Surprise, Surprise

One of the really wonderful things about being a sports fan is that you never know what’s going to happen in any given season. Now that a reasonably substantial chunk of hockey has been played in the ‘09-’10 season, it seems like we can start looking at the bigger picture and thinking about what have been the biggest surprises for us in the early going.

SURPRISE #1: We actually like what Jacques Lemaire has done with the Devils. We can be gracious and admit that we were wrong about him (so far). Now, we keep hearing that the non-Devils feeds of Devils games spend the better part of their time fixating angrily on how trappy the Devils are, and we’ve gleefully read through many a sour-grapes comment thread on opposing team blogs where the fans of the teams that are losing to the Devils bitch (to the point of giving the Devils all their marbles) to high heaven about the trap. But just how Stephen Colbert says he doesn’t see race, we don’t see the trap. Seriously. We never notice it. Not when the Devils are playing it. Not when the Devils’ opponents are playing it. We barely notice it when the announcers point it out during games. It’s so prevalent that we kind of just don’t care about it. We just care about the Devils not ossifying like they did at the end of Lemaire’s last go-round in New Jersey, and were terrified we’d see that right out of the gate this year. And what a pleasant surprise — they’re sassy! The defense (before they all got injured) jumps up into plays a billion times more often than they did under Sutter’s regime. The forwards still seem to go into the offensive zone, but they also know how to play in their defensive zone, unlike during Sutter’s regime. Hell, they even score into empty nets! We know we’ve already apologized to Lemaire in this space once, but we’re happy to do it again today. Are the Devils peaking too soon, and we’ll spend March and April wistfully recalling the heady days of the November Juggernaut? Probably, but that’s to be worried about in March and April. For now, we’re just going to keep luxuriating in the deliciousness of the sassy, injury-overcoming, pleasantly-surprising, youngster-heavy Devils.

SURPRISE #2: David Clarkson, Niklas Bergfors and Andy Greene. None of those guys are emperor-gods quite yet, but they are all definitely the regionally recognized demi-emperor-gods in outlying tropical-paradise islands. Like, AcornsNations Cruise Lines does a steady business sending the citizens of AcornNations on weeklong, all-inclusive tours of the AcornsNation Clarkson Islands and the such. Of course, Bergfors Islands better not get too comfortable as a PaulieMartinNation protectorate, because PaulieMartinNation is not afraid to abandon Bergfors Islands’ sorry ass if need be.

SURPRISE #3: During Thursday night’s open thread, IPB Irregular EJGRgunner made a startling discovery — the missing piece in getting Bergfors to ascend to emperor-god status is that he’s not the Swedish Chef. In unrelated Bergfors news, Jacques Lemaire told TG over at Fire & Ice that Bergfors had a crappy game because Zach Parise has superstar offensive talent but also works harder than anyone on playing defense so why can’t Bergfors. Thanks to our superior skills at investigative reporting and the press passes we received for being such professional Devils bloggers, we were able to procure video tape of the confrontation that followed between Bergfors and Zach’s representative.

SURPRISE #4: Tonight we were watching the Blue Jackets (our new Tranny Gentleman Callers, which is a surprise in and unto itself) playing the Ducks, and at one point RustyKlesla injured himself on a play that strongly resembled this:

This prompted the BJs announcers to launch into the “shocking, unheard-of number of injuries in the NHL” angle, in which they started gnashing their teeth and pulling out their hair over how injuries could possibly be taken out of the game. When thinking about solving the problem of injuries like RustyKlesla’s, we were surprised to realize that we know exactly how to fix the game:

1. Remove the banana peels from the trapezoid. Without the ability to obstruct those banana peels, defensemen are helpless to keep them from carpeting that area of the ice.
2. Replace the boards with haybales.
3. Replace the stanchions with pipe cleaners.
4. Replace the glass with that see-through bouncy castle window material.

These are changes that could be put into effect immediately, without altering the rulebook. If the GMs want to consider expanding on it, perhaps they can reach an agreement by the start of next season to just replace all the league’s rinks entirely with bouncy castles. We think this is a fantastic idea, and wonder why more people haven’t been talking about it.

Devils @ Penguins, 11/12/09

Please join us for an open thread for tonight’s foxy hockey action!

