Today I watch not from the suffocating heat of the despot known as Glendale, Arizona. No Maricopa Mea Culpa County for me. Back in Los Angeles, where I belong, I’ll have to enjoy this LA Kings win from the comfort of my home. Oh darn.

Well, a win provided the Kings just keep on doing what they’ve been doing.

With the exception of rubbing out a few minor glitches, the Kings don’t need to change a thing. Relentless forecheck. Stifling gap control. Exuberance to a man that compounds the efforts of the many. Expect a bounce back game from Jonathan Quick, who is his own harshest critic and is as mentally tough as any goalie I’ve seen.

The Coyotes will come out with guns, both brandished and legally concealed, blazing. We are immigrants in a land hostile to border jumpers. But who needs to weather a storm when you are thunder itself.

Adrian Aucoin is a game time decision for the Coyotes. The media seems to see this is as some huge boon to their club. Aucoin is a solid player, always has been, but he is not the difference to stopping the wrecking ball that is our forecheck. It matters not who is in the Phoenix lineup. Ours is a game of cohesion, ferocity and determinism.

When we want more of the same, we do more of the same, and so we 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 Phoenix fan, without mercy or blessing of Kings.

Holy Sutter, Holy Stevens;
We give you thanks
that your Schemes, Attitude and Leadership
Are manifest with Power and Pressure
throughout all zones,
within all lines,
and we accept your Tutelage now,
in defense and forecheck.

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.

I invoke and call upon thee O Father Mitchell,
Lord of long stick, Master of all lanes and gaps.
I invite you to the blue line;
Defend it, sustain it, make it home.

As it was,
As it is,
As it shall be
O Thou Carter
Of goals!
With the forehand
With the backhand
O Thou Carter
Of goals!
With the forehand
With the backhand

Our Rookies, King of steadfastness, strengthened Nolan, Voynov foothold, support us against the disdainful people.

Voices above,
Voices of Fans,
Yell from your couch or barstool;
Voices below,
LA King’s Inner-voices,
Speak from the dreams of childhood;
So may our playoffs be beautiful.

Our Kings, who art in Phoenix
Hallowed be thy game.
Thy kingdom come, thy wills be done
On their ice, as it was on the Blues’
Give us this day our daily goals, and forgive no Coyote their transgressions,
As we pound into submission those who trespass against us.
And lead us past the third round,
Past these evil Coyote 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.