#how has he only gotten 2 playoff goals EVER

[easypeasylindyvesey]

JAMES MICHAEL VESEY IS ON MY SCREEN PT 2!!!

and y’all-

i’m actually sweating

[butterflyintochains]

Of All They Survey

A sequel of sorts to 'The Power Couple Contest'. When last we left our four chaotic hockey men in that story, the team were first in the Metro division by a country mile, and fourth in the league overall. Partly because of four unhinged nutcases with a point to prove. So, naturally, they've made the playoffs! Having beaten Carolina in five in the first round, and gotten through Washington in the second.

We pick up the story in game six of the Eastern Conference Final. And, we go forward from there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today has been the longest day in the team's lives so far, and it's only eleven in the morning. They so wish they were at home so they could hang out at PPG Paints all day. But, they're in Toronto, sitting on a 3-2 series lead in the Eastern Conference Final, and desperate to just get on with this last game. Currently, the core are just back from a gym session, and are watching some footage in a media room at the practice rink they're using. Kris is taking notes like a college student, so is Sid. Erik watches his last shift with Marcus again to see how they pulled off an assist on Bunting's goal. ''Can we see that clip of Drew's goal too, Sid?'' Geno asks.

Sid nods, and scans through to that play. They take notes on that, spotting a breakdown in the communication between Beavillier and Acciari that led the Leafs to score the game winner. ''Ah, there it is, wondered how we let that last goal by us.'' Erik says.

Kris asks, turning his wedding ring on his finger. ''When do we start tonight?''

Sid checks the schedule on his phone. ''Half past six, six hours to go until we hit the ice.''

At loose ends as to what to do for the rest of the day, they grab lunch, and keep on strategising together with Sully and Quinn. Then, it's an hour of ice time with the boys. That takes them until three thirty. Sully orders his boys back to the hotel to sleep for the game, and no one refuses their coach. Kris and Erik lay out their suits, and collapse into bed together. ''You think we'll do this, sweetheart?'' Erik asks as they nod off.

Kris kisses his husband, a promise in it. ''I do, I'll get you your cup, darling, I promise.''

Erik chuckles, and lightly corrects his other half, the eternal martyr that he is. ''We will get us our cup, Kris.''

That evening, they're bussed down to Scotiabank, and suit up while chatting as a family. Sid has instated a 'no silence in the room' policy, it's screwed them over far too often. So, if there's no chatter, someone has to play music. If there's no music, everyone is to talk to each other - even if it's about something silly. Sid and Geno talk to Rusty about their pets. Kris and Erik discuss the latest Arsenal news. Completely ignoring the Prince of Wales trophy in the building somewhere.

The first period goes swimmingly by all measures. Ned performing his usual net magic to withstand the storm. Marner nets a late goal, but Rusty and Bunting keep them ahead 2-1 going into first intermission. Kris is acutely aware of their last Conference final, he can't not be, but, one look to Erik is all he needs to calm down. The second period also goes smoothly, the core taking over for this stage, Geno assisting Erik for a goal to put them up 3-1. Then, minutes later, Sid assists Kris for 4-1. Tavares notches a desperate breakaway to try and salvage the game.

In the third, Knies opens proceedings, and there's a ten minute goalless stint. But, a late one from Lars sends them into the cup final. Carolina, Washington, now Toronto - gone with their 5-3 win. The trophy is brought out, and presented to the core. Sid, as usual, lifts it. It's worked in the past, so why not now? Sid kisses Geno as soon as they're back in the room. Erik, into his first ever cup final, wraps his arms around Kris, shaking like a leaf. Kris presses his lips to Erik's neck, reminding himself that Erik isn't going anywhere. ''Well done, boys, but, the work has only started. We head back home tonight, then, get ready for either Colorado or Vancouver.'' Sully says.

The game puck goes into the board, Ned gets the helmet. And, after press, it's off to the airport.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They're getting a Battle of Nova Scotia for the cup final. No doubt the media are salivating over this one, Probably the most demanded cup final since the old Colorado/Detroit days. But, the team aren't concerned with that, they're concerned with not having home ice advantage to open the series today, having had it all through this miracle run. To just about everyone's surprise, Erik is the calmest one of the core, newly granted an A on his jersey for the playoffs. He and Kris come in for training in Denver, hand in hand, deep in conversation about something to do with Le Mans. Something about how Ferrari bungled a strategy call. Sid and Geno share a look, whatever keeps them calm. ''How's it going, captain?'' Kris asks, putting his ring on its chain for training. ''Good, happy to be over the hump a bit.''

Erik asks his brother-in-law. ''Excited to face Nate?''

Sid shrugs, some part of him is, the other is just going to get on with it. ''It's just another game, Karl. That's what I'm telling myself.''

Lars asks. ''What's in the team notes for this game tonight?'' Sully says to his troops. ''I've heard that Bednar's starting their secondary goalie. So, I'm putting in Jars for tonight. The five of you are our powerplay and overtime unit as usual.''

With that, they head out for training. Working hard to get this first game under their belts tonight. They all know that if they don't, Colorado will run away with this series. Quinn puts them through endurance drills, they'll have to outskate the Avs as well as outscore them. ''Well, that sucked.'' Geno says, leaning on the boards.

Sid is catching his breath, resting his head on Geno's shoulder. ''Yeah, that sucked a lot.''

Kris downs some gatorade, and says. ''Now you know how Erik and I feel.''

Erik nods, and tosses his stick aside for a second. ''We've run those types of drills during summers since 2013 or 14.''

The game does indeed go their way that night. Not having Home Ice doesn't seem to affect them too much. Tristan performs daylight robbery on both Rantanen and Makar in the second period while they're leading 2-1. And, Rusty nets a pair of goals in the third to settle the game at 4-1 going into game two. ''Hope Flower saw that tonight.'' Tristan says as they board the bus back to their hotel.

Sid assures him, sitting himself down next to Geno. ''He did, he just texted me, actually: 'tell Jars I'm impressed with him.' He was watching.''

Tristan says, putting his head back. ''Thanks, Flower!'' Erik sits next to Kris, and says. ''Three more of those, please.''

Kris nods, and laughs, knowing full well the climb that awaits them. ''One game at a time, darling.'' The bus shuts up at that, Kris looks around, confused as hell. ''What'd I say this time?'' Erik laughs, and says to his husband. ''Well, sweetheart, I'd say the english nicknames are no longer secret.''

Acciari says. ''Oh, wow, that's cute. You two have petnames in english too?''

Erik says. ''Yeah, and now we've opened ourselves up to even more teasing!''

Ned proposes, in a way only a goalie can. ''Ooh, distraction tactic! Use them on ice!''

Kris, ever one for some scheming, especially with the recent Power Couple Contest, raises an eyebrow. ''Y'know, Ned? Good idea.'' The bus finally arrives back at the hotel. One down, three to go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The series is sadly tied on return to Pittsburgh. The team have a couple of days off to recover from the jetlag of flying from the mountains to the east. As usual, the core get together at Sid and Geno's place for breakfast the morning of their return. That 3-2 overtime loss sucked, but, it's not over until it's over. No need to press the panic button yet. ''So... the petnames, huh?'' Geno asks, smirking over his coffee mug.

Erik rolls his eyes, they've not heard the end of that since they got on the plane last night. ''Geno... we told you that's between us.'' Sid flashes them a shit eating grin. ''No, tell us, come on.''

Kris says, resigned to having to tell his brothers yet another story they'll get all mushy over. ''The big ones, that's all you're getting, just the big ones we use all the time. Cool?'' Sid and Geno nod. Kris carries on. ''I think I started calling Erik 'mon amour' just after we became official in 2012. We were just on the phone, and it... slipped out.''

Erik smiles softly. ''As for me calling Kris 'hjartat mitt'... he got all insecure over himself when he saw me with Victor at some event, and that was my way of getting through to him.''

Sid and Geno have glossy eyes, Sid says, a big smile on his face. ''That's really sweet. And, like, seeing how happy you are to use them, and hear them, it's just... nice, y'know?'' Erik and Kris share a soft look, for all the roughness on ice, they're always soft for each other. ''Yeah, it is.'' Erik says.

Geno adds. ''How have you two been handling this run? New territory, right?''

Kris says, helping Sid tidy the table up. ''I think we're doing okay, just living one game at a time.''

After their breakfast, they head down to the arena. The glass cabinet where the team's five cups sit pride of place stare the captain and his three alternates in the face. Erik notices the melancholic look in Kris' eyes as he looks up at the 2017 cup, and silently holds his husband's hand. He'd give anything to rewrite that horrible night, kick his own ass and demand the old him apologise right away. But, they're here now, right where they belong. Kris takes a deep breath, and kisses his husband's cheek. ''Got lost for a second, amour.'' He says.

Erik smiles, and squeezes his hand. ''I know, and it's okay, hjartat.''

They go to a media room, and get on with some game study. Reviewing the first two games, taking notes, and discussing strategies for the home games ahead of them. Sid has is calculated in his head that they'll be in Colorado if this goes to seven. So, they must be ready for that. It's worked three times in the past, they've never won a cup at home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Game three is at home, PPG Paints is full to the brim with home fans all clad in black and gold. The core arrive together, as they always do for home games, and walk in together. For most teams, this united front would be mostly for the optics, not in this city. Geno talks to Erik about a story from his days with Metallurg as they walk in. Sid and Kris talk about a big game they played against each other in their QMJHL days. Val D'Or beat Rimouski 6-5 in a massive overtime period. Once out of their suits, they split up into their stalls in the dressing room. They suit up to some music, and Sully gives the read before they head out.

Sid stares down against Nate on face off, Nate looks somewhat intimidated by the sea of black his team are surrounded by. Kris locks eyes with Makar. The kid's good, really good. Nate and Cale are good together, but they'll never be Sid and Kris. Sid wins the faceoff, and it's off to the races. Midway through the first period, Acciari gets them on the board 1-0, with a massive breakway goal. Just a couple of minutes later, Bunting gets a sneaky Michigan goal. ''Good job, boys! More of those!'' Sully shouts from behind the bench.

The second period is mostly Colorado. With Nate and Devon Toews getting two goals to level the game at 2-2 going into the second intermission. ''Alright, this game is very winnable, we stick together, stay calm, and take it one shift at a time. No panic buttons anymore, boys.'' Sully says.

The third period is crazy, Geno opening scoring right off the jump, Rantanen fighting back to tie it 3-3. ''Crosby unit, you're all up!'' The top unit take to the ice, and leap on the offensive right away. Drew putting them back ahead 4-3. However, late in the third, Nate scores a one-timer on the penalty kill to take them to overtime again. The overtime unit get to work right away. Lars gets the puck, and feeds it to Erik, who scans the play once, and says. ''Sweetheart, give them hell!''

Kris takes the puck, ignoring the urge to kiss Erik, he takes the shot, and ends the game 5-4. Then, he pulls his husband in for a kiss in front of the whole arena, who go absolutely crazy for it. ''Hey, get a room!'' Lehkonen chirps them. Not to be outdone in his own arena, Kris fires back. ''We have one, you're in it!''

After the game, a journalist asks Sid. ''Did Kris and Erik plan that kiss beforehand?''

Sid laughs, his best friend and brother-in-law are schemers, but not like that. ''No, I'd say that was very spur of the moment. Can't say I'm all that surprised, though, with how they are backstage.''

Erik shouts over from his media scrum. ''You love us, Croz!'' Sid shouts back. ''Yes, I do.''

Another journalist laughs, and asks. ''Are they down bad for each other?''

Sid nods, grinning ear to ear. ''Oh, yeah. You'd never know it's been over a decade since they got together, they're like teenagers.''

Once back in street clothes, dinner is served to the team at the arena. A 2-1 series lead, almost there, but it's not over until it's over. Sid, of all people, knows fine well what lies ahead of them with this series. A decade of friendship with Nate have taught him well what to expect. The core debrief while they eat. ''What did Lehky say to you two?'' Rusty asks Kris.

Kris chuckles. ''He told us to: 'get a room'. I told him: 'we have one, and you're in it'.'' The team burst out laughing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Game four is another win for the Penguins, a simpler 3-1 home win with amazing goals from Rusty, Lars, and Jesse. They fly out this evening to Denver for what could be the cup winning game.The media are still ruminating over the ''Game Three Kiss'' - as it has been labelled. But, the defence power couple have mostly gotten on with it. But, during a final home skate before they fly out, Beauvillier says to them. ''Hey, why not do that for the next game too? Y'know, kiss to put the Avs off their game.''

Geno remarks. ''It worked then, might work now.'' Erik laughs, the contest still fresh in the team psyche, only now it's been inflicted upon their opposition. ''They'll be expecting it, Tito, we might bust out the nicknames, though.''

Bunting says, sounding excited. ''Oh, please do! I feel like we've heard one percent of the repertoire, and I'm fascinated now you say nicknames, plural.''

Kris smiles, and rolls his eyes. ''Thank you for opening Pandora's Box, mon tresor.''

Erik leans over to kiss his cheek. ''No problem, skatten mitt.'' They tidy up, and hit the showers. Then, it's into suits for the flight to the game that might just end all of this. It's almost too good to be true, one more game, and it's over. But, one thing at a time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Game five is a bit of a clusterfuck, a dramatic 4-3 overtime loss to the Avalanche sends them home to Pittsburgh angry. No one is more pissed about this than Kris is. He's wanted to win a cup with the love of his life since he can remember. He promised Erik that they'd win this thing this year. And, the fucking Avalanche just had to ruin everything, didn't they? It takes Erik putting his hands on his shoulders as they get to their stalls at Cranberry, to bring him out of his head. ''Kris, sweetheart, talk to me. What's going on?''

