Devils vs. Leafs, or: Please Normalize Us, Devils!

Things have been very out-of-sorts at stately IPB Manor lately. We’re all feeling that sort of on-edge glumness that comes with life not being normal. Some of the non-normalness has been good — we visited Buffalo last week, and Boomer visited Kate the Great the weekend before, and we were on vacation all of last week, doing big yardwork and canning projects. Some of the non-normalness has been stupid weather emergencies and their tragic outcomes — it’s unnerving having snow on the ground in October, was frustratingly life-disrupting to be without power (and internets!) for as long as we were (which, in the grand scheme, was barely that long at all, we know), and our yard is now in shambles.

And some of the non-normalness has been more tragic. We are going to lose the giant, shady maple that used to canopy our entire backyard.

And, most saddening of all, today we had to put down the old man, Mahmoud.

You know what we need tonight? For the Devils to do the job that fans ask most of their teams: to distract us from our worries, to bring some excitement to replace the mundane for a few hours, and to give us something to smile about.

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Wherein We Break Out Excel And Bird Entrails

Gentle Reader, you know by now that we are not glass-half-full people. In fact, most of the time, we’re “the glass is bone-dry in the cupboard it’s so not half-full” people. But desperate times call for desperate measures — particularly desperately hopeful times. The Devils have clawed their way up to 9 points out after being — let’s see… carry the one… — a million, billion points out two months ago. How can we not be hopeful?! Jacques Lemaire practically came to the house and filled all our glasses more than halfway (and yes, that is Kool-Aid in those glasses, but what can we say? It tastes like winning)! So what are the desperately hopeful measures this crazy run as pushed us to, you ask? Thinking our socks are lucky? Nope. Scoreboard watching? Uh-uh. (Well, yes, actually, but that’s not important right now.) Try… Math! That’s right, math! These tra-la-la-la-feelingsbits-loving gals actually got out the schedules, revved up Excel, and crunched some numbers! Woo!

We dubbed the endeavor “Mission: Improbable”. Could the Devils possibly or probably actually make it into the 8th spot? Should we continue to believe? Were we being optimistic fools? The answer might surprise you!

Our methods included having Mats roll the dice…

… crunching numbers…

… and augering with Shreikyguts.

Our conclusion… It’s possible. Maaaybe. Get back to us on April 10th and we’ll let you know whether the entrails numbers lied or not. (Hint: they said no.) (We don’t want to believe them, though, so eff ‘em!)

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3-2-1 Hockey: Mickey Mouse? Is That You?

3-2-1 Hockey: 13

Not too long ago, we were all elated because the Devils had signed Ilya Kovalchuk. There was much hoopla and rejoicing, and there was a big press conference (their first one ever!!11!!!!1!), and it was all going to be awesome. And then the NHL rejected the contract. And then we found out that the team knew the contract was going to be rejected but went ahead with the announcements and the “ooh, ooh, buy season tickets!” crap anyway. And then the NHLPA grieved the contract rejection, so we all had to wait for arbitration. And today the arbitration came down in favor of the league. So Victory Euro Mats did what any sane unofficial Devils mascot would — he found a sturdy beam on the patio table out on the deck, and hanged himself.

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Ilya Kovalchuk: Inventing The Concept Of An In-Limbo Maybe-Devil

The scene: ChucklesNation International airport, in the deserted arrivals hall.

Gary Bettman darts out of a shadowy doorway, slinks around the perimeter of the hall, forages a half-eaten cinnabon from a garbage can, hisses softly at the Ookies, then scurries away.

The Ookies: “We got our cymballs out of storage for that?”

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Happy Trails, Black Locust

The arborist visited stately IPB Manor today, to assess the lightning damage.

You can see in the middle of the top of the tree there where the lightning struck; a big part of it is looking very dead, and a chunk of that dead part has fallen over, dangling precariously high above our yard.

There was some faint hope that maybe just that portion of the tree could be trimmed off, and the rest could soldier on, but alas. Look at the base of the trunk:

That hole there? That’s where the lightning exited the tree. So… the whole thing, which was not entirely structurally sound to begin with, is coming down. Either Friday or Saturday. After delivering the bad news, the arborist further made our days by suggesting that the daffodils and crocuses around the base of the tree, the flowers that are annually our only source of joy while the Devils are in their swoon, likely got vaporized by the lightning too. Fucking Nature.

With the departure of the black locust, which might very well be the tallest tree in our neighborhood, we turn our affections to the Cox’s Orange Pippin apple tree as our new favorite tree.

It’s hardly majestic, but something it does have going for it is that it’s highly unlikely to be struck by lightning any time soon. Pookie is hopeful that it’s going to turn out that the black locust was housing bad Devils spirits, and, like the tree in “Sleepy Hollow”, a rampaging Jamie Langenbrunner used to rise up out from underneath the tree on his hellbeast black steed and wreak havoc on our playoff dreams every year. Our itsy-bitsy apple tree is way too small for him to do that with. And if he did manage to figure out how to do that, he’d just get tangled up in the deer fencing. So maybe this is a good thing?

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