You’ve probably noticed that I haven’t been blogging with the same zeal (comical rage-aliciousness? passionate flabbergasttedy?) as I have in the past. This blogging lull is for a variety of reasons, ranging from ordinary blog fatigue to dude-the-Sabres-blow-itus, but I am hoping it’s just a lull, not a permanent situation. In the last month I’ve given some real thought to closing up shop on the blog, but I’m not there yet. I don’t want to quit, and I especially don’t want to quit while the Sabres are being so…meh.
If I quit now, then Tim Connolly wins. He will have beaten me. That’s not going to happen. Not on my watch.
So, we slog forward. (See, right here is a perfectly decent excuse to keep blogging. If I didn’t have a blog about the Buffalo Sabres, I would have considerably fewer excuses to use the word “slog” in public. Not using the word “slog” is no way to live.)
I’m curious to find out how I’ll remember a season like this after a lifetime of fandom. (And please, if you happen to be there at my deathbed in 70 years [I plan on living until I'm 105], please do NOT ask me to spend any of my last moments on earth attempting to recall the 2010/11 Sabres. That’s no way to die.) I suspect I’ll forget all about this season. To be honest, I’m barely keeping track of them from one game to the next right now. I had to think reeeeally hard this morning trying to remember the Sabres opponent at the game I attended with Heather three weeks ago (Ducks). It’s not that I haven’t been paying attention (I still watch whenever I can, and I still want them to win), but that funny thrilling desperation for wins is very muted this year. That tired expression, “Don’t get too high, and don’t get too low,” is….laughable this season. The rally cry of the Sabres fan is more like, “Try not to fall asleep during the 2nd period. Maybe lay off the boxed wine, you filthy lush.”
And that’s really all I have to say about the current state of the Sabres. Well, that and, “Ryan Miller, I want to be happy for you and your starlet fiance, but seriously, your lack of crankiness is worrisome. I realize it’s difficult to stay cranky when you’re sleeping with a super-mega hottie, but Crunchy, you must try. Without your crankiness, I’m afraid you’re considerably less charming. Your super powers in net seem to depend on you being an unhappy person. That sucks for you, but you’ll have plenty of time to be happy after you retire. I’m pretty sure I speak for all Sabres fans when I say- it’s time to ditch the woman you love. Sorry!”
But this Pegula thing is genuinely interesting.
I have high hopes for Pegasaurus if only because he might fire some people, and then, at the very least we’ll have a new set of problems to complain about.
Here’s a story to illustrate my point: Last year on trade deadline day, I ran into Kevin [of Bfloblog fame] at the arena. He was making fun of me for being all gung-ho about our new Sabre, Raffi Torres. It wasn’t that Kevin was anti-Torres, it was more that he had learned over time not to get too worked up over Darcy’s deadline acquisitions. He found my enthusiasm amusing. Now, Kevin was ultimately proved 100% right. The correct response to acquiring Torres is NOT, “yay.” Sweet baby Jebus, no. The correct response is, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! WHY GOD, WHY?!” with lots of fist shaking towards the sky. But still. I want to live in a world where giddy enthusiasm over a trade deadline acquisition is expected, not weird and misplaced. Even if we wind up loathing the next GM with the passion of a trillion white-hot suns, we’re still going to enjoy a brief period of not knowing what to expect. We’ll have tons to talk about, and tons to analyze, for better or for worse, and hopefully we’ll get at least one really interesting trade deadline day out of the deal. (Sell, New Guy! SELL!)
So, I guess what I’m trying to say is, just like everyone else in town, I’m pro-Funky-Cold-Pegula. Very.
Hey! I just had a really good idea! Maybe we can cheer Darcy Reiger up [presuming he gets fired] by giving him Ryan Miller’s fiance. We can send Darcy off with a smile on his face, and we can piss Ryan Miller off, something fierce. Two birds, one stone, you know?