Kris takes a deep, but ragged breath. ''Game five, Erik. I just want to get you a cup so much, and then, they had to fuck it all up for us. I'm just... pissed off.''

Erik nods, he knows Kris better than Kris knows himself. They even discussed this on their first night back home this season. So, he goes to the tactic he employs to calm Kris down. ''Okay, Kris, what facts do we have right now?''

Kris says, taking another deep breath. ''We're married. We're both Penguins. We're 3-2 up in the final. We're in this together, we love each other. And, we got here together.'' Erik nods, pressing a kiss to Kris' lips. ''Good, feel better now?'' Kris nods, leaning his forehead on Erik's. ''Jag alskar dig, alskad mitt.'' He says.

Erik says. ''Je t'aime aussi, mon coeur.''

The rest flood in, surprised at the sight of Erik calming Kris down from something. They don't pry, instead just get suited up for action. They could very well win the cup tomorrow evening, and nobody is going to be caught slacking off now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Game six is a close affair, and a physical one at that. Geno getting the team's only goal late in the game, not that it salvages it any, they're forced into a game seven with a 2-1 loss. They've got three days off between game six and seven, Sully has them on rest orders for the first day off. Sid and Geno use the day to bake and relax with Sam and Maverick. Kris and Erik use it to re-watch some stuff from their four happy All Star Games, Tampa doesn't count. ''Forgot how good you looked that weekend.'' Erik says as they watch the 2016 All Star Game.

Kris runs his fingers through Erik's hair, finally at that length he loves it at. ''I prefer us with long hair, like in 2019.'' Erik laughs, and adjusts his head on Kris' shoulder. ''Me too.''

At the Crosby-Malkin house, Sid leaves a sheet of cookies to cool on the counter while Geno packs them up for the final flight to Denver. Sam is curled up on the couch, fast asleep in the sun. Maverick curled up with her. Geno comes down with their stuff. ''Done, could not find your Nova Scotia tie, found it in the sock drawer somehow?'' Sid kisses his husband. ''Great. We'll have loads of cookies for the flight too.''

They could so easily disobey Sully's rest orders, heaven knows the four of them are off their collective rockers, especially with a massive game seven looming large over their heads. But, Nate's boys flew home last night, they'll be tired too. Best to rest up for the long term. Over at the Letang-Karlsson house, they pack up for the flight, Buddha helping them wherever he can. Kris has promised Erik another dog at some point, hopefully a husky. ''Alright, darling, looks like we're set to go.''

Erik asks, an eyebrow raised. ''Did you remember your meds, sweetheart?''

Kris chuckles, and kisses his cheek. ''I remembered my meds, darling, yes.'' Someday, the boys will stop worrying about him, but he guesses that is a further flung time than he estimated.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The big day finally comes, the entire team arrive at the enemy arena wearing matching suits in black, white, and gold. An idea Kris and Erik proposed at the start of the series. If Sid is honest with himself, which is always, the idea was a stroke of genius from his brother and brother-in-law. This is cemented when they see some of the Avalanche guys arrive all in different suit colours. One team are in harmony, one are not. They get in, change and eat, and suit up. Sully gives the speech, the cup in this building somewhere going totally ignored. ''Alright boys, just like always, we go in together, we stay calm, we go in patient. This is just another game, ignore the noise.''

Mario gives the read. ''Up front we've got: O'Connor, Crosby, and Rust - Sid and the kids!'' The room applaud. ''On the blueline: Letang and Grzelyck.'' PO took over from Gravy as the third pair leader, the room cheers for them. ''In net: Jarry!''

The team file out to the corridor. Sid says in a quiet moment with the core. ''Wanna score a goal each tonight, boys?''

Erik nods, looking determined. ''Sounds great to me, captain.'' Geno smirks, and says. ''Da, davai.''

Kris takes a deep breath, focused on winning this for his husband. ''Let's fucking do this.''

They take to the ice for the game, just another game, and here they stand, all united against thousands tonight. The Penguins against the world, just as it used to be. Five minutes in, Nate takes a dumb penalty, and Sully deploys the Veterans Unit. Sid gets the puck, and shouts. ''Geno!'' Geno receives the pass, and fires a wrist shot past Georgiev's ear to put them up 1-0. ''Spasibo, Sid.'' Geno says, a beaming smile on his face.

That proves to be the only goal of the first period, the defence ticking like a clock and Jarry performing saves Flower would be very proud of. They get some music on during intermission.

The second is a bit more eventful. At six minutes in, Kris reads a play quickly, and says. ''Darling! Do it!'' Erik takes his pass, and hammers it home as soon as he gets it, 2-0 with goals from half the core. In the dying minutes of the period, Sid makes off with the puck from a scrum in the corner, and, catching Georgiev unawares, scores what could be the one to end this whole thing 3-0, with Kris' goal still to come.

Sully gives a very short address to the team during second intermission. ''Good job so far, boys, let's keep this going, the finish line is in sight, we keep blocking the noise out, they're not liking this, but that's okay.'' He turns to the captain. ''Sid, anything to add?''

Sid nods, and just says. ''Kris, mon frere, it's your turn to score next.'' Kris just smiles, that knot of doubt still lingering in his chest, slowly untying itself. Erik squeezes his husband's hand.

They get back to work, the crowd growing angrier with them as the period ticks down to its last half. Geno and Erik watch the final minutes from the bench, helpless while their favourite Canadians are on the ice. In a momentary lapse of focus, Lehkonen passes the puck to Kris. ''Davai, Legenda!'' Geno shouts.

Erik calls to his husband, in french, in the language he learned all those years ago for him and him alone. ''Allez, mon coeur! Allez!'' Kris is patient, skating end to end with the puck, waiting out Georgiev, and scoring a gorgeous goal. They're up 4-0 with a minute and a half left. For which Sully deploys the Veterans Unit. Sid between Geno and Lars, Kris and Erik side by side. The quintet patiently wait the last minute and a half out, before the bench goes empty.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The team mob each other, first in the Metro division thanks to four living legends creating a reality show for their teammates. Now, cup champions yet again, with just four remaining from the last time they were in this position. Sid pulls Geno down for a kiss in full view of Nate. Fighting through the crowd, Kris finds Erik, and wraps his arms around him. Erik cries into his husband's shoulder. Sixteen seasons, and his name will finally go on that cup. ''We did it, mon amour.'' Kris says. Erik kisses him. ''I love you, Kris.''

Kris kisses him back, and runs his fingers through Erik's damp hair. ''I love you too, Erik.''

The core celebrate with their team, before the two final trophies are brought out. Sid, to the surprise of absolutely nobody, is awarded the Conn Smythe. Then, the Stanley Cup. Which goes to Erik after the captain's lap, Kris is in tears at the sight of the love of his life with the Stanley Cup. ''Hjartat, you next!'' Erik passes it off to Kris with a kiss for his lap of the rink. After which Kris says. ''Geno, I'm coming in hot!'' He passes the cup up to Geno.

Once all of the quartet take their laps, they sit and watch the rest of their team take their laps. Sid and Geno are pulled up for a photo with the cup. Kris fishes his chain out, and removes it so he can put his wedding ring back on. Erik does the same. ''Kris, Erik - your turn.'' The photographer says.

They pose with the cup in their arms, their golden wedding rings proudly on display against the silver. Flashing triumphant smiles down the camera, over a decade, and they've finally won their cup together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They spend a couple of days resting off the game and their hangovers from the dressing room party. But, they have to go home at some point. They're up late in the morning, pack up for their evening flight, and get on the plane to Pittsburgh. The cup with them on the plane, safely kept in the seat next to Sully. Sid happily rests his head on Geno's shoulder, both glowing with the fourth cup win. Kris, radiant but tired, engages Lars in conversation about Denmark. Erik is also glowing, and texting Victor about the win. Kris' phone buzzes, he answers it on speaker. ''Bonjour, mon chum!'' The whole plane shuts up, Flower is calling them from wherever he is.

Flower says. ''Felicitations, mes amis!''

Sid says from his seat. ''Thank you, Flower!'' Flower asks Erik, the first time cup winner in the family. ''How does it feel, Karl?''

Erik beams from his seat next to Kris. ''Only finding Kris felt better, Flower, I've not stopped smiling for two days.''

Flower says, laughing. ''I can imagine. I'll let you guys sleep, I'm coming into town soon, so I'll see you all soon.'' Kris smiles, clearly missing his favourite goalie. ''You're staying with us, Erik and I will get the guest room ready for you.''

Flower says. ''Got it, I'll see you soon, boys!'' They hang up, and finally get to sleep. Geno has a feeling they're not going to be sleeping much for the next week or so. It's going to be chaos as soon as they get home, so, he wants to savour the flight home as much as he can.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flower arrives in town the day before the parade. Retirement looking very good on him. He may not have retired with this team, or with this cup. But, he's etched into the fabric of this team. He immediately embraces his three brothers, and gives Erik a massive hug as well. Then, he says to the two goalies. ''You two are absolutely incredible, you know that, right?''

Tristan says. ''All because of your example, Flower.''

Flower asks the core. ''Thinking of joining me in retirement now?'' Sid shakes his head. ''Not even a little bit, no. We're nowhere near done yet. Our contracts are still active, so we'll play them out.''

Someone shouts over to the quartet. ''Captain and Alternates, the head car awaits!''

The core pile into the back of the lead truck, the cup and Conn Smythe sitting between them. Once everyone is situated, they roll out into the streets, lined in their home fans, decked out in team colours. The team have never won a cup at home, maybe that's for the best, no feeling beats coming home for the parade. Instead of sitting around waiting for it to happen. ''We did it, Sid.'' Geno says. Sid nods, that typical doe-eyed look in his face. ''We did it, G.''

Kris turns to Erik. ''Well, here we are at last, alskad mitt.'' Erik nods, and dries his eyes again. ''Here we are, mon coeur.''

Sid asks Erik. ''Was it everything you wanted it to be?'' Erik nods, fixing his hair again. ''Everything and more. When do we get our rings?''

Geno says. ''Start of next season.''

They proudly and triumphantly present all three trophies to their city. The speeches are made, and their jerseys are handed over to go to Toronto. After eight years of worrying whether they'd get back here, here they are again. The rulers of all they survey once again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summer is filled with parties, team events across two whole continents, and each of their cup days. A blur of celebrations gives way to much earned rest. The replica cups sit in the Letang-Karlsson house with the Masterton and Norrises as soon as they're home in Pittsburgh. They get their rings on their first visit to Toronto before camp begins. The person in charge of the rings hands them out by number. Erik opens his box first, and says to his husband. ''God, it's huge.''

Kris laughs, trying his on his right ring finger, his left is taken by a more important ring. ''Yeah, that never changes. Try it on.'' Erik slides it onto his right middle finger. ''Heavy too, wow.''

Kris asks, only to be cheeky. ''Which do you prefer? That ring, or your wedding ring?''

Erik cocks an eyebrow, a glint of something in his dark eyes. ''Sweetheart, my wedding ring, of course. This is the pride of my career, you are the pride of my life.''

Kris melts again, how the hell has one person softened him so much over the last fourteen years? ''You're the pride of my life too, darling.'' Acciari asks, coming back from calling someone. ''Are the defencemen being mushy again?''

Bunting corrects him. ''Still, Cookie, are they being mushy still? And, yes, they are.''

Sid jokingly steps in, he knows how that first cup rush feels all too well, doesn't matter whether you're two forwards in their early twenties, or two defencemen in their late thirties. ''I think they've earned it, Noel.''

Nobody argues with their captain on that, too happy to bask in their victory, too excited for the upcoming season. No one thought they'd win that final, every single journalist had them taken out back and shot, how wrong they were. Who put any hope in all of the core scoring in game seven? Carolina couldn't stop them, Washington and Toronto all fell by the wayside, and they conquered Colorado in enemy territory. They've also got 29 to raise up soon, so that's going to be fun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay! I think 'Rival Captains In Love' might have been usurped at last! This might just be my magnum opus for my beloved defencemen so far. Didn't think I'd ever dethrone 'Rival Captains' but, here I am. Little note: I fiddled around with some trades, and kept PO on the team instead of Graves. That was for continuity purposes with 'The Power Couple Contest' - to which this is a sequel! The most self-indulgent thing I've written yet, but that's okay.

Enjoy!

Also, here's my series summary for those into data as I am. Colour coded as it is in my notebook (which literally carried this fic)

Pittsburgh Penguins vs Colorado Avalanche SCF

Game - Home Ice - Score - Winner

One - Colorado - 4-1 - PP Two - Colorado - 3-2(ot) - CA Three - Pittsburgh - 5-4(ot) - PP Four - Pittsburgh - 3-1 - PP Five - Colorado - 4-3(ot) - CA Six - Pittsburgh - 2-1 - CA Seven - Colorado - 4-0 - PP

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Flatbush & Atlantic: part ix

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi part vii part viii

And here we’ve got part ix! This will be the second-to-last part of the series, I’ve got some thoughts also running around for a possible epilogue if that’s something anyone would be interested in reading. As always, there’s literally nothing writers love more than hearing from you all, so don’t be afraid to come and tell me what you think - my inbox is open, comment on the post, reblog with your thoughts!

part ix

April 27 (tues)

Mat’s mind was racing. If he was honest, he hadn’t been able to concentrate worth a damn since Cass had dropped the news about her job offer. Hong Kong? He knew she was brilliant, knew that her skills could and should take her anywhere in the world she wanted to go; the thought that she might leave New York, leave him, was still terrifying. Becoming more worried by the minute, he pulled out his phone, dialing the first person he could think of that might be able to help. 

