The time for games has ended.
The time for foil has begun.
Soon begins the Los Angeles Kings adventure into the second round, and beyond. Tonight marks the opening salvo in what I am positive will be as brutal, evenly fought and intense a series as the NHL will see this year. I’ve been wanting this matchup for a long time. I’ve waited for it. Now I get my wish. There will be blood. There will be guts. There will be wins.
There will not be any lineup surprises.
The heart yearns for what this series promises. My writing skills quiver, my pen’s knees buckle at the feelings and expectations my hockey soul bears. Mere words are no match. Only action.
The Kings need all 4 lines to roll seamlessly. There is no energy line. They will all be forced energy lines. There is no scoring line. We need consistent and sustained goal contributions from up and down the lineup. There is a shutdown pairing. Willie Mitchell must make Andy McDonald pine for the days he spent away from the ice nursing his marshmallow of a skull. Dustin Brown must show TJ Oshie what it means to be a captain and execute like a leader. Drew Doughty must prove his draft position as not nearly far enough ahead of Alex Pietrangelo. Drew must make him so irrelevant that I don’t need to bother typing his cumbersome name ever game.
We must also respect our opponent. We will have to withstand their relentless play, carefully counter their deadly speed, outmuscle their brusque physicality.
Perhaps most importantly, Jonathan Quick will have to prove his Vezina nomination to be merely the beginning. Fuck the Vezina when there is still a Conn Smythe up for grabs.
I refer to the Kings as we, because my being is tied to theirs, my existence buoyed by their success and my heart torn and mended in the direction of their fate. But we, as fans, we can truly only do two things. We must cheer, insanely, loudly, irreverently even in the confines of our own homes where we view, or the crowded bars where we drink. We must embody the term fanaticism. Reverend Jim Jones ain’t got nothing on us.
And we must pray.
In the name of the Captain, the Son of Philly and the Holy Goalie.
Bless us Oh Hockey Gods, and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive, from thy bounty, through LA Kings, Our Team. Amen.
Blessed are You, Kings our Team and Team of our fathers, Team of Dionne, Team of Luc and Team of Gretzky, the great, mighty and awesome Team, exalted Team, who bestows bountiful goals, who creates all wins, who remembers the insanity of the fans, and who, in love, brings a redeemer to their fans’ children, for the sake of Our Kings.
Peace be upon no St. Louis fan, without mercy or blessing of Kings.
I pray to the wunderkind, the play-maker, destroyer of all cap space, the enemy of forwards, of great brilliance, the descendent of Orr and of Borque, the one who shines like the Dewey flower.
Our Kings, who art now in St. Louis
Hallowed be thy game.
Thy kingdom come, thy wills be done
On their ice as it was on Vancouver’s.
Give us this day our daily goals, and forgive no Blue their transgressions,
As we pound into submission those who trespass against us.
And lead us past the second round,
Past these evil Blues fucks.
Hail Kopi, full of grace, the fans are with thee.
Blessed art thou amongst players and blessed are the fruit of thy skills, goals.
Holy Kopi, dominant of centers, play for us sinners,
Now until the hour of our Cup.
Go fucking nuts.
GO FUCKING NUTS!
Categories: L.A. Kings News