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The distinguished gentleman rockin' the beaver pelts in the picture above is Sir Sandford Fleming, surveyor, engineer, Chancellor of Queen's University (BOOOOO!), bon vivant, gadabout and all around pretty smart dude. But then you knew that.
Legend has it, some time in the Year Of Our Lord 1876, Sir Sandford (well, I guess he was Just Plain Sandford back then) missed a train because of a misprint in the schedule. So, did our Man sit placidly by and wait for the next train? No. Did he write a strongly worded letter to the railway decrying the incompetence of the cretinous wretch who produced the offending document? Not a chance. Did he fly into a rage and pummel the barrel of orphans Victorian era businesses routinely kept on hand for just such an occasion (as is my understanding...my grasp of Dickens is tenuous at best)? Hells, no. All Sandford did in response to this outrage was to simply bend time to his will. Sandford invented Standard Time and within a generation, farmers the world over were screwing with our sleep patterns twice a year. Take THAT MOFOS!
Now, you may be asking yourself just what the hell this has to do with a playoff preview. And you would have every right to do so. But consider this as you (hopefully) read on...it's because of that smug looking, train missing bastard, games on the West Coast start at the same time I usually go to bed.
Something to consider as you gaze upon the brilliance of my insight. "Read more"...if you dare.
(1) San Jose Sharks (Battle of California) vs. (8) Anaheim Mighty Ducks (er...Battle of California): If you're an elitist easterner as I so obviously am, the thing that strikes you during those few times you actually see Western Conference teams is how much bigger and meaner they tend to play, relative to their "finesse" Eastern brethren. And these two are the biggest, baddest asses on the block. Whoever gets out of this match up won't so much be "the winner" as "the team with the most number of players still breathing". Should be fun to watch. If it weren't, you know, for that Fleming prick. Prediction: Sharks in 7
(2) Detroit Red Wings (Winging It In Motown) vs. (7) Columbus Blue Jackets (Bethany's Hockey Rants): I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why so many otherwise rather clever and mostly sane people are jumping on the CBJ bandwagon. Somebody want to clue me in? For a team pinning it's hopes on a rookie goalie and Rick Nash's reconstructed ankles, the Jackets are certainly garnering the love, but there is one small factor many may have overlooked...The Detroit. Freakin'. Red Wings. Prediction: Wings in 5
(3) Vancouver Canucks (The Humming Giraffe) vs. (6) St. Louis Blues (St. Louis Game Time): I've always had a soft spot for St. Louis. There was a time during their epic run of 23 straight playoff appearances when they were my favourite non-Canadian team. The fact that it was strictly because their arena was called The Checkerdome and the chant of "Let's Go BLUES!" sounded, to my 12 year old ears, like "Let's Go POOP!" is completely immaterial to this discussion. That said...gotta go with The Motherland, bald Swedish bastards notwithstanding. Poop loses. Prediction: Nucks in 7
(4) Chicago Blackhawks (Second City Hockey) vs. (5) Calgary Flames (Five Hole Fanatics): Easily the best Western series, and a close 1a to Caps/Rangers on the watch-ability scale. The Hawks have finally exorcised the ghostly remnants of the most evil (evilest?) quasi-sentient entity to own a hockey team since Pal Hal Ballard, while the Flames made all the noise at the trade deadline by stealing Ollie Jokinen during The Great Phoenix Fire Sale of 2008. Oddly, my OBC co-conspirators seem to have all come down on the side of the Indian for this one, based on the ridiculous notion that the Flames' limping and staggering to the finish line somehow portends an unhappy finish for the cowpokes. I beg to differ. As I warned them earlier today...You will dismiss the motivational genius that is Michael Edward Keenan at your own peril! Prediction: Flames in 6
And with that, the table is set. Think I'm wrong? Tell me why in the comments. Think I'm an idiot? Um...do what everybody else does (Hi Mom!) and send me an email. Either way, chill the brew, heat up the nacho dip, take the phone off the hook, bribe your significant other with a suitably expensive pre-emptively apologetic bauble and tell your boss you'll be calling in sick for the next two months. It's playoff time. And it is magnificent. Sandford Fleming be damned.
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