Tito answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Tito. What’s up?” Mat asked nervously. 

“What’s wrong, Mat?” He immediately asked. Mat cursed under his breath; even over the phone, Beau was always able to read him like a book. 

Mat grimaced. “That obvious, huh?”

“Mat, we see each other pretty much every day. Not to be a jerk or something, but you don’t really call me unless something’s wrong. What is it? Did you and Cass have a fight?” Mat could imagine him crossing his arms on the other end. 

“Not exactly,” he said, scratching his head as he wandered aimlessly around the park. “She got this job offer, and it sounds like a really exciting opportunity, but…” He trailed off. 

“But?”

“It’s all the way in Asia. It’s in Hong Kong.” 

Tito sucked in a breath. “Oh, wow. That’s a big one. Big move. Has she said if she’s going to take it?”

“Not really, she hasn’t decided.” Mat shook his head, not realizing Tito wouldn’t be able to see. “We talked through it a little, they’re offering a really good starting salary and she likes the company values, but it’s such a huge jump that she’s not ready to make the call yet.” 

“Did you talk about what it would mean for you as a couple?”

“A little, though not as much as we probably should have,” Mat admitted. “Neither of us would want to break it off just because it would be long distance, but logistically it would just be a nightmare. It’s something like a 15 hour flight from New York, so it’s not like either of us would ever be able to make that more than once or twice a year. Did you know that it’s a twelve hour time difference from here?”

“No,” Tito said, “and it’s obviously not like I know exactly what you’re going through. Paige is a kindergarten teacher, so it’s not exactly like her job would suddenly pick up and move to another country. But it’s obviously a different story with me.”

As distracted as he was, Mat felt compelled to respond. “You know they’re going to resign you, right? It would be a terrible move for them if they didn’t.”

“Yeah, I mean that’s what I’ve figured,” Beau responded. “And my agent told me to expect negotiations to start in the next month or so, but still. I could be sent to Winnipeg or Phoenix or Vancouver pretty much without notice, and I wouldn’t want to ask her to just pick up her whole life and follow me. So, I get the feeling.” He paused for a moment. “How do you feel about it?”

“Mixed feelings,” Mat answered honestly. “I’d never want to hold her back from anything, that’s not the kind of person I am and it’d be a dick move regardless. She’s her own person and deserves to be able to make her own decisions. And I would never want her to grow to resent me if she decided to stay for my sake. That would almost be worse. I just..I really love her, Tito, and I would hate for us to never be able to see eachother because of her job. Or worse, for this to mean the end of us because the distance was too hard to deal with.”

It took Tito a minute to respond. “I know you love her, Mat. It’s pretty obvious. You look at her like she hung the moon. But if they all say that things will work out if you love each other and talk it through, then what are you so worried about?”

Mat took a deep breath before answering, trying to gather his thoughts as best he could. When he spoke, his voice wavered. “Because I’ve never been this gone for a girl, Tito. What Cass and I have...I don’t even know how to describe it. I’d stop the Earth turning if it made her happy. It’s just...she’s it for me. I’m done looking. And the idea that I could be 13,000 kilometers away from her isn’t even something I had considered. I wouldn’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.”

“Wow. That’s...that’s big, Mat. You serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he replied. 

“When do they need to hear back by?” Tito asked.

Mat looked down at his watch, checking the time. “Not for a few weeks. She’s got some time to decide, which is almost worst.”

Tito hummed sympathetically. “Just talk it through. I can’t pretend like I know what’s going to happen, but I have faith in you. It’s going to work out.”

“I hope so.”

 May 13 (thurs)

 It was nine days before Cass graduated, and if she was being honest, her time may have objectively been better spent studying for her finals, the first of which was Monday. But this was Mat, and this was the Stanley Cup Playoffs, and she supposed that her studies could wait for a night while she spent her evening at Barclays. It was Game 5 of the Eastern Conference final, and there was no way she was going to miss her team’s chance at the Wales trophy. The tone in the arena was tense from the moment she stepped in; ever the optimist, Cass liked the Islanders’ chances, but the fact remained that they were down 3-1 in the series after a 4-0 rout by the Lightning in Game 4. The series had started off with forward momentum after winning the first game at home, but the three-game losing streak had done little for the fans’ hopes and even less for the team’s morale. 

The only bright spot, if she could call it that, was Mat’s return to the ice. He knew as well as anything that the recovery time was for his own good, but he wasn’t made to be cooped up in his apartment for nearly two weeks straight, save only doctor’s appointments and short trips to the complex gym. Per his usual dramatic fashion, Mat had been cleared in time for Game 7 of the second round, returning to raucous cheers and scoring two goals in the eventual 4-2 win over the Capitals. She had caught up enough on her work to be able to make the game, and it was one of the great joys of her life to be up in a box surrounded by her friends when the love of her life scored the goal that sent the Islanders to the conference finals for the first time in nearly thirty years. 

That kind of a dramatic win had made the losing streak that much harder. Game sevens are always exciting, especially with someone coming back off of injured reserve. While the win hadn’t made the team cocky by any means, the confidence had carried over into something more closely resembling complacency. They won Game 7, they won the first of the next series, so some of the team — mostly the younger players who hadn’t yet cut their teeth in the league — had made the mistake of assuming that the rest of the round would be smooth sailing. They should have known better, Cass thought ruefully as the Lightning scored two minutes before the first intermission to even the score at 1-1. Why couldn’t this be the round before, filled with confidence and coordination and laser-focused passing on every line? Why couldn’t it have been the celebration after? 

---

May 3 (tues)

 Winning a game sometimes called for going out. Winning a series almost definitely called for going out. And winning a series in Game 7 that sent your team to the conference finals for the first time in recent memory called for going out, and going out hard. As much as Cass would have loved to get as hammered as the rest of the group, especially considering the stress she was under with finals and graduation and her job offer piling up, they didn’t want a repeat of the afterparty from the All-Star Game, and Cass still had school the next day. So, she had committed to limiting herself to three drinks. “I want to be tipsy, not shitfaced,” she had explained to Paige on the drive over. Tito had driven his car over, Paige volunteering to DD so the boys could let loose and everyone could let off some much-needed steam. 

Someone had already opened up a tab for everyone by the time their car had gotten there, and it wasn’t ten minutes before they had claimed a few couches in the corner and Cass had a caipirinha in her hand. She was a little worried that Mat’s tolerance had tanked in the past few weeks; he hadn’t really drank since before the concussion and it was their first time at a bar in a few weeks regardless. Mat noticed her nervous glances out of the corner of his eye. “I’m fine,” he reassured her. “I specifically asked the doctors if I was good to drink at my last appointment and they said I was in the clear.”

Cass giggled, sipping her drink. “You asked your doctors if you could drink alcohol?”

“What can I say?” Mat shrugged. “I wanted to go out and get lit with friends, can you blame me?”

Cass’ giggles had evolved into full-on belly laughs. “Lit? What are you, sixteen?”

Mat’s cheeks reddened in what was probably a combination of alcohol and embarrassment. “My cousin said it once.”

Cass headed back over to the bar a few minutes later for another drink, leaving the boys to talk amongst themselves with the occasional interruption from an excited fan. On a high from the win, the team were more than happy to take photos and have quick chats with anyone who stopped them, and thankfully weren’t mobbed by the crowd inside the bar. For the most part, Cass and her relationship with Mat had been able to fly under the radar — well, as much as she could being Mat Barzal’s other half. Her Instagram hadn’t been private since college, and while a fair few fans and fanpages followed her, it had all remained mercifully low-key. Waiting at the bar, she resigned herself to scroll through Twitter for a few minutes, knowing it would be a little while before the bartender got to her. 

“Are you Cassidy Shaw?” Cass’ head turned slowly towards her right, where a short blonde girl looked at her with a shocked expression. 

“Cabrera Shaw, but yes?” She answered slowly. 

“Sorry!” The girl apologized, “I didn’t mean to be weird or anything. I follow you on Instagram, it’s just so weird to finally see you in person.” Cass gave a nervous laugh. She had fans? On Instagram? Who were excited if they met her in real life? 

“One Southside and whatever your favorite IPA on tap is, please,” Cass said to the bartender who had just leaned over the counter to get her order. “Thank you? You’re welcome?” Cass smiled awkwardly.

“I just wanted to say that I think it’s super cool how you’re not a typical WAG or anything. My name’s Sierra, I’m a junior at St. John’s. I’m applying for law school next year. It’s just, like, awesome to see a woman being successful in her own right apart from her partner, especially when they’re in such a visible position and it’s not what’s expected of them. I’m sorry — I’m rambling, aren’t I?” 

Cass laughed, a genuine one this time. “No, you’re totally good. Don’t worry. That’s really sweet of you to say, thanks a lot!” She sipped the Southside the bartender had just handed her, sliding Mat’s beer over. “Yeah, I have so much respect for the other women who choose to do more philanthropic work or be stay-at-home moms, but that’s not what I feel pulled to. Right now, at least.” 

“Right, totally,” Julia said, grabbing what looked like a rum and coke from the other bartender. “Anyways, I should let you get back to the celebration. Tell the team congratulations, it was a great game to watch!” 

Cass picked up the other glass, nodding. “I will. Thank you for your kind words, that was sweet of you to say.”

“Anytime!” Julia chirped happily. 

Cass walked carefully back over to the group, keeping an eye on the drinks. She handed Mat’s beer to him. He looked up curiously, taking a sip. “Something hold you up at the bar?”

She shook her head, then nodded, then shook it again. “Kind of? I think I just had my first fan encounter.”

He laughed, leaning over to plant a kiss on her cheek. “Comes with the territory, babe.”

---

The game was scoreless through the second period, which didn’t help the tension in the stadium or Cass’ blood pressure. She and Paige had decided to get actual seats for the game, which Mat and Tito were more than happy to arrange. The Islanders were doing well through the first half of the third period, other than a little bit of messy passing the lines were good. But good wasn’t good enough sometimes, good wasn’t close enough to score and give them the lead. Cass’ heart sank as soon as one of the defensemen, she wasn’t sure who, made a turnover in the neutral zone to give the Lightning the puck. Kucherov picked it off, skating past the defenders and around the goal while the rest of the line nearly tripped over themselves trying to skate back in time. 

She was on the edge of her seat as he wrapped around the goal, silently praying that Varlamov would somehow be able to get a piece of the puck with his blocker or that it would have one of those one-in-a-million deflections off of the post. You could hear a pin drop in the stadium as everyone waited for the shot; tall of the sudden, time seemed to move like molasses. And then the puck went in, the red light went on, and the scattered sections of blue-and-white clad Lightning fans threw their arms up in celebration. 

Cass allowed herself exactly ten seconds to hold her head in her hands. There was still seven minutes, thirty nine seconds left. There was still time. Then there was five minutes, forty-two seconds left, and Maroon got two minutes for tripping, and that was their chance. That was supposed to be their chance. But then the penalty came and went, and it was three minutes left. Two minutes left. They pulled Varlamov at one minutes fifty-eight seconds left, and then it was the last shift. Forty-nine seconds left, and it was time for a Hail Mary. Out of habit, Cass’s lips began moving in the prayer. Hail Mary, full of grace...It was a holdover from her lacrosse days, when they were down in the last quarter with seemingly no hope in sight. It didn’t always work, but it sometimes did. It didn’t work that night. It didn’t work because the clock ticked down to zero, the score was still 2-1, and the Islanders had lost. They were out of the playoffs. Fans began shuffling out of the rink, shoulders slumped and heads down, as Cass bit her lip and tried not to cry. The team had worked so hard for this. God, they had worked so hard. And if she was taking it this badly, if it was affecting her this much, then she couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like for the guys on the team. 

Paige turned to her after a few minutes, when there were only a handful of people still left in their seats and the Zambonis had come out to resurface the ice one last time. “We should probably get down there, do you think?” She asked softly. Cass nodded. She was referring to the tunnel, outside the locker room where everyone usually got to greet their partners with kisses and hugs and words of congratulations, but where the mood would be profoundly different on that night. Cass grabbed her bag and straightened out her jersey, squeezing Paige’s hand. Neither of them really knew what the environment was going to be like after such a devastating knockout; Paige had started dating Anthony the summer before, and Cass obviously had even less experience. They had dealt with losses, they had dealt with disappointments and losing streaks and points droughts, but this was something new entirely.

They rode the elevator in silence before walking down the corridors to the room, where the rest of the WAGs and other family had congregated. Kerry rubbed her shoulder sympathetically as Lauren walked over. “We in the Islanders family have a lot of experience with getting knocked out of the playoffs,” she said with a weak smile, trying to crack a joke, “so here is how it usually goes. The guys should be coming out in a few, it takes longer than usual because the media typically has some end-of-the-season wrapup questions and Trotz and Anders will probably make speeches or say something. Some others might too.” The two women nodded. “Don’t treat it like just another loss, but it’s also no good to hover too much. It’s obviously a real disappointment, so it usually takes a week or so before most of them bounce back to being their normal selves. They know what coping mechanisms work best for them. Most will hit the gym more, read or cook if they’re into that, something to get their mind off of it. Obviously they’re still players and still want to know how they can get better, so they might want to go over tapes of the games and make notes of where they went wrong. That’s fine, but don’t let them beat themselves up about it too much. This was a hard series, and Mat especially,” she gestured towards Cass, “tends to be more than a little bit of a perfectionist.”

“I’ve noticed,” Cass said. 

“One last thing,” she continued. “Let them process, let them cope, but a loss not an excuse for them to treat you any worse, any less kindly. Be understanding, of course. But don’t take any crap from them, regardless of the circumstance.”