Devils vs. Ducks, 11/11/09

Tonight is cheese night at stately IPB Manor, so we start this evening’s broadcast by settling onto the couch with our plates piled high with Bra Tenero, Caciotta al Tartufo, and Laurier. While in a state of cheese bliss, we are happy to find out that Patty is playing tonight, and Rolston isn’t. And the Devils are honoring the 2003 Cup team (welcome back to Jersey, Ducks!). And in honor of Veteran’s Day, MSG+ is letting us see Arlette sing the national anthem. Does it get better than this? (Seriously, these cheeses are really good.)

FIRST PERIOD

19:22 WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! We’ve been watching a lot of the Ducks this season, in part because of our pervasive fondness for Getzi and in part because we picked them to win the President’s Trophy when asked by a certain major media outlet’s hockey blog. And what we’ve seen has been hilarious – they’re defensively suspect, have no scoring depth at all, and their goaltending is just dazzlingly bad. So we assumed the Devils would be the Ducks’ get-well team, just because that’s how these things go, right? Well, so far… wrong. Andy Greene fires a soft shot from the point after Getzi loses a Ducks-zone draw, and with a tip from up high from Langer, the puck ends up behind Hiller. 1-0 Devils, and HAHAHAHAHA! WOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

16:00 The play is sort of gently back-and-forthing when MSG+ shows us a close-up view of Peters clumsily stick-handling on his way to the bench for a change. Pookie: “I was about to say that I have remarkable faith in the Devils tonight. But then they showed Andrew Peters, and I reconsidered.”

12:01 We go to commercial with Doc and Chico discussing Giguere’s recent douchey comments about preferring retirement to playing as a backup. It sounds as though he tried to clarify his remarks to Chico, but Chico’s explanation isn’t making it sound much better, as he’s being all, “Wah, wah, I had such a bad year last year, and now the only way I can get better is if I get to be the starter.” He’s basically just a few steps short of pulling a Clemmensen-style “if my defense plays better and doesn’t let the other team get shots against me, I could be awesome!” self-pitying rant. Then Doc points out that he’s the second highest-paid player on the Ducks. We love it when Giggy looks like an ass.

8:30 Cindy Crosby’s mother Ryan Whitney high sticks Zubrus in the face. And MSG+ gets to tell us that the Ducks have a PK that’s gunning at 68% effectiveness. That’s their polite way of saying that if the Devils can’t score here, they’re stupid.

7:56 Yep. The Devils are stupid. Brown carries the puck shorthanded into the Devils zone, and Clarkson has to attempt to hog-tie him while he bulls toward the net. The PP ends when Marty freezes the puck and Clarkson heads to the box.

5:40 The four-on-four and brief Ducks PP pass without event, but then Clarkson, leaping out of the box, leads the Devils on a mini-rush that concludes with him taking a tripping penalty in the offensive zone. We go to commercial on a shot of Clarkson doing that dumb “WHO ME???” bewildered face of his. Oh, Clarkson. Don’t ever change.

0:45 As the Ducks are looking increasingly focused on trying to play hockey well, Doc tells us there have been seven scoring chances in the game, five of them by the Devils. We find both of those numbers difficult to believe.

0:00 We’re all in very good moods at stately IPB Manor as the period winds to an end. Like we said at the start, an evening of early-season hockey and artisanal cheese is pretty delightful. (We get an interview with Andy Greene, by the way, in which Greener totally gives Getzi’s wino kokopelli a shout-out.)

SECOND PERIOD

19:38 Many years ago, when we were still living in Arizona, we took a road trip to LA to see the Devils win against the Kings and the Ducks. When this period starts, Chico tells us the Devils have lost every regular-season meeting between these two teams since ’02-’03 (which is, to be fair, only four games), and Pookie is stunned. “Wow. Did we see the last Devils win over the Ducks in person?” Pause, as we all remember Pando’s game-winning shorty from that game. “Well, they’re not going to win without Pando.”

17:34 The Ducks run to the President’s Trophy starts on this shift: Ryan handcuffs Marty on a wraparound, Getzi punches the puck through Marty into the crease, and CoreyPerry (CoreyPerry) is there on the doorstep to tap the puck over the goal line. It’s a 1-1 game.

