Top ‘o the mornin’ to ya, Thrasherville. Today be St. Patrick’s Day and once again it’s time to don the greens and let yer inner-Irish come shinin’ through. As I’m sure you all are already knowin’, there not be a single drop of Irish blood in me…German/Austrian is me ancestry. But it’s doesn’t make one hill ‘o beans on this day, now does it?
Aye, on this day I’m as green as a leprechaun, and as fate would have it I’m feelin’ just as lucky as one too. The reason I say such a thing is because I just got just back from a pleasure trip.
That’s right…I took me mother-in-law to the airport.
Comin’ to Thrasherville to join us in our St. Patty’s Day celebration be the Flyers from Philadelphia. And Lord knows after what happened to ‘em last Saturday up in their barn, they are sure to be as fired up as a Scotsman who just found out his favorite sheep was stolen. So the boys better mind their pints and quarts once the puck drops on this one.
Now, as for our Thrashers…to say that we are in dire need of a win tonight would be quite the understatement, indeed. After Tuesday’s night’s misery in New Jersey, their playoffs hopes are-a fadin’ almost as fast as Father O’Flarity after he’s had a few rounds with the boys down at the Twisted Kilt…if ya know what I mean, there.
Goin’ back to that game and the unfortunate call that stripped that poor lad Evander Kane of a goal…one which would have knotted things up late in the third period. I got a call from me old gal friend who lives up in that neck ‘o the woods now. I’ve told you about her, haven’t I…the young lass with the flowing red hair and green eyes that sparkled like emeralds. She loved to hang out behind my house all day and just lounge in the sun.
Patty is her name…Patty O’Furniture.
Anyway, the lovely Patty said she was so distraught over the call that she cursed the refs to be afflicted by “the itch” and have no nails which to scratch with.
This lass might have been blessed by the good Lord many fine features, but understanding and forgiveness are not among them.
But even so, I’m thinkin’ that it matters little because the Thrashers are left with about as much chance of making the postseason as me good pal Mortimer O’Peacock has of getting past farmer O’Leary and to his lovely young daughter. Quite simply put, I don’t much see either happenin’.
Still, I’m hopin’ that our Thrashers can fight the Flyers with the same ferocity as seen in any local Irish pub…or by the wives when their husbands come home late from one. A good time at the ‘ol hockey game is still something we all can fancy on this night.
I’m also tossin’ up a prayer that youngster Bryan Little can actually score a goal again. He’s had the worst of luck of late, clangin’ puck off the pipe and all. In fact, the only person I know who has had a tougher time of it than he lately is me good friend Biggie O’Shooter in his attempt to land a date with one of the Blue Crew gals.
But like I always tell him, he’s like a dog chasin’ a carriage. If he actually did catch it, he wouldn’t now how to drive the darn thing.
And speaking of Morty and O’Shooter…I’m sure before the game begins they, I and the other fine gents over at The Blueland Chronicle will be meetin’ up outside of Gorins in CNN Center. I mean, I do believe it’s mandatory that a hockey game on St. Patty’s Day is to be proceeded by tossing a pints or five down the gullet.
I really do like those lads, but they kinda remind me of bagpipes. Yeah, they don’t really cause a stir or make much noise…unless, that is, they’re filled with air. Then comin’ outa them is such a God-awful sound, the likes of which the old cow died of.
So as we wait for game time to arrive, I’ll leave ya to discuss tonight’s game amongst yourselves. After all, there’s still no tax on talk…not yet at least.
But before I go, please allow me to bestow upon ya a blessing that me dear old mother gave to me: As you slide down the banister of life, may the splinters never point in the wrong direction.