“Thank you,” Paige said gratefully. Cass echoed her sentiment. The next ten minutes were filled with checking emails and making half-hearted conversation before the team started to trail out of the room. Embracing their partners and families, most couples exchanged no more than a few words before turning down the hall that led to the players’ parking lot. Paige left with a squeeze to her shoulder and a promise to get coffee the next week before grabbing Tito’s hand and guiding him towards the cars. 

Unsurprisingly, Mat followed right behind. He hadn’t combed his hair after his shower, the top button of his dress shirt was undone and only haphazardly tucked into his pants. Mat had been on the shift when Kucherov scored, and if there was anything she knew about her boyfriend, it was that he’d take it personally. He dropped his bag on the ground as she embraced him, and the thud against the concrete floor felt as if it could echo all the way across the Long Island Sound. 

“I’m so proud of you, Mat. So, so proud. I know this didn’t end how you wanted it to, but you worked so fucking hard to get here, and that’s what I see. That’s all I see,” she whispered. 

Mat wasn’t crying, but his breathing was labored nonetheless. “I just feel...I feel like I let everyone down. I wasn’t supposed to be that far up on the ice, and if I hadn’t, maybe I would have gotten back in time to steal the puck, or check him or something, or…” He trailed off. 

Cass sighed. “I know, chou, I know how you feel. But just try to remember that this is a team sport. You win with the boys, you lose with the boys. Do you get mad at Tito when he makes a bad play? Or Jordan, or Anders?” Mat shook his head. “It’s the same way with you. They don’t stop being proud of you or think you’re any less of an incredible player because you made a bad decision. Bad decisions get made all the time, and it doesn’t have to reflect on the person who made them. It’s a hard game, love, but you did your best and that’s all anyone ever has a right to ask of you.” 

Mat’s thumb rubbed against the small of her back. “I know I’ll be fine, eventually. I mean, we’ve all dealt with this before. It just seems different this time, because we were so close to actually making the finals. It seems kind of silly to say since I know I’m only 23 and I know I’ve got so much time left to play, but,” he took a shaky breath, “I look at all the veterans, all the amazing players whose entire careers have gone by without ever having gotten the Cup. Lundqvist and Thornton and Marleau and all of these legends. And it sounds kind of selfish and naive, but I don’t want to be one of them.” 

They stood like that for a few more minutes, just holding each other, before either spoke again. “Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” Cass murmured to Mat as she carded her hands through his hair. She felt a tiny, almost imperceptible nod against her shoulder. Her bag had her laptop, books, and chargers. She had a whole drawer in Mat’s room by then, a combination of stray shirts that were his-turned-hers, a few pairs of leggings — they took up an entire drawer of their own back at her apartment — and balled-up socks from her one unsuccessful attempt at doing the laundry in his building. She had a spare box of tampons in his bathroom, her floral shampoo next to his 2-in-1 Old Spice. No matter how hard she pushed, Mat remained oblivious to the benefits of having separate shampoo and conditioner. 

He pulled away, reaching into his pocket and handing over his keys. “Do you mind driving?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. Whatever you need.”

The ride back home was about forty minutes, and it was almost halfway through before either of them spoke, the lull of the 80s rock channel filling in the silence. “Where’s your head at, Mat?” She asked carefully. 

He was looking out the window, distracted. “Hm?”

She repeated the question and he tensed slightly, leaning back into the passenger seat. “Just feeling kind of...confused about the whole thing. Seems like I’m being pulled in a thousand different directions one day, but then all of the sudden something like this happens and I’ve got nothing. It’s overwhelming. I know I have a life outside of hockey, I know it’s not all of who I am, but sometimes it seems hard to believe that when it seems like that’s all I’m recognized for.” Keeping one hand on the wheel, Cass reached over to cover his hand with her own. His fingers held onto hers like a lifeline. 

“You’re right, you know?” She said as they passed into the Queens-Midtown tunnel. 

“About?”

“Being so much more than people perceive you to be. I get that, it’s like that for me too sometimes. And Mat, you are so much more than ‘just a hockey player.’ You’re a good son and an amazing brother to Liana, and an awesome friend to Tito and the guys on the team and everyone back home. And,” she added, cracking a smile, “you’re a pretty good boyfriend too.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Just pretty good?”

“I didn’t want to fluff your ego too much,” Cass said. “But seriously, Mat. You’re incredible entirely on your own merit. You care so deeply for the people in your life and you love so hard, and it’s an honor and a privilege to be able to witness that firsthand.” 

Mat bent down to the center console, brushing a kiss over her hand. “How do you do it?”

Now it was her turn to question. “Do what?”

“Always know the right thing to say.”

“I don’t,” Cass admitted. “And sometimes I get it wrong. But I know I love you, and I don’t want to see you hurting if there’s anything I can do about it.” The car exited the tunnel into the dotted lights of a Manhattan evening. 

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “if there was an Oscar for pep talks, I’d have to give it to you, hands down. No offense to any of the guys on the team.”

She laughed, stopping at the light. Right on red wasn’t legal in New York City, a rule she found out the hard way two months after moving. “I’m glad it helps.”

“It does,” Mat said softly. “It means the world to me that you care enough to do it. You mean the world to me.”

Her cheeks heated. “You sure know how to flatter a girl, eh, Barzal?”

“I meant every word.”

---

May 20 (thurs)

 She was done. After three years, six semesters, dozens of classes, and hundreds of hours studying, Cass had just finished her last final of law school. Her classmates stumbled out of the lecture hall, not entirely believing that all of their tears and heartache and hard work had come to a head in such an anticlimactic fashion. Turning on her heel, she walked south. It was just before seven, and her friends had a group reservation at some ridiculously extravagant French wine bar. It was Les’ idea, who had a penchant for all things expensive and who had made the reservation months prior because “you never know, John Mayer could book the whole place up and as much as I love dollar slices, we don’t want that to be our only option for what’s supposed to be a very prestigious celebratory dinner.” Les, Fiona, and Samaira were coming, along with Daniel, another editor on the law review, and Robin, one of Cass’ friends from first-year criminal law and the president of the Women’s Law Association. She had initially been wary about inviting Mat; it wasn’t that she didn’t think he’d get along with her law school friends, but she didn’t want him to feel out of the loop. After Les had announced that he was bringing his boyfriend, Xavier, Cass had extended the invite to Mat as well. 

It was only a ten minute walk, and the hostess directed Cass to their table, where she realized that she was the last one to arrive. “Don’t worry,” Robin said, “we’ve just been interrogating your man.” 

Cass scooted in next to Mat, kissing him quickly before rolling her eyes. “I hope you haven’t been too hard on him.”

Mat smiled. “Nah, they’ve been good. But being questioned by six lawyers who all seem very adamant that I don’t deserve you —”

“You don’t,” Samaira cut in, though it was clear she was joking. 

“Was more than a little intimidating,” Mat finished, handing Cass the menu. 

“Order whatever you want, I’m paying,” Daniel said as he flicked through the wine menu. “Well, technically, my parents are.” Daniel came from money; his mom was a partner at a firm in Chicago and his dad was a law professor at the University of Chicago. “If they’re going to insist on sending me to law school and sheltering me my whole life, the least I could do is take advantage of their generosity,” Daniel said, plunking his credit card onto the table. Fifteen minutes later, the group was sharing plates of escargots, crab tartine, and roasted cauliflower; twenty minutes after that, entrées were served. Mat had recognized the waitress’ accent and was chatting to her in French in between plates. Cass sipped on her wine, a pinot noir, and took a moment to look around the room, a moment to relax. Two more days, and she graduated. Everything that she had worked so hard for was finally coming to fruition. She still had to pass the bar in July, sure, but for one night — for a few days, really — she was going to let herself finally rest in the ability of her accomplishments. 

Dessert was maple bourbon crème brûlée with Sauternes, and Mat may have had a little too much fun breaking the caramelized sugar. Cass was full of good food and conversation; after everyone was done it was after nine. Les, Daniel, and Xavier had decided to get drinks, but Robin had barely slept at all that week, Samaira was going to watch a movie at her boyfriend’s, and Cass and Mat had to wake up early to get her grandparents from the airport. Mat took her hand as they walked towards the subway station. He had parked a few blocks away and offered to drive Cass back to her apartment, but she didn’t want him to go out of his way and all things considered, taking the subway at night had become something of a routine for her. 

They walked down Manhattan Avenue, resting in the kind of comfortable silence that only came with being with someone who really gets you. Cass had decided not to take the Hong Kong job the week prior. It was just too much distance from her family and Mat, and while the job seemed interesting enough, it wasn’t the kind of position she thought she could really be happy in long-term. “Have you figured out what you’re doing yet?” Mat asked as they turned the corner. “I’d say you should just move in with me and become a full-time housewife, but something’s telling me that’s not exactly the kind of opportunity you’re searching for.”

 Cass laughed, bumping him with her shoulder. “Tempting offer, the housewife thing, but I think I’m going to have to pass. Plus that would necessitate you wifing me up.” 

Mat kissed her head. “All in due time, pretty girl.” “But anyways, about the job search.” Cass said, a smile playing on her lips. “I was going to wait until graduation to surprise you, but since you asked…” She paused for dramatic effect. “Chris offered me a job. Permanently.” 

Mat stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Chris? Like Islanders Chris? Lawyer Chris?” 

She giggled. “Yes. Islanders lawyer Chris. You’re looking at the new Associate Counsel for the New York Islanders, Mat.” Mat damn near hollered in celebration, picking Cass up and spinning her around before pulling her into what was very possibly one of the best kisses of her life. Cass barely took notice of the tourists watching them from the side or her own public display of affection. It was New York City. They had seen weirder. 

It felt like a weight had been lifted off of Mat’s chest. He was being honest when he said that he wouldn’t have done anything to get Cass to stay, it just wasn’t his place. But he also would have been lying if he had said it would be anything but heartbreaking to see her leave. It was like he told Tito. Not even giving the future a chance to work itself out would be worse than a breakup. And with any luck, they’d never have one of those either. They rounded the last corner, steps down to the subway in sight, when Mat remembered what he had wanted to ask her but had been interrupted by her news. Her incredible, perfect news. “What would you think about spending some time in Canada this summer?”

Cass, seemingly oblivious, answered, “Oh? Like as a vacation?”

He shook his head. “No, like in Coquitlam with my family.”

“You want me to spend the summer with you and your family?” Cass asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah, only if you want to, of course. And I’m not sure when the job with the team starts, or…” He looked down.

Cass smiled. “I’d love to, but are you sure it isn’t too much? I don’t want to feel like I’m intruding on family time, I know you don’t get a lot of time with them since you’re here most of the year. I don’t want you to feel like you’re obligated to bring me around just because we’re together.”

They stopped by a lamp. Cass leaned up against the post. “Cass. My parents have made it very clear to me that you’re family, and that they’ll have my head if I’m ever dumb enough to let you go.” She snickered. “Just so we’re clear, I don’t intend on ever letting that happen. My family loves you, my sister thinks you’re way cooler than me.” 

“She’s got good taste,” Cass said, tilting her head.  

Mat laughed. “She does. She told me you guys were texting the other day about the guy she’s interested in, giving her advice. Sure, it was my idea to invite you, but they were so on board from the moment I mentioned it. Plus, my friends back home are getting annoyed with me because they haven’t met you yet with how often I talk about you.” 

She bit her lip. “How long were you thinking of staying?”

Mat shrugged. “Leave in a couple weeks, I usually stay two months or so, so until sometime in August?”

“I’d have to fly back to take the bar in July, and I’d still need some time to study while we’re over, but my contract doesn’t start until the end of August, so…”

“You’ll come?” Mat smiled hopefully.

She nodded. “I’ll come. I’ve never been to Canada before, did you know that?”

He shook his head, leaning in and brushing a kiss on her hairline. “You’re going to love it.”

