting closed down just a bit further, close to completely shut. Lidstrom will be around for maybe one more year. After that, then what? You don't just plug in the gap left by one of the greatest players of all time. Rafalski has a couple years left, but he's old too and showed his defensive limitation once again tonight. Kronwall and Stuart are top four defensemen, but not top two. They aren't the type you send over the boards everytime the opposition's top line takes the ice. You don't tell them to quarterback your power play and penalty kill. So where does that leave us? Hoping that the light goes on for Jonathan Ericsson, who was terrible this year? Hoping that Jakub Kindl pans out like the first round pick he was? Hoping that Brendan Smith develops quickly and is a star? That's entirely too much hope in a conference where Kane, Toews, Sharp, Bolland, Versteeg and Byfuglien are all under 28 in Chicago. Where Los Angeles appears to be rising to prominence with Kopitar (21), Stoll (27), Brown (24), Frolov (27), Simmonds (20), Doughty (19!), Johnson (22) and a star goaltender in the minors (Bernier, 20). Where Heatley, Thornton, Marleau, Clowe, Pavelski, and Setoguchi are all under 30 for the Sharks. Where nine of Vancouver's top 11 scorers this year are under 30, and their goalie, one of the best in the world, just turned 31 and is in his prime.

It's a frightening prospect, as all these teams in the West have young stars up and coming, and the Red Wings have an aging defense and a goaltender who has struggled in his first postseason. It's frightening when the team renowned for its ability to put the skate to the throat of its opponent blows a 3-1 lead in the third period and loses in overtime at home in a game they had to win to save their season. It's frightening that they are propelling the "playoff chokers" into the Western Finals.

I believe (and yes, I'm a homer) that the Red Wings were the best team in 2007, and would've beaten the Ducks (and then Ottawa) if Schneider and Kronwall had been healthy. I believe if they had possessed anything resembling health last year, if Datsyuk, Hossa, Zetterberg, Cleary and Lidstrom weren't nursing injuries that should've had them on the sidelines, they would've beaten Pittsburgh. I believe this team deserved better than the one championship they got.

But that's life. It's about disappointment, and how you deal with it. It's about setbacks, and how you cope with them.

It's about saying farewell too soon to those you love with all your heart.

A Picture Is Worth 1000 Words

Sharks 4, Red Wings 3; Western Semifinals, 0-2

Honestly, you couldn't find a better picture to sum up what took place in San Jose tonight. While the Red Wings skated, the Sharks were on the ice, often drawing phantom penalties, which eventually piled up to the point they were able to seize momentum in a game they trailed 3-2. And they rode that momentum to a 4-3 win.

You know, I used to respect Todd McLellan. When he was an assistant in Detroit two years ago, the Wings were aces in the faceoff circles, and their special teams were dynamic. He has successfully instilled those qualities into the Sharks since taking over as their head coach after winning the Stanley Cup with Detroit in 2008.

But apparently the years of postseason gagging have caught up to the Sharks, and McLellan decided to teach them another attribute: the art of the flop.

Feel a stick near your feet? Throw your legs out from under you.

Feel a nudge in the back? Propel yourself face first onto the ice.

Feel a stick near your wrists? Lose control of the puck and then slide down to the ice.

All of the above will goad the (as usual) braindead mouth breathers masquarading as NHL referees into calling ten penalties on the team who committed the second fewest amount of infractions in the league this season. TEN power plays for San Jose tonight. Back to back five-on-threes.

After witnessing that abomination (no surprise either that one of the refs tonight was also on hand for a previous abomination), what more can you say? I love hockey. I love the Red Wings as much as I love Michigan football. But after yet another clusterfuck courtesy of Gary Bettman's refs and the NHL's World Cup representatives, how much more emotion can one invest? How can I continue to put so much into something so blatantly broken?

In the interest of full disclosure, I expected the Sharks to win the series. Despite dispatching Phoenix with brutal efficiency in Game 7, I saw enough problems with the Wings against the Coyotes and knew they wouldn't get away with such mistakes against a foe like San Jose. The first two games have reinforced those feelings, and I have a hard time envisioning the Red Wings beating the Sharks four out of five times.

But to have the Sharks flop and dive all over the ice like a bunch of pussies - that's embarrassing, and they shouldn't have to resort to such cowardly tactics. They're supposed to be better than that. But I guess they're not, so if they went to flop their way into the conference finals, so be it. I'm about at my wit's end with the NHL and its incompetence as it is.