SEASIDE HEIGHTS (NJ)—Congratulations to the Detroit Red Wings on winning the 2001-2002 Stanley Cup.

At least I’m assuming that they’ve won.

To be honest, I haven’t really been paying attention.

And it’s not like I’m a just casual fan either. I watch 150+ games during the regular season. I can tell you which teams favor the trap, which favor an aggressive forecheck, and which favor the (ugh) puck pursuit system. I can tell you who won the last Bill Masterton trophy, and also tell you who Bill Masterson was. I can name the back-up goalie for all 30 NHL teams. If you ask me who Patric Kjellberg was traded to Anaheim for, I’d pause briefly before offering an educated guess of Petr Tenkrat.

So my progressive apathy to the NHL is particularly troubling. I stayed up till 2 AM to watch San Jose eliminate Phoenix for God’s sake! Why has my enthusiasm waned as the playoffs careen towards their usually stunning conclusion? Isn’t this like waiting in line for two years to watch the next Star Wars prequel, and then walking out about an hour into the movie because you know how the series is going to end?

What could be the cause? I pondered the question from a beach chair as the mid-May sun roasted my shoulders to a crimson hue. Nothing. I contemplated the dilemma while sipping frozen margaritas and applying another layer of marinade to my barbecue chicken. No answers. And the problem haunted me later, between thoughts of how fantastic it’s going to be to see the entire Yankee infield at the MLB All-Star game. Still no clues. No logical reason why the coolest game on ice loses it’s appeal just around the time that I spot my first thong bikini. Just baffling.

Do you see what I’m getting at?

It’s the oldest criticism in the NHL book, but it bears renewal, especially if the league is going to send McTeams like Carolina to the conference finals: why, oh why, are you still scheduling Stanley Cup games in the middle of the summer? Hockey is a winter sport. If the idea is to generate new consumers to the NHL, the best strategy should be to capitalize on that immediate interest that follows the crest of the Stanley Cup wave, that compulsive need to sharpen the skates and hit the local frozen pond in hopes of becoming the next Chris Drury or Alyn McCauley. But what kid is going to strap on nine pounds of gear to carve potholes into a sheet of slush while all his friends play Marco Polo in the neighbor’s pool? Bad enough that the league has franchises stationed south of the Mason-Dixon line, most of which, it should be noted, did not make the playoffs. But ice hockey in May and June? Is it just me or is that the dumbest thing in the league outside of Theo Fleury’s no-trade clause?

(It also doesn’t help matters any when your favorite team completely sucks ass, but that’s not the point.)

Forget the automatic icing and the red line elimination. Shorten the schedules, push the playoffs back two months, inject some best-of-five stuff into the early rounds. In short, lose money today to make money tomorrow. The NHL is heading into some major Zdeno Chara sized problems in a few years. What’s going to happen when an entire season is lost from a lockout and the league returns to an angry fan-base wondering why its two best stars are playing to a disinterested Atlanta Thrashers crowd? Or why Eric Lindros is centering a line between Jason Dawe and Derek Armstrong because the Rangers can’t squeeze any more players under their salary cap. (Sigh) Let’s just say that it’s a bad time to try to break into the fast-paced world of hockey reporting. Looks like another five years in Mom and Dad’s basement for me.

Thank you for your time. Now put your hands together for Sha Na Na.

****

So now that I’ve said my peace about the state of the NHL, please allow me to rescind all of the above. Of course I’m watching the games. How could any true hockey skip-out on another classic Colorado-Detroit match-up? Here’s what’s left around the league, third round style:

Toronto vs Carolina
It’s completely unfathomable to me that either of these teams are a few lucky bounces away from going to and ultimately losing the Stanley Cup, and if it were anyone other than these two stinkers, I might be praising all the magic of the NHL. But I’m not. This series is really just the fallout from some miserable performances by Boston, Philly, and the Devils. Carolina is playing musical goalies with two castoffs, their leading scorer Sami Kapanen doesn’t have a single goal, and their power play is colder than Mike Keenan’s bloodstream. On the other end the Leafs have a roster 90% hurt, their discipline and self-restraint can only be described Tyson-esque, and Cujo, playing well, has still given up more cheap scores than a drunken sorority pledge. But it’s watchable hockey in a Bronze Medal kind of way. Gary Roberts gets the Claude Lemieux “Don’t Wake Me Till the Postseason” Award.

