Saturday, May 31, 2008

Why I love Mike Lange and yes, we have a hard row to hoe, Penguins fans

Okay, so we lost. But I have to hand it to Mike Lange (listened to him on the way home from a fête of grilled veggies and chicken and the game on a leather couch, not my own.) As I'm turning from Highland to Jackson, he says, "You know, they knew they had to win a game in Detroit, why not Game 5? They've come back from stats this bad before." And the respect they give to the other team, whoever we're playing--the "three stars" and "the best play" aren't always the Pens, but when they're not, they give credit where credit is due--that good hockey was played tonight.

I have a defense mechanism. When in groups of people and the mood is bad at a sports gig, I nod off. So I was sort of aware that we were losing, but more aware of the trash talking towards the TV. Remember the year Janet Jackson had a wardrobe malfunction at the Super Bowl? I slept right through it. The world series in 97? (I have no interest in baseball and only was watching it because my Bible Study had been canceled for the evening and I wanted company.)

So unlike the fabulous game played by the Pens on Wednesday, which I slept through because I'd had a day of cramps and drama, tonight I dozed through a game played hard by the Wings, a great hockey club. I watched the TV version, with whomever NBC had doing color-commentary and it was tepid at best. I missed Mike, but you can't really ask your hosts, gee, why don't we turn down the volume and listen to the radio?

What I love about Lange is that while he is optimistic about the Pens and truly loves them, he loves hockey the game more than the particular team he announces for.

While I was searching on the Post-Gazette site for something, found these "Pens Cheer Cards." My printer is currently on the fritz, but these are fun. Especially love the ones for the Rangers, with the "I heart #87," (I do!) parodying the "I heart NY" logo that NYC is so well known for.

Tomorrow I'm going to go see SATC the movie, with or without my girls (whose numbers have dwindled due to boyfriends, husbands, and children. *sigh*) Well, the Fab Four will be there.

In other news, I seriously need a haircut. My bangs are long enough that I should cut them but I haven't done it yet. I looked seriously cute tonight with my hair air dried, my official Stanley Cup Finals t-shirt (grey heather with the helmets of the two teams) and I even wore contacts. I was told the party was going to be at the S. house and indeed, there were many grilled veggies and chicken to be had and enjoyed. It was nice to just sit and enjoy food. But the folks that told me about the fête didn't show. Um? Their loss.

In other news, tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of Date #1 with Max. Not that I'm that into remembering that day, but June 1 is just an easy day to remember. Um. Don't think we're going to be friends. He's just not talking to me. At all. (If you're new here, we dated for six months but still live in the same apartment house, he on the first floor, I in the third floor walk-up.) I'm not torn up completely, just a tad sad, but as J said at work today when I confided in her, "His loss." Love J, who totally was astounded when I told her that this week I sent food back. She totally understood how HUGE that was for me to have done.

What else? In the end, you can't convince anyone of anything they're not ready to hear. So me buying a friend a copy of It's a break-up because it's broken won't do any good until they're ready to hear it. It pains me that they can't see that, but since I held the torch on a crush over B for three un-fulfilling years, I'm not one to talk, just one to recognize the tortured behavior in someone else and the desire to FIX YOU. Which never really works. Sigh.

Well, the clock will strike midnight in five scant minutes and this girl is home, so need for a carriage or a pumpkin is not necessary, but I do hear the couch calling my name. So I bid you farewell, and a pleasant night's sleep. I'll sleep, to dream of the Pens winning the series. Because if Mike Lange can believe it, I can too.

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