Ah yes…it’s St. Patties Day, me pals. Time to put on the greens and let the Irish in ye shine through like the mornin’ sun. Now, if I’m ta be honest ya, there isn’t as much as a drop of Irish blood pulsing through me veins… German/Austrian is the region my kin come from. But on the 17th of March it doesn’t make much difference, now does it?
No…today we are all as Irish as little a leprechaun. And I’m not talkin’ about that pip-squeak Martin St. Louis, either.
And ya know…every time we stumble across this time of year, I’m reminded of an old girlfriend of mine that I knew so many years ago when me pants were not so wide and me hair was just a wee bit fuller. She was a lovely gal with bright green eyes and locks of red hair that flowed in the breeze. She made the best Irish stew, did this beauty of a gal. She would get some meat and potatoes and some Guinness stout. She would serve up the stout…and toss away the stew.
But she had her one small quirk…she loved to hang out on the concrete slab out back of me house all the day long… a permanent fixture was she back there, very odd.
Patty was her name…Patty O’Furniture.
Now Patty was a sweet lass, but she wasn’t what you would call “bright”…why, it would take her an hour and a half to watch 60 Minutes. Once, right after I was eatin’ some powdered donuts at the computer, she was just sure someone had sent her anthrax through the e-mail.
Aye, but if there was one thing dear Patty knew, it was if you want something really bad, ya sometimes hafta be willin’ to fight for it. Things don’t come easy in life and so ya just gotta dig in yer heels and stand yer ground when someone is tryin’ to take something away from ya.
Take last night’s Thrashers game against the Buffalo Sabres…that, me friends was a good ol’ fashioned scrap if I ever did see one. Kinda reminded me of a Saturday evening brawl down at the local pub…it doesn’t get any nastier that that. After building a 3-1 lead in the first period of play…an chasin’ that stallion of a netminder Ryan Miller from the nets…the hometown boys had to fight for every inch of progress they could get, eventually winning 4-3. That sent the throng from slug-nation home with their heads droopin’ lower than an old man who just spilled his pint on the floor…and the cat got to it before he could.
Ah yes…the infamous Sabres fans, God love ‘em. They come into your buildin’ singin’ and yollerin’ loud enough ya know…but when their boys take a tough one on the chin, they scatter faster than rats when ya light up a lantern in the barn.
Ah, but the slugsters will be feeling their oats again soon enough as their boys continue play next month…and probably into May at least…while our boys again hit the links earlier than would be to our likin’.
A couple of the boys that came from the cold, bitter climes of Buffalo helped to build the lead early on…Maxim O’Afinogenov was the lad that fed the little black biscuit to Nik O’Antropov who then shoveled it in for the first tally of the night. It came just 33 ticks of the clock into the match. Clarke MacArthur would later provide the secondary assists on Finny’s goal that pt the Thrashers up 3-1.
For the night, the two former Sabres combined for one goal, 2 assists and a +2 rating.
But the hero in tonight’s little skirmish was none other than Jimmy O’Slater who tipped home a pass from Nic O’Bergfors…who himself had a nifty little night with 3 helpers and finishing with a +2 rating.
Johan O’Hedberg had another winning effort for the boys in blue. His 29 saves on 32 shots were good enough to improve his overall record to 17-13-5.
Once again the Thrashers rang tunes off of the pipes of Philips Arena…four times I think, much like on Sunday when the Coyotes were in town. That sound is almost as awful as the noise that comes from the pipes…bagpipes…when me dear grandmother decided 86-years of age was her time to give them a try. I tell ya, it’s the tune the old cow died of.
Regardless, it was indeed a very nice win by our boys. So when you’re out celebrating St. patties day later with a pint or two…or fourteen…remember to raise one for them. They seemed to have stumbled across a four-leaf clover in this otherwise field of weeds known as March and it was a good night indeed.
Now, if only the Thrashers can find a way to stash that four-leaf clover in their back pocket and keep it with them the rest of the way. The good Lord knows they’ll be needin’ as much luck as they can.