My throat hurts.

It’s a good hurt.

Actually, it’s not, it’s pretty damn painful, but I am thrilled to have thrashed it screaming along to beat of Jonathan Quick’s drum. 4th franchise record? Piece of cake. Bring on the 4th shutout he says. This is child’s play.

I have to admit, it’s a little tedious to write a post game when the Kings do basically everything right. Sure, they tried to force the point shot more in this game than in the last three, but John Jackson scored the only goal of the game on a point shot.

Yeah I know that Penner is still really slow, but he made some high quality plays and overall had one of his best games as a King. I guess Slava Voynov made some mistakes, or rather, he could have made a few better reads, but did you see him smother Jamie Benn all night like a pillow over a wife who talks too much?

Fine, fine, I’ll give you that the Kings got caught running around a few times in the second period and scrambled their way through parts of the third, but does that matter when Greene plays such a dominating game and hits Robidas harder than sobriety hits a heroin addict? Do you care about the little mistakes, like the 4th line going up against the Erikkson line when Westgarth shows speed and poise through the neutral zone not once, but twice? How much do you care about Kopitar and Gagne playing slightly less effective games when Quick stops everything from the point blank shots to the redirected bouncers. We are willing to forgive the Stars getting some high percentage shots when our defense refused to allow them rebound chances.

Furthermore, my heart refuses to sink just because some effeminate nitwit in front of me got his panties in a twist when I yelled “If any ladies here need a douching, don’t worry, Ribiero is right there.” I didn’t even mind that he stared me down for several minutes of the third period with a look that said “if you don’t shut up I’m gonna… I’m gonna… Look at you meaner!” because the rest of my Kings’ brethren who actually went to the game to, you know, watch the damn thing, happily lost their voices next to mine, chanting the chants, oohing and aahing the almost-goals, applauding the hits with blood thirsty howls and brandishing their lungs like weapons against an absolute dogshit call against Gagne for the egregious act of getting thrown into the goaltender.

I kind of wish that guy was reading this, because then I could tell him that a hockey game is not the proper place to try and steal away some lady’s husband. Though to be fair, that lady was much more into the game than her probably-about-to-cheat-on-her-with-a-man husband was, which was fine up until the horrendous gyrations that she effused during the music and dancing-laden commercial breaks. That was horrifying.

While we have shot off tangentially into the fan experience part of the game, I would like to send my congratulations to the gentleman who used the new ‘Bring It Like Bob’ game as an opportunity to announce to the stadium that “Dallas sucks balls.” For those of you wondering what I’m talking about, the Kings have replaced the asinine ‘dance for your dinner’ with a contest where two fans are given a PA mic in order to do their best impression of Bob Miller calling an exciting Kings play. Tonight, the second contestant said “Johnson passes to Williams, to Brown, he scoooores Dallas sucks balls!” Bravo good sir, and thank you Kings for introducing us to one meaningless commercial time killer that wasn’t a fucking disgrace. Danny Zollars got that one right, though I fear that the fact that fans will use the privilege of being handed a microphone to say rude things about the opposing team more often than not will lead to this activity’s early demise. Please, Kings, let it be, even when someone inevitably says such awfully sinful words like ‘fuck’ or ‘shit’. It will happen.

So, who thinks that Sheriff Shanahan suspends Richardson for that boarding call? I still have to watch another replay before I decide, but live… That was pretty frigging bad. I won’t be surprised. It looked ugly. But fuck whoever it was he dumped. He probably had it coming just as much as that puke Steve Ott had coming the fist that Mike Richards never got to land.

Is it weird that as giddy as I am over the win that it is just a teeny bit tainted by Kopi failing to extend his point streak? Am I the only one who let out a frustrated squeal of ungrateful lamentation when that backhander he threw from the blue line sailed over the Stars’ empty net?

That was a good, solid hockey game folks. The only thing I have left to say, is that I’m over this one and ready for a batch of red revenge against the Devils. Future King or not, Parise and his team can treat my balls the same way that overly offended bozo in front of me clearly wanted to and lick them clean.

Too crass? I’m drunk, why aren’t you? Reading this on Sunday morning with your coffee? What do want from me, I was drunk.