The anatomy of awesome

conacher 1

I’ve been in Winnipeg for a few days (jealous? You’re jealous) but I’ve been watching these proceedings from afar–like God, or a pervert in the bushes outside your house. What can I say that hasn’t been said? Just look at Cory Conacher blasting off, Superman style, into the stratosphere. I like to imagine that in that moment all of us, across the Ottawa Valley, did the same thing–arms raised, big boy pajamas on–and froze in mid-air then faded to grey. I’m still stuck in that position. On my coffee table. Naked.

Here it is from another angle.

conacher 2

20 years from now we’ll all have real-time 3D computer monitors and you’d be ducking right now as Cory Conacher comes flying out of your screen and brushes past your left ear.

Anyways: fuck Therrien for being a laughing stock, and fuck the league for ignoring repeated attempts to injure Ottawa players just because there was no injury to force their hand, but outside of those things this has to be the most feel-good series I’ve watched in years. Not to get too ahead of myself–there’s still one win left, and Montreal almost got one of their own there. They’re deep enough to still make this a series. But all the same, the Sens have embraced their #pesky persona, and it’s one I think I could get used to seeing.


Oh shit, sorry. Here you go:



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