15:57 During a stoppage, MSG+ shows us a replay of the lousy defensive-zone coverage on the Ducks goal. Pookie sighs, “I’m looking forward to Paulie coming back. And Oduya.” Boomer watches the umpteenth replay and asks, “Did Whitey put that puck into the net?” Pookie: “No. That’s the one good thing you can say about Colin White on that play. That he didn’t shoot the puck into his own net.”

14:59 Well, it’s not a Devils game until there’s a too many men penalty. And just when we were getting warm fuzzies from the graphics screen illustrating how our boys have dropped an entire goal off the team GAA since October 12, and are now first in the league in team D. It’s an impressive stat when you consider that they’re a team that can’t execute a simple line change. (Pookie is dismayed by this stat, though. She wails forlornly, “Paulie’s a bad apple!”)

12:15 Schnookie suddenly realizes that it’s almost halfway through the game and the Ducks have had more PPs than the Devils: “You have to be really stupid to not be outchancing the Ducks on the PP by a wide margin.”

7:42 No one was more disappointed than we were that the GM meetings have not yielded the removal of the dumb trapezoid rule. No one, that is, but Doc and Chico.

7:06 WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Clarkson is continuing his relentless drive to ascend to emperor-god status – one shift ago he skated through all the Ducks defenders with such ease that Doc called them pylons, and here he bests Wisniewski and Hiller with an absolutely sick toe drag/wrister combo. It’s 2-1 Devils, but Clarkson isn’t an emperor-god just yet, considering how embarrassingly bad his goal celebration is.

6:26 The Clarkson goal hasn’t even been announced over the PA yet and Pookie is grumbling, “I feel like Zach would be well served to get his head out of his ass anytime soon.” Pause. “It’s like he brown-nosed up to Lou by going to Toronto for the HOF thing, and now he thinks he doesn’t ever have to do anything again.”
2:20 The play has been, in Doc’s words, “fancy” since the Clarkson goal (Schnookie: “Doc just called the Devils ‘fancy ladies’!”), and Doc and Chico have spent much of the time talking about how eagerly coachable Clarkson is. Schnookie: “Clarkson is the most golden retriever-y a hockey player as ever there was.” Doc adds that there is an unnamed EC GM who confided to Doc that he would sign Clarkson to a 12-year deal if he could. Pookie: “And that GM? Was Mike Milbury.”

0:58 Zubrus takes a penalty for something or other. The Ducks are like, “That’s strange. We never go on the power play at home.”

0:10 WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! There’s Zach! Whitey bests Nieder (the Greater) as the Ducks try to gain the Devils zone, Langer digs out the suddenly-loose puck, and he laces a perfect pass to a streaking Zach for a shorthanded break. With a Duck racing back to put some backchecking pressure on, Zach doesn’t have a ton of time to make one of his patented unstoppable breakaway moves, and instead puts on some of his patented unstoppable tenacity and puts a fluttering rebound past Hiller to make it 3-1 Devils. That’s our very own little brown-noser. WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!

0:00 We get an interview with Zach in which he is extremely spiky and does his patented, “Oh, did I score a goal there? Golly gee!” thing. He also does not give a shout-out to Getzi’s wino kokopelli.

SECOND INTERMISSION

We get an interview with Turner Stevenson. Gel-O asks him about the SCF G7 in 2003, and whether the G7 loss in 2001 affected how the Devils approached that game. Turner says of the 2001 SCF, and I quote, “A lot of people don’t remember that we had a chance to win at home.” Schnookie, extremely bitterly: “I remember. I was one of those people, Turner.”

THIRD PERIOD

15:57 We have spent this period in a feverish negotiation in email with Patty (In Dallas) about procuring real Texas pecans. It seems we haven’t missed anything colossal, as the score is still the same.

14:52 Want proof that Doc is the best play-by-play guy in the business? He calls CoreyPerry just “Perry”. Yeah. He’s just that good.

12:57 Woo hoo! Another too many men penalty for the Devils! A reaction shot of Jacques on the bench shows his head is about to explode. And MSG+ informs us this is the seventh such penalty for the Devils this year, after they took eight in all of last season. So we can be excused for being shocked at how high in the overall standings the Devils are right now.