[samgirard]

I love your Avs history stuff! The Nate-and-EJ-as-narrative-parallels one was very good. The way you frame and tell the stories reminds me a lot of like a medieval storyteller, in a way. So, fair lorist of the Avalanche from Colorado, care to tell us of the tale of Patrick Roy?

how do i begin to describe someone like patrick roy? patrick roy is a violent, temperamental egotist whose lionizing represents some of the worst impulses of hockey’s id. he is a control freak who was simultaneously short-sighted and stubborn as he was capable of innovating the game itself. he is one of the best goalies in the history of the colorado avalanche, if not the league itself, and acting in spite of him has turned this team into who they are today. 

above all, patrick roy is an asshole that thrives on dramatic exits.

roy’s history with the avalanche starts with his last game as a hab, against the detroit red wings, december 2, 1995. roy already had a contentious relationship with the habs’ coach, mario tremblay, and when he let in five goals in the first period and four more in the second until tremblay would pull him, roy took it as what it was: public humilation. there, on the bench, he declared he would play his last game as a canadien. four days later, he got his wish, and was traded to the colorado avalanche. 

roy would become the best goalie in avalanche history, winning two stanley cups with them and earning their franchise record in wins. along the way, after getting pulled in a tied game in anaheim against the ducks, roy went into the visiting coach’s office and smashed it up with his stick, destroying video equipment in the midst of his tantrum, and threatening the then coach, bob hartley, to never do it again. after this, the reporter who broke this story tells that roy cornered him in a parking lot, accusing him of running it to make him look bad before the avs went to montreal, and punched him in the face. 

roy was also accused of other violent acts during his career. in 1997, roy was arrested after threatening and allegedly attacking a dj at a bar in colorado springs. in 2000, during a fight with his wife, roy ripped two doors off their hinges and was tried for domestic violence and destruction of property, dropped due to his wife’s lack of desire for conviction, and the two would divorce in 2005. 

after a game 7 ot loss against the wild in the 2003 playoffs, roy immediately retired, and the goalie would become a coach. 

after retirement, roy buys his own little castle in the q, and becomes owner, gm, vice president of hockey ops, and head coach of the quebec remparts. he’s involved in at least one other violent altercation, charged by the co-owner of the remparts with throwing punches, and inciting his son jonathan into fighting another team’s goalie without the other goalie’s agreement. his team loses the 2012 qmjhl playoffs against the halifax mooseheads lead by nathan mackinnon, and the remparts goaltender louis domingue, who roy blamed for the loss, recounts that roy is “worst person [he has] ever met.”

following this in 2013, roy is named head coach and vice president of hockey ops, as an additional concession for taking the job, for the colorado avalanche, sharing player-personnel decisions with his former teammate, joe sakic. 

roy as a coach was as erratic and dramatic as he was as a person. in his first game as avs coach, he gets in a shouting match with bruce boudreau, then with the anaheim ducks, and almost knocks over the partition between benches, getting fined $10k for his actions. he starts the practice of pulling the goalie at 3 minutes, setting the standard for pulling the goalie today, with insane moves like pulling the goalie at 10 minutes.  he publicly rips into his star center, matt duchene, for celebrating too ebulliently in a losing game.

during all this, roy butts heads with sakic and the rest of the organization over who had the final decision in player decisions. this all comes to a head in the summer of 2016, when roy questioned sakic on a number of decisions like trading nick holden to the rangers, whose trade lead roy to personally call alain vigneault to congratulate him on what he had gotten. however, it was tyson barre that was the last straw for roy. 

in the summer of 2016, tyson barrie was part of the avs’ young core, and one of  the brightest spots on their blueline, despite his issues on defense. tyson is a contentious player, to say the least, and his contract negotiations broke down to the point where he became one of the few players to enter into an actual arbitration hearing. the hearing was, by all accounts, vicious and grueling in its assesment. roy was strongly against keeping tyson, thinking of him as a 5th dman, and strongly preferring a stronger, bigger defenseman. when tyson signed a contract with the avs before the arbitrator made her ruling, roy did what he does best: he threw a tantrum, took his toys, and went home. 

two weeks after tyson signs with the team, roy resigns as head coach, six weeks before training camp, and not through an official team statement, rather putting out a pr statement of his own, citing lack of “say in decisions that impact the team’s performance.” roy not only leaves, but he takes every coaching staff and support staff member loyal to him as he returns to the remparts, preferring to be king of a castle he can control. roy guts the avalanche logistically and in morale, and his leaving is a key part of how the following 16-17 season would become the worst in franchise history. 

roy returned to the remparts to lick his wounds, acting as head coach and general manager this time around. the other teams, not looking kindly on a coach so power-hungry that he would abandon his team like that, avoided seriously considering him as a coaching candidate since then, except for one secretive interview with the senators last year which came to nothing. i fully expect some desperate team or another to turn to roy eventually, and i wish them luck. 

[pcssessicn]

☆ . · . miguel bernardeau, twenty-one, male, he / him . · . ☆ fitzwilliam 'fitz' phénix-alvarez lives in that huge mansion over there! no, not that one. look for white stucco walls & terracotta shingles and that’ll be it. the nhl defenseman has offered occasional glimpses of soft yellow walls and an impressive collection of plants in the background of social media posts, but all of that is nothing compared to seeing the opulence in person. they’ve remained protective as ever since moving to tercet court two months ago, but it seems like they might’ve gotten a little more mistrustful too. maybe that’s why they’re rumored to have such a distant relationship with everyone else who lives on this street. ☆ . · . ooc info: ollie, they / them, 21, est . · . ☆ career claim: cale ma/kar.

BASICS

Full name: Fitzwilliam Phénix-Alvarez Nickname: Fitz Birth date: September 29th Languages: English, Spanish, Quebecois Francois Hometown: 

PHYSICAL

Age: 21 Weight: 196 lbs Height: 6′2″ Body build: athletic, lean Eye color: grey-blue Faceclaim: Miguel Bernardeau Glasses or contacts: neither 

Tattoos: a raven in flight over his left shoulder blade, monochromatic vines winding up his left bicep

Scars: most predominantly a thin scar near the base of his neck where a skate slashed him when he was fourteen ; several other smaller scars of less note, especially on his hands --- much less noticeable

PERSONALITY

Good personality traits: observant, calculating, protective Bad personality traits: mistrustful, dishonest, aggressive 

Fitz comes across as very confident and in control, and at ease in his skin. The truth couldn’t be farther from it. He works hard to put forward the easy front he does --- and some days he can’t tell which one is more real. He has a dishonest smile that masquerades as honest, and a tendency to manipulate those around him when necessary to shed suspicion off himself. He can be almost charming at times, at least extremely amiable. Despite all this, Fitz is not rash or impulsive -- in fact everything he does is carefully calculated, though he goes to great lengths so it does not come across as so. The one place he feels truly effortless is on the ice.

He finds it hard to truly allow people close to him and to really see beyond the most superficial layers of himself. Furthermore, there is a deep-seated fear of not being enough and being forgotten ; he finds it easier to not let anyone close so there’s less chance of this happening.

THE STORY ( i rly was gunna try to write this nice and eloquently but... u get this instead 😔 )

— fitz was born to up and coming spanish actress reyna alvarez in chicago. the result of a messy one-night stand, but reyna ultimately decided to keep the baby. he is indeed named after fitzwilliam darcy from pride and prejudice bc his mother’s first breakout role was in a film adaptation of the book and she loved the book after reading it. how unfortunate for him.

— his birth father was never in the picture, but the man he would come to know as his father came into the picture a year or so after his birth. already one of the top architects in north america, paul robert phenix was in chicago for a conference and he and reyna fell in love. fitz has been told it’s was all very romantic. so then the happy family moved to pittsburgh where his father’s architecture firm was based.

— despite growing up with two parents who raked in a fair amount of cash, they made sure nothing was just given to fitz. they’d both had their humble beginnings and big believers in tough love, they made sure not to spoil their son. they did however make sure he was sheltered from the media when it poked around and the two things they did pay for without question were his education and sports.

— he started playing hockey when he was six after seeing a pens game on tv while they were out at dinner and knowing he just had to do it --- and never stopped. he got recruited to the us national team development program when he was sixteen and spent his last two years of high school in michigan living with a billet family most do who are with the program, which gave him a huge sense of “normalcy.” but really he was far from normal, his development taking great steps over those two years leading up to his draft year.

— queue the cale ma/kar career claim lads aka all the hockey development & logistics u can probably skip if u don’t care laksdjf: 

 one year before graduation and a draft, he vocally committed to playing at university of massachusetts - amherst. he went fourth overall to the la kings in the 2017 draft ( yeah technically irl that pick belonged to the avs but sh ), and proceeded to remain loyal to his commitment and play two years at umass despite his new top five prospect status. he was put into a first pair role from the start of his freshman year ( 2017-18 ), was a huge part in bringing the umass team up from the bottom of the standings. he plays for team usa in world juniors 2017 and 2018.

his sophomore year ( 2018-19 ), they make it all the way to the frozen four. fitz gets announced as the hobey baker winner and the day after they get knocked out of the tournament. not long after that he signs his entry contract with the kings and finishes out the season with them. he scores his first nhl goal on his first shot in game 3 of the first round of playoffs irl the kings don’t make playoffs but again shh. they get knocked out in the first round and fitz goes home and trains harder than ever.

he come back to kings training camp the next season ( 2019-20 ) more determined than ever to make the team. he does so out of camp and has an incredible rookie campaign. he gets injured in december and misses a few games but is back mid-january. fitz is given the calder ( award that goes to the best rookie in the nhl ) at the end of the season. technically cale hasn’t won this yet but we all know he will.

— la is a bustling city and fitz is a fan of one night stands : he just doesn’t feel like he has time for a relationship and hookups scratch that itch. he’s not an asshole about it, really. there is typically that understanding that this is a one time, no strings attached thing. but this one girl he sleeps with in march obviously does not get this memo and continues to not get the memo. she starts seriously stalking him in the following months and eventually he gets a restraining order against her ( use ur imagination kids ). he’s not really comfortable staying in his own apartment downtown for the time being though after he still sees her around. he stays with a teammate until the season ends, which then brings us to his connection to tercet court.

— paul robert phenix, now world reknowned architect, had a hand in designing several of the homes on tercet court, including one in the style of old money spanish mediterrianian villas that he designed with his wife in mind to be their new home. fitz’s mother had loved the house and moved in for a few years after the court opened but with her taking fewer roles up in the movie industry and getting exceedingly more lonely, she decided to embrace the more nomadic livestyle of her husband and moved out about a year and a half ago. since then the home stood vacant ( though certainly still cared for by several paid landscapers and maids ) until fitz’s dilemma arose a few months ago.

— a few phone calls and a begrudging agreement to pay the extremely steep taxes on the place for the year ( again, tough love and fitz may be a pro-athlete but he’s still making less than a million a year with his entry level contract ), and fitz moved in about two months ago ( say mid-may ).

MISC

— tri-lingual. father is french-canadian and his mother is spanish. needless to say he grew up a little confused. that worked itself out soon enough though. uses he uses quebois french in-season kind of frequently to talk to a couple teammates. really only uses his spanish to talk to his mother and family.

— since moving in fitz has filled the mansion with plants. he absolutely does not seem like a plant guy but he is... absolutely loves it. his major at umass was kinesology bc he thought it would be the most helpful and knew he wasn’t going to graduate but he snuck in some out-of-major classes on horticulture. truly just likes plants a lot. they don’t judge him.

— probably set up his own puck shooting pad in the backyard. why not there’s enough space. he had to retrieve a couple pucks from the bottom of the pool though which has been good incentive to not miss the net lmao. he also has revamped one of the rooms in the house to have synthetic ice.

— runs in the morning before it gets hot. skates a few days of the week in the afternoon. home gym in the house is definitely a perk but he prefers to work out with others because it feels more productive.

— probably drives like. a range rover.

— offensive defenseman. likes to jump up in the rush and is good at break out passes as well as zone entry. earned his place quarterbacking the first powerplay towards the end of the season. he can be quite physical when he needs to be though and don’t ever go after his goalie. ( his nhl.com player page )

— he’s not a recluse by any means, but he has no desire to built connections in tercet court so probably hasn’t actively reached out. they’re likely to have met outside of the small community or if your character forcibly came and introduced themselves. or if they knew each other already mayhaps??

— oh and he’s bi. like really really bi. obv not advertised given his career path but he’s not having some crisis over it either. it just is. probably has a stack of nda’s next to the condoms ready to go at anytime alsdkfj.

OOC

hey lads. i’m ollie !! for those around for round 1.0 of this rp i played alya ( the sports photog ). i am back and this time going back to what i do best : playing hockey boys 😔😔😔.

[welllpthisishappening]

Of Babies and Hockey Mascots

It had been a very long time since the mascot of the Philadelphia Flyers had made Matthew Jones want to scream in fear. He was, after all, a grown man. But being a grown man also meant seeing other adults in his life have kids. And Roland had always been very popular in Philadelphia.

------

This was/is and continues to be exceptionally self-indulgent next gen Blue Line hockey fic. Because life is life and good things happen in this universe. Also because I write them that way. So, here’s like almost 4K of Matt Jones, his girlfriend, his parents and both Roland and Henry ragging on Matt Jones for being terrified of Gritty. And the Rangers play hockey tomorrow. So.

This one goes out directly to @shireness-says for being an absolute, goddamn delight at all times. Also, also @optomisticgirl for constantly letting me bounce ideas off her, @stealing-vengence because I didn’t have these words to send last night and @distant-rose just for, like, existing. 

This is the video mentioned in the story.

------

“Babe.”

Matt didn’t answer. 

“Babe.”

Nothing. If he didn’t answer, then Claire would definitely go back to sleep and it was stupid and petulant and—“Babe,” she said, that one sounding less like an endearment and more like the audible and understandable sound of middle-of-the-night frustration. She jabbed him in the ribs. 

Matt groaned. 

“Answer your phone, Matthew.”

He hissed in a breath, burying his face into the pillow like that would make the phone stop, but that was a pipe dream and Claire’s nails absolutely left marks on his skin when she scratched down his side. 

“I got it, I got it, I—“ 

The phone fell on the floor. 

“Oh my God,” Claire grumbled. 

None of Matt’s muscles appreciated when he leaned over the side of the bed, fingers scrambling for a phone that was somehow still ringing and sounded as if it were getting louder with each passing second and—

“Someone better be dead,” he growled, barely moving his thumb away from the screen after he swiped before lifting it to his ear. 

He hadn’t checked who was calling. 

That was definitely his first mistake.

Well, second. Maybe third, actually. 

He’d gotten hit pretty hard after that turnover in the zone and he should have just started shutting his phone off at night. Like several dozen years earlier. So those probably took precedence. 

And the tongue click on the other end made it blatantly obvious who it was anyway. 

“No one is dead,” Dad said. “That’s kind of the whole point of this call, actually.”

Matt blinked. Once, twice, three times, probably to match up with the number of mistakes and—he would absolutely blame whatever time it actually was for how long it took him to realize what was going on. 

“Oh, shit.”

Dad sighed. And it sounded like Mom laughed. 

It must have been nearly three in the morning. 

