Leaders must lead. It must not always be with words.

If Dustin Brown is the captain of this team, then his face must tell a tale that his shoulder knows well.

If Mike Richards is a born locker room leader, then his eyes must betray his heart, pulsing on his sleeve.

If this team is to make the playoffs, words will not suffice. Not mine. Not the players’. Not the coaches’. The word effort has fallen from my vocabulary. I know not the meaning of hard work.

The last two games have left me frustrated. A stallion without a mare. Solid defensive play coupled with little offensive protuberance will get you a pleasant chat at a bar. But we came to score. You don’t talk your way into a woman’s pants and you don’t chat your way into the playoffs. Generic platitudes are merely cause for generic results. Cute words receive friendly hugs.

Breakouts are key. Passing is primary. If the slot is not controlled in both ends, grasped firmly by the ponytail and reigned under control, then points are left between the sheets with naught but the sickly pheromones of the evolutionarily irrelevant to keep them company.

Take lady death by the eye and demand she succumb with a glare, a flex and thrust. Leave several shades of red on the ice tonight.