Toronto in Seven

Colorado vs Detroit
We meet again, Obi-Wan. The circle is now complete. Ladies and gentlemen, you wanted the best, you got the best. Sakic vs Yzerman. Fedorov vs. Forsberg. Blake vs. Chelios. Hasek vs. Roy. Maltby vs. Hinote. Williams vs. Hahl. The NHL’s two best teams align their stars and fulfill the prophecy to see who’ll drink next from Lord Stanley’s Cup. Tough series to call, perhaps the most even late round match-up of the decade. Maybe some edge goes to Detroit for being well-rested. But Colorado also has the greatest playoff performer in hockey history tending their net. Someday modern science will actually figure out that Petr Forsberg is made of the same material as the T-1000 in “Terminator 2”—I’m waiting for that crucial moment when Chelly finally snaps and severs PF in half with his stick, only to watch in horror as Forsberg morphs back into a cohesive whole. To quote Comic Book Guy, “Best European player, EVER.” Is it just me or is the Stanley Cup going to the be the hockey equivalent of having the NCAA Final Four Champ square up against the winner of the NIT?

Aves in Seven.

Overtimes

—Someday Luc Robitaille will be standing on a Hall of Fame podium, his 2002 Stanley Cup ring glinting in the sun, recalling some of the things that made him the most productive left wing in the history of the NHL. At the same exact moment, from an undisclosed location on Long Island, I will be dousing myself in gasoline, silver lighter in hand. Synchronicity, people. Syn-chro-ni-ci-ty.

—One of the things that I love about fantasy hockey is playing the Alex Tanguay Commemorative “who’s going to waste a fifth round pick on a sophomore player who gets well publicized sleeper status based on his playoff performance” game. With the #43 pick in the draft, the PuckHeads select Carolina winger Erik Cole. I can’t wait.

—And speaking of Erik Cole, if by some freak circumstance the Carolina Hurricanes win the Stanley Cup and Cole gets a well-deserved Conn Smythe trophy, he becomes the first rookie forward to win the award. Elite company for the youngster. Future of the league or NHL sign o’ the times? You make the call.

—To shift gears, thanks to the Knicks, I don’t watch much NBA, but it seems to me that the Sacramento Kings celebrate just a little too much for a team about to get their asses handed to them. That kind of crap doesn’t happen in the NHL. You should all send “Thank You” notes to Sandy McCarthy in the offseason.

—My favorite playoff utility forward is Kris Draper, but only because he looks less like a speedy forward and more like a guy that should be hanging drywall or something. I imagine him in a postgame locker room with a Marlboro dangling from his lips, bitching about his wife, handyman’s crack showing through his hockey pants. Yes, I know, I’m very weird.

—I just got my Sarcasm-O-Meter back from the shop, so would it be all right if I tried it out. “Testing, testing. Wow, is Steve Yzerman playing hurt? I did not know that. It’s great that ESPN needs to mention this every time he steps on the ice. Thanks, Gary Thorne, you wonderful bastion of hockey information.” OK, it seems to be working.

—I don’t want to say that the names are dropping like flies from that list I compiled about a month ago for potential Ranger coaches, but I swear I saw a scene in last week’s “Simpsons” where Smithers made an excuse for why Mr. Burns wouldn’t take Glen Sather’s phone call.

—Lastly, if the Rangers step to the plate to pay Bill Guerin $40 million dollars to ice his knees for the next four seasons, I swear I’m moving to Calgary. Seriously.

Questions? Comments? Lingering issues that require closure? Feel free to drop me an email.

Brian

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