7:33 EEE! The whistle blows when the Ducks touch the puck on a delayed penalty, and suddenly Getzi and Zach are posturing about coming to blows in the neutral zone. Pookie, in her Getzi voice: “My wino kokopelli can beat up your turtle!” We hope against hope that they’ll really fight, but they don’t. Replay shows the penalty is on Getzi because he was standing around in the Devils zone and Zach skated backwards into him and fell over. Getzi seems to be a general crankypants when he’s playing, but he’s especially cranky when his opponent dives; Pookie cracks in her Getzi voice while we watch him scowling in the penalty box, “I play with honor. Why can’t you?”

6:32 Well now it’s starting to feel like a real Ducks game, as they’re taking inopportune, terrible penalties. Here Nieder (the Greater) takes a hooking penalty on Zubrus in front of the Anaheim net. To be fair, Zubrus could probably have gotten a matching diving call on this one, but we’re not complaining. And furthermore, the Devils are terrible on the 5-on-3, so the Ducks shouldn’t worry.

3:44 The Devils PP does not put the game away. And here Applesauce takes a penalty to keep the Ducks confused about how they could possibly be getting more power plays than the Devils.

0:00 Well! That was workmanlike! And that was a sixth win in a row, and something like the billionth out of the last billion and one (we got lost in the litany of impressive numbers Doc read off at the buzzer). We are really liking the Devils so far this season! Of course, that can all change tomorrow in Pittsburgh, with first place in the division (in November) on the line. Our only regret tonight is that Getzi and Zach didn’t strip off their shirts for a knock-down, drag-out, hair-pulling (decided advantage: Getzi) fight at center ice. Oh well. Next time.

“Spooking Cindy: Part I” By Margee

You may recall, Gentle Reader, that we are now taking submissions for our Sidney Crosby creative writing challenge, “Spooking Sidney”. The first entry in this open-ended series is Part I of Margee’s “Fear Street”-inspired magnum opus. For some backstory to this brilliant and spine-tingling tale, we recommend you revisit (or visit for the first time) her “Chasing Sidney”, which stands as the single greatest thing we’ve ever published on this blog.

* * * * *

The soft ping of an incoming call broke Cindy Crosby out of his sleep mode. Cindy felt the whirring of his hardware snap to attention as he powered up. Ever since his Colby Armstrong had hooked him up to high-speed internet service, he felt so much more connected to the outside world. He felt like people.

Cindy answered his videophone. In his external monitor, the one his Colby had given him, masked as a wristwatch, he saw the face on the person he had come to accept as his mother. The one who had sung him to sleep mode by phone only hours before. But his mother looked different.

“Mother,” he said. “Mother, is that you?”

Ryan Whitney looked out from Cindy’s wristwatch. Water was snaking from his eyes. Ryan Whitney had taught him that water in the eyes was part of having feelings. Ryan Whitney was shaking.

“Sidney, my boy,” said Ryan Whitney, his voice wobbly. “Sidney, listen to me. You have to do something for me.”

“Of course, mother, of course.”

“You have to warn them, Sidney. I want you to call your new mother…”

“You’re my mother, you are!”

“Of course, I am your mother, my darling, of course I am,” said Ryan Whitney, looking deeply into the monitor, feeling so close that Cindy could practically feel him there, feel his loving embrace. “But when I was traded, I asked Chris Kunitz to care for you in my place. I need you to find him. I need you to warn him.”

“Warn him of what? What, mother?”

“He is in grave danger.”

There was a noise in the background. Ryan Whitney’s face disappeared briefly from Cindy’s wristwatch. When his face came back, there was more water on his face than before.

“Mother, what is happening?”

“Oh, my beautiful boy,” said Ryan Whitney, smiling, even as the water spilled from his eyes. “If anything happens to me, I want you to remember this: you are a real boy. Don’t let anyone make you feel like a robot. You are a real boy. You’re my dear boy.”

“I’m a real boy.”

There was another noise and Ryan Whitney let out a small scream. His face went closer into Cindy’s wristwatch.

“I love you,” he whispered to Cindy. “I love you forever…Son.”

Cindy’s monitor went black.

* * * * *

Chris Kunitz stood against the wall. Sometimes, the Kid seemed so lifelike. So real.

