I feel like that last post was pre-emptive of the ... events that transpired at the Bell Centre this evening. It's times like these where being right actually doesn't make me happy, and by that I mean all the boos and the tweets and Facebook statuses (statii?) dealing with Carey Price tonight.
Despite the recurrence of this scenario, some will still argue it. The recipe for disaster was actually not the man between the pipes this evening, but rather the inefficiency to capitalize at the right moments. Where's that Any Given Sunday speech? You know, the game of inches, and so on. You can fight all you want for that inch, but you still might not get it in the end. It can be flukey, it can be the bitterest pill to swallow, it may not make sense no matter how you look at it, but blame does not and should not rest on the shoulders of any one man in that room.
Unlike my references to poor JF in the previous entry, this season is one that's not over. Roman Hamrlik's misguided block accident has not yet come at a terminal cost. I don't know about you, but I'm looking at Friday night, whose implications have much bigger fish to fry than one bad goal and a case of the Cam Ward-led Spoiler Crew. Philadelphia, City of Brotherly Love? Not anymore.