The Season That Fans Forgot

Yawn. Have the Ottawa Senators won the Stanley Cup yet? Yawn.

Maybe it’s just me, but has this been the most unanticipated and uninspiring hockey season of the past, let’s say, twenty years? Normally by early October I’ve memorized the jersey number of every new rookie in the league, participated in a half-dozen fantasy drafts, fielded close to a hundred emails from angry Canadians who still think the Rangers are ruining the NHL, grown and subsequently shaved my Todd Bertuzzi training-camp beard, gotten on and off the Alexei Kovalev bandwagon nearly a dozen times, and made enough “how does Mike Milbury still have a job?” comments to fill a book equal in weight to War and Peace. But this season? Meh. I’m just not excited yet.

The impending lockout at the end of the year doesn’t help, which is pretty much like paying a cover charge at a strip club before finding out that not only don’t they offer lap dances or serve alcohol but all the dancers look like Mike Ricci. Hearing bazillionaire owners and whiny GMs cry poverty for the past few months didn’t help matters either, especially when most organizations conducted business this off-season like Kate Moss at a all-you-can-eat barbecue. And the lingering aftertaste of having to watch the New Jersey Devils, easily the most unlikable team in all of sports, record yet another horrible Stanley Cup win leaves a worse hangover than a night out with Sebastian Janikowski. So whatever the case, there definitely seems to be a great deal of apathy, an ennui if you will, wafting in the air over this coming season. And the zeitgeist of NHL fandom is frustration, cynicism, concern, and skepticism, which is ironically the same attitude I have about Mark Messier as a fourth-line center.

Either way, there's still a season to be played that starts in less than a week, and in an attempt to generate some interest, any interest, in the NHL, Between Periods is back with our much beloved annual preseason bad prediction review. So sit back, grab a frosty beverage, and prepare yourself for a half-dozen "Mario Lemieux should trade himself" jokes--it's the Eastern Conference preview, Part I!

Atlantic Division

Eric angry. Eric smash.

New York Rangers
Last season you may recall the I picked the Rangers to win the division, a move right on par with my brilliant decision to impress everyone at a party once by doing twelve consecutive beer bongs in under ten minutes. There were no winners that night, much like their were no winners in New York last season. So why am I picking them again this season? Because I’m a staggeringly stupid drunken moron faithful to the worst franchise in all of sports. Fill up the funnel, boys, here we go again.
Pluses: Most talented roster in the division; Eric Lindros foaming at the mouth; full season of Mike Dunham in goal; manager/coach wielding powers of the dark side; aura of desperation now replaced by blind zombie-like determination for human brains; they have to win eventually, right? Right!?
Minuses: Brian’s Leetch’s ankle joining Chris Webber’s shoulder, Fred Taylor’s groin, and Manny Ramirez’s brainstem in the pantheon of unreliable superstar body parts; replaced Pavel Bure’s offense with Jan Hlavac (like switching Jennifer Garner on “Alias” with Camryn Manheim); Mark Messier killing penalties; still the New York Rangers.
Watch Them Because: You never know. That's the beauty of Reality TV. You never know when the paint-huffing hillbilly is going to run from the Cops, you never know when the skinny chick is going to wig out on a deserted island, you never know when Jessica Simpson is going to say the word "bestest", and you just don't know how many goals Anson Carter will score. Watch. Enjoy. Love. Let's go Rangers.

