Take a look at the crowd behind the net. I can't decide which one I was last night. I'm leaning towards the Asian woman because she seems to be pretty angry about the whole ordeal. I can't deny the fact that an 8-2 final made me a bit peevish after the train wreck in Anaheim that started this disaster of a road trip.
Still, there is something pretty magical about that old woman's face. Just to the right of the Asian woman. She looks downright terrified, doesn't she? I'm not sure if she knows the glass is preventing that blanket of suck from smothering her, but I think she caught a whiff of the fiery explosion that once was our defense.
Now I know most of those faces turned to cheers just a frame or two after that picture was taken, but how can you not appreciate that photo? Miller looking on helplessly as another goal goes whizzing past. A King celebrating with no one around the net to clear him out. A hapless Sabre coasting by moments too late. And most telling, a group of people watching in horror.
That, my friends, has been the last 48 hours of our lives. 120 minutes of wasted hockey. Greek tragedies take longer to develop, yet here we sit, outscored 12-3 by the basement of the Pacific. If that's not downright depressing I don't know what is.
Maybe we belong here after all. This position of mediocrity we currently hold, maybe it is more than just a slow start. I still want to believe this team has more in the tank, but after watching them go out West and get punched in the mouth it's hard to consider it anything but reality.
San Jose will not roll over on Saturday. I would expect this team not to do so either. However, if they put another postage stamp on a game like they did tonight, we will have much more to talk about then tan lines and souvenirs come Sunday.
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