“Got there, huh?” Dad asked. “That was a good pass in the third, by the way. Almost made up for the turnover and—“

“—You do not get to critique my turnovers right now. It is the middle of the night and that was just like…your greatest weakness and—“

“—And not really the point,” Mom called, what sounded like the couch creaking in the background and they must have been in the living room. Waiting. Or something that sounded a little more familial and far less menacing. 

“It’s not really the point,” Dad admitted, voice turning a little repentant. “But it was a really good pass, the legend of the wrists continues—“

Mom sounded like she was growling. 

There was a quiet scuffle on the other end of the phone, Claire’s laugh working its way under Matt’s skin when she pressed her head into the curve of his shoulder, reaching a hand up to brush away far-too-long curls because they were in the middle of a playoff run and he desperately needed to go back to sleep, but—

“It’s a boy,” Mom announced, and of all the very sore muscles that made up Matt’s current bodily structure, he hadn’t ever really expected his cheeks to ache quite that much. 

Or so suddenly. 

Smiling like an idiot would do that though. 

“Oh, shit.”

“Mattie, you can’t keep saying that over and over. It’s just—it’s not the world’s best reaction.”

“I know, I know, I just—a boy, for real?”

“You knew that,” Claire mumbled, nosing at his collarbone and he could feel her smile too. His stomach felt like it had thrown into his throat. 

“Yeah, I know I did, I just—“

“—Used up all those well-thought out responses in post, huh?” Mom asked, and maybe they were all just smiling like idiots. That made him feel a little better. 

It had been a really good pass. 

“Something like that,” Matt muttered. He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging lightly as if that would wake him up, but the prospect of Roland and Lizzie’s kid had already done a pretty good job of that and Claire only gasped softly when he pulled her up with him. “Is everything—I mean, everything went ok, right? No one’s—“

“Everyone’s fine, kid,” Dad said, clearly on speaker now and that was probably for the best. “Except maybe Liam who—“

“—According to El, snapped at several different orderlies, demanded hourly updates from the nurse and—“

“—Wait, wait,” Matt interrupted. “Hourly? This was a multiple hours thing? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Nothing.

Huh. That was annoying. 

“Well,” he prompted, “the resounding echo of your own silence is pretty deafening. Who else was there? Why didn’t Rol call?”

“Presumably because he’s staring at his kid like they’re the greatest thing in the entire world,” Dad said reasonably. 

Matt slumped against the pillows. “I’m going to blame the turnover. For, you know—being a dick.”

“Matthew!’

“Mom, you don’t get to ground me anymore, I just—“

“—Henry was there,” Dad finished. “He’d been planning on coming back here, but something about fate or whatever and he got delayed in Atlanta, so he rerouted to Philly and from what Gina said, he was the only rational one and Rol kept walking in and out of the room. Rumor has it there was quite a lot of pinching the bridge of his nose.”

“He does that when he gets nervous.”

“I can’t imagine why he’d feel that way in this scenario.”

“But everything’s ok, right? I mean—with Lizzie and Rol, the nose thing aside and—“

“That’s very normal,” Mom mumbled, another telltale tongue click from Dad and Claire kissed Matt’s shoulder that time. “Some would say even calm compared to other reactions.”

“This is not an answer to my question, just sly jabs at Dad for being a freak and—“

“—I will absolutely ground you, Matthew,” Dad cut in, a distinct lack of any actual frustration. “Also, today is not the season-opener. So, I can’t see how the two situations are even remotely comparable.”

Matt hummed. 

Claire might have mumbled something that sounded a hell of a lot like this family is crazy, which—well, fair. 

“And,” Mom continued, “I wasn’t really being sly about it. I thought that was a pretty obvious commentary on Dad’s nerves.”

“A name, Mom. Does the kid have a name?”

She hissed in a breath. 

And Matt waited. Or, tried. Doing his best to temper his impatience because he was only a little annoyed Henry had been there when he hadn’t and that was absolutely insane. 

Seriously, it was all that turnover’s fault. 

He hoped Roland hadn’t seen that. 

He’d never hear the end of it. 

“Mom. Do I have to guess? I’m not going to be able to guess, I—“

“Noah Miller Locksley,” she finished, and Matt nearly dropped the phone again. 

He swallowed. More than once, tongue darting between suddenly dry lips because he’d started breathing through his mouth at some point, the way his eyes falling shut having nothing to do with how utterly and completely exhausted he was. 

“Oh shit,” Claire whispered. “That’s good.”

Matt made another noise — something he was only vaguely hopeful sounded like an agreement. “Did Aunt Gina cry?”

“She absolutely wept according to several reliable sources,” Dad answered. 

“Were those all just Henry?”

“And El. Who told me this while crying rather hard.”

“God, that’s so stupid.”

“In the realm of exceptionally stupid, yeah.”

“Idiot,” Claire mumbled, and it might have just been a trick of the minimal light in their room, but Matt would have sworn her eyes had gone a bit glossy too. He blinked several times. 

So as not to also be accused of idiocy.

And Matt’s phone buzzed in his hand. 

“There it is,” Mom muttered fondly, Matt’s hand shaking when he glanced down at the screen and a group text that was very active for the middle of the night. 

Roland Locksley, 2:47 a.m. :: image attached ::

Noah Miller Locksley. Ten fingers, ten toes. Seven pounds, eight ounces. Far more hair than expected, which we assume means he’s some kind of super baby. 

Do not send us hockey sticks, I will punch you all in the face. 

Matt scoffed, a quick sniffle and tears on his cheeks that he hadn’t really planned on, but seemed pretty inevitable for the parents of a kid who had absolutely fought over who got to use him on their side of the aisle at their wedding. 

Claire kissed his cheek. 

He didn’t read the rest of the messages — Peggy sending at least ten in a row and Chris’ didn’t look like much more than the same gif of Roland celebrating a playoff goal four seasons before, Leo’s all just several lines of exclamation points — tugging the phone back up to his ear and his own parents were definitely smiling. 

Beaming, probably. 

“I’m going to buy that kid so much team-branded merch,” Matt said. “All blue. Only blue.”

Dad chuckled. “I’m sure Roland will genuinely appreciate that.”

“How many hats do you think one hospital goes through with its baby population every day?”

“This is why you answer the questions and don’t ask them, kid.”

“That’s a serious question.”

“Make sure you ask Lizzie that later.”

“Don’t ask Lizzie that later,” Mom countered, and the couch made another noise. “And it really was a good pass in the third.”

“Ah ha! I thought you said that wasn’t the point of the conversation!”

“I mean—not a huge point, but definitely a sidebar and,” her voice dropped low like there wasn’t another person sitting directly next to her, “Dad nearly destroyed the chair when he jumped out of it. So.”

“So?”

“So,” Mom echoed. “Something paternal.”

“Yuh huh.”

“Go back to sleep, Mattie.”

“Sure thing, Mom.”

She one-hundred percent narrowed her eyes at the air in front of her, several dozen blocks away, but Matt still wasn’t all that worried about getting grounded and the small flutter of feeling in the pit of his stomach didn’t disappear when he woke up the next morning. 

He only checked one of his text messages. 

Dad, 8:15 a.m. The chair would have deserved to get wrecked in celebration of that pass. I’m proud of you, kid.

Matt, 8:17 a.m. Something, something, you’ve got a pretty solid head start on best dad. 

Don’t tell Henry I said that. 

Dad, 8:18 a.m. The something really made the message. I will not tell Henry. 

And it all probably would have been fine — more photos of Noah while he was sleeping and being held and the group text had several thoughts on Roland’s technique when Lizzie sent a video of him rocking their kid back and forth in the middle of the hospital room. But then that same video got several gazillion retweets and likes and Matt had to go to film and skate and he didn’t really forget, but—

“Christ, Jones, is your phone going to explode?”

Matt shook his hair away from his eyes, tossing his practice jersey into the hamper a few feet away and it was a legitimate question. The stupid thing was buzzing and ringing at the same time, wobbling precariously on the top shelf of his locker, like it was getting ready to take flight.

He really needed to start checking who was calling before he answered the phone. Because Henry was already talking. 

On video. 

“Matt, Matt, Matt, listen, I need you to not check the group text and—“

“—Wait, what? Why do you sound like you’re out of breath?”

“Are you in the locker room?”

“I am in the middle of a series. I have skate and I need to go to PT and—“

“—Go in the hallway.”

“What?”

“The hallway,” Henry repeated, sounding as if he were issuing declarations or possibly grounding his own kids and Matt was twenty-nine. He needed to stop thinking about getting grounded so much. “Now.”

Matt widened his eyes, but Henry’s expression didn’t change, clearly tucked in the corner of a hospital with particularly aggressive overhead lighting. 

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled. It only took a few moments, not bothering to grab his sandals when he hadn’t even had time to take his socks off yet, slumping down the wall almost as soon as the sounds from the locker room dimmed behind him. “You look like you’re about to tell me that they’re taking away my assist from last night.”

“That was a ridiculous pass.”

“Ridiculous here, meaning—“

“Good, obviously,” Henry sighed, an obviously exhausted hand running over his face. 

“You sleep at all, old man? Where are your kids?”

“At my apartment? With my wife? What kind of question is that?”

“You’re really stressing me out.”

“Did you look at the group text yet?”

Matt shook his head slowly, some of that pleasant fluttering and general good that had made it easier to skate on such sore muscles disappearing. “I get the feeling I should have, though.”

“No, that’s—Matt, that’s the point. I—ok—“

The footsteps that moved down the hallway in a hospital with particularly aggressive overhead lighting in Philadelphia, weren’t all that loud — presumably because he hadn’t gotten much sleep what with having a baby to take care of, but then Matt also felt kind of bad about referring to Noah solely as a baby less than twenty-four hours after he’d been born and Roland looked torn between hysterics and…mostly hysterics. 

“Are you kidding me, Matthew?” he balked, sliding down next to Henry slowly enough that it took several moments for him to find his way into the phone frame. 

Matt arched an eyebrow. 

Henry sighed. 

“Seriously, why wasn’t this something I knew about?”

“Should you be out here? Shouldn’t you be like—I don’t know, documenting Noah’s every move or making sure Lizzie is—”

“—Lizzie told him to come out here for reasons we’ll get to that are not my fault,” Henry finished. 

Matt’s eyebrows could not get higher. 

And Roland rolled his eyes. “Ok, well, thanks for that vote of father-like confidence—“

“I’m not your father, Locksley, that sentence didn’t even make sense.”

“You want to acknowledge how cute my kid is…or?”

“Obviously,” Matt snapped, a weird counterbalance to the way the ends of his mouth tugged up. “He’s a super cute kid. I’m going to buy you twenty hockey sticks that are all legit, pro size.”

“I’m already kind of annoyed with you, so that’s not helping.”

“What could you possibly have to be annoyed with? Aren’t you just, I don’t know, buoyed by emotion and those father-like feelings?”

“Good use of the word buoyed,” Henry mumbled, Matt’s eyes flickering his direction. He still looked a little nervous. 

“What’s going on? I feel like I’m missing something.”

“Nah uh,” Roland objected, “you’re the one holding out on us, Matthew. It’s—how do you even play here?”

Matt tilted his head. The fluttering was gone completely, replaced by something that felt like entirely unwelcome dread and he nearly yanked several pieces of hair out of his head when he ran his fingers through it. 

Henry grimaced. 

“This is not my fault.”

“So you’ve mentioned.”

“I never told.”

“Yuh huh.”

“But, uh—ok, are you by yourself? Because…just maybe look at the group text and see what this stupid team did.”

Roland had to put his hand over his mouth. Presumably so he wouldn’t disturb the other babies. With his laughter. 

Matt wondered how long they were required to wear hats.

And it only took a few scrolls back for Roland to find it, brandishing his screen towards Henry’s — the whole phone call almost understandable because Chris had posted the video and he didn’t know, no one really knew, it was a stupid, childlike fear that he’d absolute, positively, shaken as a grown man with a very serious girlfriend he was really considering proposing to at some point and—

“Oh, fuck,” Matt gasped, pushing his arm out like that would stop the video from playing or the goddamn Flyers mascot from moving around so much in said video. 

Roland snickered. 

Matt squeezed his eyes shut, whatever filler music the Flyers had used in the video sounding impossibly loud. As if it were heightened by his fear 

Of goddamn Gritty. 

He was decorating a locker — streamers and balloons, every move making his stupid eyes rattle around because the eyes hadn’t changed in years and Matt still hated him with every fiber of his being. As if there were totally normal. 

The video didn’t end. 

It seemed to last forever, Gritty glancing back at the camera every few seconds — presumably just to remind Matt that his eyes defied the laws of gravity — but then the locker was decorated and the sign said Welcome Baby, Locksley and Matt could not remember the last time he took a deep breath. 

Roland had given up on trying to hide his laugh. 

“Why did that happen?” Matt hissed, rolling his shoulders like that would make him look more adult or less terrified of another grown adult in a costume. “You’re not even on this team anymore. You are—“

“—A beloved alum, it seems,” Roland alum. “Oh Captain, my captain and all that.”

“Isn’t he dead in that poem?”

“Honestly?”

Matt glanced at Henry, the color in his cheeks nothing do with embarrassment and more with Gritty. “This has taken a pretty morbid turn, don’t you think?”

“Why is the mascot decorating a locker that isn’t yours, Rol?” Matt demanded. 

“I’m very popular on this team. Still, or whatever. Plus, you know—the kid is exceptionally cute.”

“God, that’s not fair.”

“Say the kid is cute, Matthew.”

“Obviously I think the kid is cute. God, you are so annoying.”

“Tired,” Henry amended. “He’s tired.”

Roland nodded. “That too. And maybe a little delirious on like—I don’t know, joy? Is that lame?”