Philadelphia Flyers
John Buccigross used a Radiohead song to describe the coming season for the Flyers, which I took great offense to. For one thing, Radiohead is totally awesome, whereas the Flyers suck. For another, Radiohead is wildly creative band that mixes haunting and mysterious lyrics with textured and beautiful music, whereas the Flyers suck. And Radiohead has a canon of resonating hits and conceptual albums, whereas the Flyers really friggin' suck. I’ll keep riding this joke until Ken Hitchcock sends Donald Brashear out to kick my ass. Kudos to JB for writing a good article, but this makes about as much sense as using a fruity Morrissey song to describe the best team in the conference.
Pluses: Same successful core back for another go-round; volatile endomorphic organism behind bench gives every game a sci-fi feel; Roman Cechmanek no longer around to pull a Courtney Love in the playoffs; Joni Pitkanen ready to assume the role as the greatest Finnish defenseman in all of hockey since Reijo Ruotsalainen.
Minuses: Jeremy Roenick still has vocal cords; human equivalent of herpes virus in general managers box; goalie might not be able to hack it (oy vey, that’s awful); I just bid on half of John Leclair’s lower vertebrate on eBay.
Watch Them Because: You're a braindead Flyers fan that enjoys watching your team dominate the regular season only to pull a Bennifer in the postseason. Win something already, Philly: football, basketball, baseball--anything. You guys are like really hot bridesmaids that constantly complain about "how they can't meet a decent guy" but yet dump someone after two months because they can't hold a fork right. Jeez. Win something. I can't believe I just equated Andy Reid and Ken Hitchcock with hot bridesmaids. Ugh.

New Jersey Devils
You know that old celebrity roast joke where the host will be introducing someone and say, “If you can’t say something nice about a person then you shouldn’t say anything at all” before silently walking off the stage. Well on my way off the stage I’d like to punch Lou Lamoriello in the crotch. I friggin’ hate the Devils. I hope they all choke on each other's burning, gonorrheal pee. Seriously.
Pluses: Flawless system; deep roster of players with well-developed role; empty and silent arena helps players concentrate on playing mistake-free hockey; Satan obviously appreciating the free press.
Minuses: Aging veteran team coming off a Stanley Cup and hence screaming to have a massive let-down year; entire roster and coaching staff with nothing left to prove; adulterous in-law humper in goal; counting on resurgent year from Patrik Elias, which is like me thinking I now have a shot at Halle Berry.
Watch Them Because: You’re having trouble sleeping or in desperate need of a bowel movement. Awful. How does this team have any fans, even the handful that show up to their games? Awful.

New York Islanders
Quick, Isles fans, name your head coach. Can’t do it, can you? His name is Steve Stirling. It’s sort of a pretty name, isn’t it? Sounds shiny and metallic. He’s never coached an NHL game before and now it’s his job to motivate guys like Alexei Yashin and Oleg Kvasha. But his name sounds pretty. Steeeeer-liiiing. Ooooh. Shy-nee. OK, I'm distracted. Now what off-season moves did we make? Brought back Mrzzzrrzs Czzzrchwzhrzzy? That's OK. Shy-nee coach. Shy-nee.
Pluses: Gritty character guys like Dave Scatchard, Jason Weimer, and Arron Asham; potential star-in-making in goal; maybe best three-deep defensive corp in conference; sorta young and sorta hungry; players no longer plotting to assassinate head coach, at least not yet.
Minuses: New rules mean that Garth Snow can no longer cheat his way to victory; Mr Carol Alt; at some point Mattias Timander will see the ice; Mike Milbury.
Watch Them Because: Their top power play unit is named Roman, Adrian, Jason, Alexei, and Michael. Sounds like the next Fab Five on “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.”

Enjoy making passes to Matt Murley, dumbass.

Pittsburgh Penguins
Pluses: Still have Mario Lemieux; Marty Straka updated from fragile-as-glass to day-to-day; decent young goalie in net; Eddie "Black Ace" Olczyk ready to prove himself as a head coach or something; pressure's sorta off knowing the franchise is going to fold at the end of the year.
Minuses: Um, the roster. Except for Lemieux.
Watch Them Because: Watching a withered Mario Lemieux finish his career by feeding pucks to numbnuts like Rico Fata and Milan Kraft is like going to your high school reunion and finding out the prom king is living out of his car, or hearing that your old girlfriend lives in a trailerpark, or watching Emmitt Smith finish his career in Arizona, or any episode of "Behind the Music" where the lead singer says "Now it's about the music" in front of a half-filled crowd at the Best Western, Tulsa. Good times. What goes around, comes around. Shouldn't have taken that dive in 1992, Mario.

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