Cindy rocked back and forth on the floor, pausing only to ask Kunitz when the water would stop coming out of his eyes. He was half-human, Kunitz had to remind himself. He was capable of having feelings. He crouched to Cindy, rubbing his back half-heartedly. Kunitz had always known he was never cut out for motherhood. He had suggested to Ryan Whitney that Eric Godard be assigned as Cindy’s new mother. But Ryan Whitney had insisted that Cindy needed a mother that was in no danger of being sent down to the AHL. But Kunitz was no good at this.

“I’m sorry, Kid,” he said, squeezing Cindy’s shoulder like Godard had told him. “Ryan Whitney was a great guy.”

“He was more than a great guy,” said Cindy, studying the tears he that had pooled on the back of his hand. “He was the best mother a boy could ever have.”

“He was, Kid, he was,” Kunitz sighed. “But, I suppose, I could… I could be your new mother.”

Cindy met his eyes. He no longer looked like a boy. He looked like the cold, hard robot Kunitz recognized from Mellon Arena.

“Ryan Whitney is my mother,” he said icily.

Kunitz tried not to feel the sting of his words. He stood up and paced the room.

“Mother had a message for you, Chris Kunitz,” the Kid continued, his beady eyes following Kunitz’s path. “Mother said you were in danger.”

Kunitz stopped moving. The air felt chilly, as if a window had been thrust open somewhere in his soul.
Then suddenly, he felt someone grip his shoulders. A hand clamped itself to his mouth before he could scream and he could smell hot cigar breath in his ear.

“Don’t make a sound,” the voice hissed.

Kunitz’s heartbeat thrummed in his ears. His assailant released him. As he turned, he saw the big, beautiful, bird nose first.

“Colby Armstrong!”

Colby Armstrong stood, holding his arms out to hush Kunitz. Army’s eyes were bleary, rimmed with pink. Haunted. His face was a pallid gray as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. He pressed a clammy, tobacco-stained palm to Kunitz’s mouth.

“You don’t want them to hear you,” Army whispered. He released Kunitz with a jerk.

Army looked as if he wanted to say more, but his bloodshot eyes caught on Cindy, still rocking across the room. Kunitz saw Army’s lower lip tremble briefly, his cheek buckling in a half-smile. He approached the Kid gingerly, an emotional grin overtaking his face.

“Cindy?”

Cindy looked up miserably from the floor. When his software recognized Army, he scrambled to his feet. It took him his requisite few seconds to figure out that the floor was not made of ice and that he could not skate across it. Army took the Kid’s face in his hands. At first they smiled shyly at one another, before collapsing into each other’s arms.

“Dad.”

Kunitz felt like an intruder. However, he still felt the chill of the Kid’s words. Was Chris Kunitz really in danger?

“I came in through one of the secret passages,” said Army, his arms wound tightly around Cindy. “I couldn’t risk being seen.”

Army’s big, beautiful, bird nose nestled affectionately into Cindy’s hair. But his gaze seared into Kunitz.

“You’re in danger, Kunitz.”

Kunitz started to back away towards the door. Suddenly Mario Lemieux’s mansion no longer seemed safe as it had all those Stanley Cup celebrations ago.

“I don’t know if Ryan Whitney told you all of this, but my Cindy’s biological mother was a robot prostitute from Australia.”

Kunitz nodded uncomfortably. Cindy murmured something into Army’s shoulder about Ryan Whitney being his mother.

“I was at her robot brothel, And I just thought I’d check in on her. But when I talked to the robot madame, she told me that there had been an attempt on her robot life. I knew something was up. I called Ryan Whitney. And I came back here to Pittsburgh to check on our boy. We’re meeting at a safehouse. You should come, too. You’ve been his foster mother. You’re involved in this, too.”

“There’s something you should know, Armstrong,” said Kunitz, bracing himself. “Ryan Whitney…is dead.”

Army closed his eyes bitterly, thrust his chin to the sky, and emitted an anguished, eagle-like caw to the heavens. He held Cindy as the boy sobbed his robot tears.

“How did it happen?” said Army, his voice broken.

“He was drowned in a vat of chicken soup.”

Beyond the door to the Kid’s room there were footsteps. Army froze. A look of abject horror crossed his face.