“Yes,” Matt nodded “But nice too. Dad said Gina cried.”

“Wept. Seriously. Shoulders shaking, sniffles. It was not dignified at all. Made the whole thing.”

“You’re a giant freak, you know that?”

“Lizzie’s going to call you later, she’s got—“

More footsteps. Those ones with a distinct squeak that came from those very specific shoes nurses wore and the woman smiled when she noticed both Henry and Roland. 

On the floor. 

“Mrs. Locksley is awake again,” the nurse said, “and, uh—well, she’d like to know why you didn’t wake her up if you were going to—“ Roland’s eyes widened. And Matt laughed that time. 

“She wants to know why they’re ragging me about the video without her, isn’t she?” he asked. 

The nurse nodded. 

“Maybe I should just ask her to marry me again,” Roland mused. “That’s romantic, right?”

“I mean the kid was a pretty good sign that you were into your own wife, honestly.”

“True, true, c’mon. I bet she’s got scathing opinions.”

She did. For several straight minutes, a gurgling Noah resting across her chest and that didn’t do much to stop Lizzie’s right hand from flying through the air while she talked. 

Matt chewed on his lower lip. 

“What I can’t understand,” Roland mused, slumped in one of the few chairs the hospital room seemed to offer, “is why we didn’t know you were so terrified of the mascot? You play here all the time.”

“Never came up.”

“Matt.”

“What? When would I have told you that? And would that not have ended with you trying to get me to run into the stupid thing every time was at Wells Fargo?”

“Eh, yeah, that’s probably true.”

“It’s one-hundred percent true,” Henry said. 

“And how did you know, exactly?”

“Oh, I’ve known forever. Matt was—I don’t know, little, little. Like a baby and Killian was on the road in Philly and he lost his mind when Gritty came on TV. Just one of those fundamental fears, I guess.”

“Is that a thing?”

“See,” Matt challenged, “we shouldn’t be talking about that stupid monster because then you’re going to mess your kid up after less than a day.”

Lizzie glared at him. “You’re a jerk.”

“I’m only going to buy you Rangers gear.”

“Please, you’re going to take it from the team store.”

“Eh, column A, column B.”

“Still stealing,” Roland muttered, head lolling back. 

“Whatever. Go to sleep. I’ve got to go back to the locker room and acknowledge PT and—“

“—A will yell at you if you blow that off,” Lizzie interrupted, her own eyelashes fluttering and Henry was already moving towards the door. “Just, you know, on principle.”

“I know, that’s why I’m trying to end this conversation with you.”

“Charmer.”

“Mmhm, hey you want to know a secret?”

Lizzie cracked open one eye. Noah was definitely already asleep. And still as cute as ever. “Did you cry?”

“How’d you know that?”

“Please,” she scoffed. “I know everything about you.”

“You did not know about Gritty.”

“I knew there was a reason you hated being on the ice for too long during warmups here. And it wasn’t that hard to put two and two together. Who do you think told Henry the message was in the group chat?”

“You were reading the group chat?”

“It was a genuinely insane pass last night. You guys going to win tomorrow?”

“An attempt will certainly be made.”

Lizzie laughed, soft and obviously exhausted, a heaviness to her that hadn’t been there before, but wasn’t altogether bad. Almost like she was more…something. Good. Protective. Maybe even understanding. 

“I will probably fall asleep during the game,” she warned. 

“Ah, well, you did just have a kid, so…”

“Exactly.”

A voice called for him from the other end of the hall, one side of Lizzie’s mouth ticking up when she slumped further into the hospital bed. “Score the kid a goal, huh?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He did. In the third period. A quick stick and impossibly fast wrists, no mascot in New York to terrorize infants and Matt grinned when Claire found him outside the locker room later that night, a bag with a Rangers onesie clutched in her hand.  

[viraljournalist]

Andy Reid's Super Bowl LIV win is the capper on a Hall of Fame career for Chiefs coach

New Post has been published on https://viraljournalist.com/andy-reids-super-bowl-liv-win-is-the-capper-on-a-hall-of-fame-career-for-chiefs-coach/

Andy Reid's Super Bowl LIV win is the capper on a Hall of Fame career for Chiefs coach

MIAMI GARDENS, Fla. — “MAN ALIVE!” Andrew Walter Reid bellowed from his toes as he marched through his Kansas City Chiefs locker room, glowing like a teenager who had just scored a date with the prettiest girl in school. Reid had just finished handing out credit for this epic Super Bowl victory as easily as one would hand out a business card at a job fair, even giving a shoutout to Philadelphia Eagles owner Jeffrey Lurie, the billionaire who fired him.

Man Alive! Those two shouted words on the way to his office said it all. Reid was letting it all out, all those seasons of chasing in vain that NFL grail that was finally, mercifully, in his hands. Reid ended his 20-year title drought by ending the Chiefs’ 50-year title drought by coming from behind to beat Kyle Shanahan’s 49ers 31-20.

After the game, still on the field, Reid kissed the Lombardi trophy and raised it to the South Florida sky, and then Andy did what Andy always does.

Andy said this wasn’t about Andy. He talked about his whirling dervish of a quarterback, Patrick Mahomes, and the executive who long ago saw Mahomes as a developing Mozart, Brett Veach. He talked about the Hunt family, his assistants, his players in Kansas City, his players in Philly. If Andy went long enough at his news conference podium, he would’ve gotten around to thanking his mailman, too.

But if Reid thought he was getting away with his selfless act, sorry pal, that was a no-can-do on this forever Sunday night.

This one was about the human teddy bear with a rainforest for a mustache, the guy who once put away a 40-ounce steak in 19 minutes.

This one was all about Big Red.

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“He’s one of the best coaches of all time; he already was before we won this game,” said Mahomes, the MVP of Super Bowl LIV. “But we wanted to get that trophy just because he deserved it. The work that he puts in day in and day out. He’s there at like 3 in the morning, and he leaves at 11 [at night]. I don’t think he sleeps. I’ve tried to beat him in, and I never can. He’s someone that works harder than anyone I’ve ever known, and he deserves it.”

The rifle-armed son of a former big league reliever, Mahomes said he had two goals when he became the starting quarterback of the Chiefs. One, to win the AFC championship and bring the Lamar Hunt Trophy back to the hometown of the late Chiefs owner who came up with the term “Super Bowl” for what has effectively become a national holiday.

“And the second-most important thing was to get Coach Reid a Super Bowl trophy,” Mahomes said.

Will this liberating triumph change Coach Reid? What do you think? This is a man who said he celebrated his AFC title game victory over Tennessee — which booked him a trip back to the Super Bowl for the first time in 15 years — by eating a cheeseburger and then going to bed. “I’ll have a double cheeseburger tonight,” Reid said Sunday. “Extra cheese.”

And why not? With this win, Reid finally proved that nice guys do indeed finish first, even if they have to wait a little while to get there. In the weeks leading up to his crowning career achievement, it was clear the 61-year-old Reid had already proven you can be almost universally admired and adored even if you don’t finish first once across two decades as an NFL head coach.

Robert Deutsch-USA TODAY Sports

But man, it will be so sweet for this grandfather of nine, the son of a Los Angeles-based doctor (his mother, Elizabeth) and a Hollywood set designer and artist (his father, Walter, a Navy veteran of World War II), to never again answer for his inability to win the big one over 14 seasons in Philadelphia, and then over his first six in Kansas City.

No more questions about time management, about choking in the playoffs, about Dee Ford lining up offside against New England, about watching his Eagles treat a two-score deficit late in their Super Bowl loss to the Patriots 15 years ago as an opportunity to move at a pace better suited for a ballroom walk-through.

Just like in that crushing defeat in Jacksonville in February 2005, Reid’s team was down 10 points in the middle of the fourth quarter. Only this time his players ran a Showtime fastbreak through the league’s most ferocious defense, led by a visionary, Mahomes, who handles the ball and passes it the way few quarterbacks ever have.

“Keep going,” Reid told his players as they struggled to put points on the board. “We’re going to be OK. We’ve done it before; we’ll do it again.”

Reid was a prophet carrying an oversize dinner menu for a play card. So now the questions will not be about Reid’s failures. Instead, they’ll ask Reid about the night he became football’s champion, the night his 222nd career victory silenced all that noise about him being the sport’s most prolific winner without a ring.

Now they’ll ask Reid about the night he almost certainly sealed his future induction into the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

“Nobody deserves this trophy more than Andy Reid,” Chiefs owner Clark Hunt, son of Lamar, told the crowd and the Fox TV audience during the postgame ceremony.

“We got that ring for Big Red,” Travis Kelce said. “He acts like a father figure to everyone in the building, and you appreciate that. … We’re married together forever now.”

Many of Reid’s friends and colleagues had spent the weeks leading up to the Super Bowl being asked how they would react in the event that Reid finally won a Super Bowl. Some predicted they would cry. All predicted they would be choked up, and as happy for Andy as Andy was for his wife, Tammy, his sons, Britt and Spencer, and his daughters, Crosby and Drew Ann, and all those wearing Chiefs jerseys around them.

“Andy gave me a kiss right on the cheek when we won,” said Dave Merritt, his defensive backs coach and an assistant who won two titles with Tom Coughlin’s New York Giants. “As soon as it was over I thought about Andy’s family, his kids, his wife, his cousins, his brothers, everyone associated with him. Not only Coach Reid became a world champ, they all became world champs. I was so moved watching Andy on the stage with his family around and all that confetti coming down on top of them.”

REID’S FOOTBALL JOURNEY, which started in 1971 when an outsize 13-year-old famously wore a Rams uniform while competing in the punt, pass and kick competition, culminated at last on the biggest stage in sports. With the NFL celebrating an entire century of games, and with old haunts Bill Belichick and Tom Brady in the house for the ceremony, Reid was the right guy to lead the Chiefs to their first Super Bowl victory in a half-century. And San Francisco was a most appropriate full-circle opponent — Reid worked his first real coaching job at San Francisco State, where he sold hot dogs to help raise money for the now-defunct Division II program. He has come a long way, baby, and his generosity of spirit made him relatable, huggable and easy to root for.

Everything you need to know: • Box score | Mahomes wins MVP • O’Connor on Reid’s legacy win • Barnwell: How Chiefs came back • Graziano: Mahomes to the rescue More: Super Bowl LIV » | NFL coverage »

“Andy truly puts others before himself,” says his former VP of player personnel in Philadelphia, Jason Licht, now the GM of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. “He’s been wanting to win this for everybody else before he wants to win it for himself, and he’s an unbelievable leader because of that. He’s one of those leaders that when things aren’t going well he takes all the blame, and when things are going good he gives credit to all the great work everyone else did. And that’s why everybody loves playing for him, and goes the extra mile for him.”

In the end, for Reid, it all comes back to trust and empowerment, and to letting his players breathe. In practice, his quarterback and receivers are permitted — if not outright encouraged — to close their eyes as they work on some creative pitching and catching. Mahomes says the everyday fun sanctioned by Reid “keeps us loose and ready to go on game days.” No wonder that the quarterback, at age 24, is already on record saying he wants to spend his entire career in Kansas City.

Reid is one of the brilliant offensive minds of his generation, or of any generation, and yet his belief in freedom of expression works on the defensive side of the ball, too. “This is my third program in the league,” Tyrann Mathieu says, “but I feel I can be myself here. … [Reid] wants us to be comfortable, relaxed, at ease.”

By all accounts, his insistence that his players stay true to themselves inspired them to play at the highest possible level, and doubled their affection for the coach who always looked as if he should be wearing a striped red and white jacket, red bow tie, and straw skimmer hat as part of a barbershop quartet.

“He tells them all the time in team meetings, ‘Let your personality show,'” says Britt Reid, his father’s linebackers coach. “I think that’s important. You can’t be someone you’re not. If you want to play this game to the best of your ability, you’ve got to be you.”

With a win over the 49ers, Andy Reid finally put an end to the questions over his big-game management — and secured a capper on his Hall of Fame career. Matthew Emmons/USA TODAY Sports

Sometimes Merritt will head out to practice and find his defensive backs working on moves that have nothing to do with containing opposing receivers. “They’re dancing, the music is on, and they’re going crazy on the sideline,” Merritt says with a laugh. “But I can’t say anything to them because the head coach said, ‘Let your personalities show.'”

Britt says his father got his creativity from his own dad (Andy has a talent for drawing caricatures, including some of his youngest son, Spencer, a strength and conditioning coach at Colorado State), and his refined and calculating intellect from his mom, the radiologist. Those handed-down gifts have helped Reid coach his freewheeling Mozart at quarterback. Mahomes, Britt says, “has definitely reinvigorated him.”

Nothing against Mahomes’ predecessor, of course, as Alex Smith was a dignified winner in Kansas City who could not have handled the transition to the kid with any more grace. But Mahomes is a generational talent and an improvisational thinker who enables the artistic half of Reid’s beautiful football mind to dream up all kinds of exotic route trees in the middle of the night.

“The thing people don’t see about Andy is that this is still a kid’s game to him,” says Tom Melvin, Reid’s assistant for more than two decades and an alumnus of his offensive line at San Francisco State. “And during a play in practice, Patrick will throw the ball and before it’s caught he’ll go, ‘You like that throw, don’t you?’ He’s playing a kid’s game like a kid. So for Andy and Patrick, it’s just playtime now.”

It was playtime for all Chiefs during this championship run. The exclamation point was a fitting defeat of a team that suited up Dee Ford, the goat who allowed the GOAT, Tom Brady, to shake off what would’ve been a fatal interception last year and lead the Patriots to the AFC title. Sunday night, after winning the big game, Reid exonerated his former player for lining up where he did on the penalty, repeating for the 47th time, “It wasn’t Dee Ford, it was all of us. …We could’ve done four inches better.”

