(Posted because I've had a couple things to say and hadn't blogged them, and also because poor Czechtacular is still recovering from the Habs and Oilers playing against each other in the same game.)
The curse of the "western swing." Unfortunately for me, I live in a house with people who aren't horrified by the concept of watching dance-based reality shows, so I'm pretty sure "western swing" is some type of music. But there's usually no reason to dance when the Habs show up in the Western provinces at this time of year. Last night, the Habs gave up two goals in fifteen seconds then didn't reciprocate. Oh, and James Wisniewski's face got broken. Everyone was disappointed in the team, even though they JUST LANDED in a different time zone. Does no one remember two years ago? The Canadiens surrendered like seven goals to the Oilers (minus this year's magic rookie crop) when we all could have been watching this unfold live:
It was arguably the best celebrity crazy moment of the last couple years, and I chose to watch the Habs crumble instead. (Save your arguments about Lady Gaga in an egg, because if it turns out that his Young Pheezy rapper alter ego was just a cover and Joaquin Phoenix is Lady Gaga, I'll hate to say I told you so.)
Luckily this time around I taped my NBC comedies and the Habs only gave up three goals to the Oilers, so all I missed was Justin Bieber getting shot on CSI. I can live with that, because "watching Justin Bieber get shot" involves "watching Justin Bieber."
We've got to count our blessings, Habs fans. We can't be all doom and gloom, mere days before the Heritage Classic! Come on.