“We have to hide,” he said dashing to the large oil painting of Darryl Sittler that leered out from the wall. Army pulled on it to reveal a false panel. Before his disappeared into the blackness, he again implored Kunitz to hide.

But it was too late. The bedroom door swung open and the glow from the hallway backlit two shadowy figures in the frame. The intruders entered the room, eerily calm as they approached.

“Cindy, it sounded like there was a bird in here,” said Mario Lemieux.

Cindy stood there dully. Kunitz couldn’t figure out if he had gone into standby or if his software was abruptly updating or if he was, in fact, scared.

“But of course there was no bird in here,” said Nathalie Lemieux, clasping her hands together tenderly. “Colby Armstrong was traded more than a season ago.”

Madame Lemieux fixed her eyes on Kunitz, her thick lashes knitting as she squinted at him.

“I didn’t realize that Cindy had company,” she said. “What are you doing in Cindy’s chambers, Chris Kunitz?”

“I—I was just…” Kunitz didn’t know why he was so unsettled. “I heard about Ryan Whitney. I just came over to see if Sidney was okay.”

“We do not use that name in this house,” Madame Lemieux growled. “We do not ever say that name in this house.”

“You should probably head home, Chris,” said Mario, placing a soothing hand on his wife’s trembling shoulders. “We can take it from here.”

“Yes, if anyone can comfort Cynthia it will be us,” Madame Lemieux laced her arm through Cindy’s. “How about I sing you into sleep mode, Cindy?”

Cindy looked from face to face in the room. Kunitz was unsure if the buzz in the air was tension or Cindy defragmenting. But he suddenly felt as if he needed to get out of there.

“Yes, I would like that,” said Cindy.

“That’s my boy,” said Madame Lemieux, leading him protectively away.

Mario gestured sternly for the door. And Kunitz didn’t need to be told twice. He scurried out the door and down the steps. He got lost somewhere between the northwest and north-southeast wings, but jimmied open a window and shimmied down a drainpipe to the grounds. Clouds were gathering overhead. Ominous, billowing clouds. Kunitz felt himself break into a run. In the distance he could see his PT Cruiser, a maroon beacon waiting to take him away from this horrible place. He sprinted towards the car, tasting his escape.

But before he made it, he felt a horrible thud against his temple. As he crumpled to the ground he looked up, catching sight of the baby pink curtains in the window of Cindy’s chamber. He reached out to his foster son as he envisioned him, reaching out from the window.

And then everything went black.

An Open Letter To People Who Have Dropped Paulie Martin From Their Fantasy Teams

Dear people who have dropped Paulie Martin from their fantasy teams,

You’re on notice.

Myra.

Love,
Pookie

Did You Know?

That the Devils are fifth overall? That they’re only two points behind the Penguins?! That they’re 8-2-0 in their last ten games?!? That they’re four points behind the league leaders with two or three fewer games played?!?! Wowza! The things you learn when you bother to check the standings before mid-March!

Other things that stood out as we marveled at the after-one-month standings:

– The Sharks have as many points as the Avs, but don’t seem to get any press for it. Must be everyone’s finally really learned their lesson when it comes to SJ.

– Schnookie’s been saying all along that the Rangers were going to do their usual coming out of the gate strong only to tail off starting in November. She’s a genius, that one.

– There are two teams that have identical records. One team’s coach is on the perpetual hot seat. The other is being lauded as a rejuvenated genius. Who are the teams? Why, the Flyers and the Sabres, of course. (Obviously, the situations and expectations of the two teams are wildly different, but it’s still noteworthy to us because everything we’ve heard around the water cooler [and by "heard around the water cooler" we mean "read on Puck Daddy"] suggested to us that the Sabres were tearing it up while the Flyers were having a disastrously slow start.)

– The Hurricanes are worse than the Leafs. Good thing we didn’t go on record picking the Canes for the Presidents Trophy.

– We did go on record picking the now-24th-overall Ducks. Are we chagrined? Hell no! Instead, we’re looking forward to the wild second-half that’s going to catapult Getzi and his compatriots to the top.

Yes, yes, Gentle Reader, we know. Looking at the standings this early is a foolish exercise, but… watch out for those Ducks.

Saturday Night Open Thread

IPB’s open all night for Devils vs. Ottawa and beyond! Join us for an open thread.