It was just Andy being Andy, taking on the burden himself to avoid making anyone — even a former player on the opposing team — carry a heavier load than he needed to.

FOR THE RECORD: Reid’s user-friendly practices shouldn’t suggest that good ol’ Andy is running the league’s answer to Club Med. He no longer has the GM responsibilities he had in Philadelphia, yet Reid still works absurdly long hours, even by NFL standards, and expects his assistants and front-office people to keep up. Licht said Reid slept in that office three or four nights a week in Philly, and it’s obvious that nothing much has changed in Kansas City.

NFL PrimeTime continues this postseason with extended highlights and analysis following the conclusion of each day’s playoff games. Watch on ESPN+

But Reid’s near-maniacal devotion to his craft, and to every imaginable game-prep detail, has never twisted him into an angry or paranoid mess. He can be stern with players and staffers when necessary, but Licht described him as a coach with “a relaxed California swag and chill way about him.”

“Andy can get along with anybody,” Licht says. “He has a way of coming into your office, sitting down, and realizing when somebody needs to get his mind off things. He’ll talk about anything and everything, and you love being around him. When he’s putting in all those hours, you just didn’t want to let him down and not be there in case he had a question for you. You didn’t want to miss the opportunity to have another five or 15 minutes of bonding with him.”

“The entire league wants Andy to win because of how he treats and leads his men,” says Dave Merritt, his defensive backs coach. Steve Mitchell-USA TODAY Sports

Merritt sees the same man in Kansas City that Licht saw in Philly, and it comes as no surprise. “Leslie Frazier told me about him 20 years ago,” Merritt says of the former Eagles assistant. “He said, ‘Dave, if you ever get a chance to work with Andy Reid, don’t ever turn it down.'”

He didn’t, not after taking a call from Reid in the middle of a golf round and, by his estimation, completing contract talks between a pitch and a putt. Merritt’s experiences with his new boss are quite different from those he had in New York. Coughlin, he reminds, was an iron-fisted ruler who fined Giants for wearing the wrong socks in hotel lobbies. Reid responds to relatively benign rules violations more like a nurturing father.

“Another thing I learned is that Andy really trusts us to coach these players, and that gives you so much confidence as an assistant,” Merritt says. “With Tom Coughlin, we had staff meetings every day, sometimes twice a day, three times a day. I’ve never seen a coach operate the way Andy operates, where we go through the week and never have a staff meeting.”

REID’S STORY PROBABLY makes you feel good inside, unless you’re a fan of the 49ers or someone who lost a few bucks betting that their defense would win San Francisco its sixth Lombardi trophy. Who couldn’t feel good about an NFL head coach who still occasionally drives the Ford Model A his father bought after the war for $25? And besides, we all sorta needed a story like this at the end of a heartbreaking week in sports.

Andy Reid personally knew Kobe Bryant, another tough guy with Philly roots, and would talk about him here and there at the Eagles’ facility. “He would just say of Kobe, ‘That’s a good dude, man. That’s a good dude,'” Licht recalls. “People who know Andy know that’s high praise for him.”

Asked during Super Bowl week about the helicopter crash that killed the Lakers legend, his teenage daughter Gianna and seven other passengers, Reid predicted the Bryant family would “get back into the swing of life and do great things.” Just like the Reids did after one of their sons, Garrett, died of an accidental heroin overdose during training camp in 2012.

Later that year, Andy ignored friends’ suggestions that he should take a year off to regroup after the Eagles fired him. Instead, he immediately filled the opening in Kansas City, where linebacker Jovan Belcher had just killed his girlfriend before taking his own life in the team parking lot. Reid needed the Chiefs as much as the Chiefs needed him. Andy immediately added to his staff his second-oldest of three sons, Britt, despite his own past of drug and gun charges and jail time.

Jamie Squire/Getty Images

Sunday night, Britt was on the winning Super Bowl side as a sober linebackers coach for his old man.

What a moment for Kansas City. What a week for the Reids. The Chiefs honored Reid at the start of Super Bowl week by wearing his cherished Hawaiian shirts and Air Force 1 sneakers, and they honored him again at the end of Super Bowl week by scoring more points than the 49ers scored.

“An-dy … An-dy … An-dy,” the Chiefs fans chanted in the final seconds of Sunday’s game. Reid was Gatorade-d by his players. It was all hugs and kisses and confetti from there.

“Hey, how about those Chieeeeeeeeeeefs!” Reid roared to the crowd during the ceremony as he wore his white championship cap. Tammy Reid had described her husband as “calm as a cucumber” in the lead-up to the game, and soon enough Reid was in his news conference already talking about a potential title No. 2.

“I’m really excited about it,” Reid said. “You get one, you want to go get another one.”

When he was done at the microphone, Andy loaded himself into a golf cart with Tammy, the woman he still calls his girlfriend, and headed for the locker room.

He will surely spend the coming days handing out credit to everyone who has helped him in his eight college and pro jobs, and way back to his time as a student-athlete and aspiring sportswriter at Brigham Young. Back then, Reid wrote columns for The Provo Daily Herald. All these years later, that young journalist inside the old coach knows exactly how this story needs to be written.

Above all, Super Bowl LIV belongs to a vital member of the Kansas City Chiefs. The one in Andy Reid’s mirror.

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[joey-votto]

I've never followed the Reds so I'm not well versed in Joey Votto's greatness. Where should I start?

I'm haven't written it yet but I'm putting a read more because I know this is going to be long

For starters just look at some of his stats throughout his career. In 10 seasons, his average has been below .300 twice: his rookie season (he was still batting .297) and 2014, when he was severely injured and missed over half of the season. He's led the NL in OBP six times (including this year, when he's got 24 points on the second place guy). He currently ranks tenth on the all time list for players with >5000 PAs, below 9 hall of famers and Bonds. He's tied for second with a 20 game streak of getting on base multiple times in a game. That's pretty damn impressive.

To me, his OBP is just one of the highlights of how he's such a unique player. He's not a power hitter, with only two 30 HR and two 100 RBI seasons, yet he still manages to get on base a lot. He has such a way of working the strike zone that isn't comparable to any player I've ever seen. You may have heard about the game a few weeks ago where he saw 43 pitches and walked 5 times. Every single time, he had a 0-2 or 1-2 count, hit a couple foul, and took a walk. He has 114 walks this season, 15 more than Judge, currently second in the MLB. That's how good his eye is. One of the main reasons people overlook him is because he's never had a 200 hit season, but he walks constantly. He doesn't swing at bad pitches because his goal is to get on base, not get a hit.

Now, I said all of this stuff about him, but even he can prove me wrong. I said he's not a power hitter, but he's slugging .588. I said his greatness isn't in his ability to get hits, but he got a double against the Cubs four man outfield. Pitchers fear him, as he's already gotten 15 intentional walks with a month of ball to go, and he's on pace for a career high.

I don't try to pretend like I understand sabermetrics, so I'm not gonna touch a lot on that, but he's third among NL position players in WAR this season and it is not improbable that he could end up with 100 career WAR, and likely that he will reach 75 WAR before retiring. He's already top 20 among first basemen and he's only 33. As sabers get more popular, you will probably start hearing a lot more about him because his greatness can't be measured with regular stats. It can barely be measured with sabers in the first place. You don't really hear about how he chokes up on the bat like no one else, or his 43 pitch games because those are things that are just impossible to measure using statistics. Those are things that my dad and I call "joeys" because he's the only person that plays like that and it's one of the things that contributes to what makes him a great player.

Unfortunately, Votto is overlooked now and will be overlooked by the BBWAA when he's HOF eligible for a few reasons. One, he's playing in Cincinnati. With him on the team, we have made it to the playoffs three times and never made it past the NLDS. We've been over .500 only three times in his 10 years here. He will likely never get a ring. He's a great player but he's on a terrible team, so he just keeps losing and gets overlooked. Two, he's not going to get the big numbers everyone likes. He's not on track for 3,000 career hits or 600 career HR which are numbers that the voters really like when making their choices. Three, the great numbers he does have are often overlooked. His slash line is otherworldly, but people have stopped looking at that and moved on to more advanced statistics that show an player's overall contribution to their team (see #1).

In conclusion of this great essay, Joey Votto is one of the greatest ball players of all time. He is truly a one of a kind player and has an understanding of baseball that no other player in history has had and will likely have again. He manipulates the count and the field in a way that we haven't seen. Goodnight.

I wrote this in an hour at 1:30 in the morning so I know it's a fucking mess and probably doesn't make sense and I'm sorry I'm just very passionate about him and his contributions to baseball and the city of Cincinnati but feel free to @ me if you disagree.

[arfguy]

Edmonton Oilers - Wake Up!

As an Oilers fan, it has been really difficult to watch this team crash and burn as badly as they have.  They look slow, they cannot score and their specialty teams are horrible.  It is unfair to blame one person for all of the Oilers woes, so I will name three:

1. Peter Chiarelli

2. Todd Maclellan

3. Milan Lucic

It almost seems as if these three are colluding to ensure the Oilers are terrible this year.  Why?  Well, let me explain.  

First and foremost, I was very happy that the Oilers organization got Peter Chiarelli.  I thought he made some truly impressive moves to make the Boston Bruins into a championship team.  I am definitely not going to slag most of the moves that Chiarelli made.  No, I am not bothered one bit that he traded Taylor Hall for Adam Larsson.  Despite how it may look to the hockey world in general, to this day I am very much glad this trade happened.  Some could argue that Chiarelli could have fleeced the New Jersey Devils organization for more than Larsson.  I am not a hockey expert, so I will not comment on it.  Much of the hockey world sees Taylor Hall as a star player.  I think of him as someone who is playing a very straight forward game of hockey when he should be using his speed and agility to play a smarter form of hockey.  No, I do not look down on the move he made to trade Jordan Eberle for Ryan Strome in a one-for-one trade.  Personally speaking, despite the goal differential between Eberle and Strome, I would rather have Strome in the line-up 10 nights out of 10.  Eberle is lazy and lacks work ethics.  His goals seem to be a mix of luck, a little bit of talent and mainly other players doing all the work to set him up for basically “gimme” goals.  I said it before and I’ll say it again:  if the Islanders make the playoffs, you can count on Jordan Eberle to disappear, because he just lacks desire.  Beyond those two major moves, I think Chiarelli has made some really smart, low-key moves.  I think the pick-up of Zack Kassian was pretty risky, but I have liked basically everything that Kassian brings to the line-up.  My major problem with Chiarelli is the move he made to sign Milan Lucic.  Not only did he sign Lucic to a $6 million per year contract, but he also decided to give him 7-year term.  Not only that, but this $6 million per for the next 7 years has what looks to be no-movement clause.  Why would you offer $42 million over 7 years to any player that has never hit more than 30 goals?  I understand you have to overpay when you dip into free agency, but Chiarelli?!?  What the fuck were you thinking?  Whatever conditions exist for Lucic’s contract, you can bet that Chiarelli would have to work up a miracle to move it.  There is absolutely no hope of this contract ever proving to be anything other than a horrible mistake.

Now we move on to Todd Maclellan.  I honestly don’t know if Maclellan has lost it, but I swear he is blind.  I hope there is something in the players contracts that says they have to play on certain lines for certain minutes, as that is the ONLY way I will accept Maclellan putting together some of the line combinations that he has.  No, I have zero problems with McDavid and Draisaitl sharing the same line.  No, I am not all that much bothered by Patrick Maroon being on the top line, even though I think a faster and more creative player would benefit greatly by being paired with the Oilers big duo.  What I do have a problem with is Maclellan’s insistence that Milan Lucic has to play on the second line.  Maclellan!  For fuck’s sake...Lucic has zero chemistry with Ryan Nugent-Hopkins, he cannot skate worth a shit, cannot generate scoring chances, cannot shoot, cannot stand in front of the net for deflections or chipping in rebounds, cannot pass to his wingers...just can’t do anything worth a damn.  I am confident that the 3 goals that Milan Lucic has gotten were not a result of hard work, but probably a result of 66% of them going off his body and into the net.  Yet, there is Maclellan...continuously putting Lucic on the second line.  To my surprise, the call up of Jesse Puljujarvi has not been a disaster.  The kid has looked good.  He has generated scoring chances, is actually shooting rather than passing like most of the Oilers and using his body to his advantage.  It seemed pretty promising that he might develop chemistry with Ryan Nugent-Hopkins if he has a few more games to get the rhythm of playing second line minutes.  NOPE!  Maclellan decided that, rather than dropping the slow and useless Milan Lucic off the second line, he will drop Puljujarvi to the third line.  Yes, one of the few players that has some offensive up sides on this team, that is shooting and getting into scoring areas, is slotted into the third line.  WTF?!?!

Third:  Milan Lucic.  Please, please do something.  You have done absolutely nothing.  You are being paid $6 million dollars a year for the next 7 years and you are doing jack shit!  For fuck’s sake, DO SOMETHING!

In conclusion, I am not looking for Maclellan or Chiarelli to get fired.  I am not even hoping for crazy trades to change the roster.  The Edmonton Oilers have at least 60% of the personnel required to be a dangerous team.  They just need to wake the fuck up!

[junker-town]

5 NFL teams with the most to panic about right now

Odell Beckham Jr. has played through injury in a disappointing season in Cleveland.

In this week’s panic index, the Rams are back (and it’s too late), the injuries are getting worse for the 49ers, and the Saints threw away their best shot at a top seed.

Trading for Odell Beckham was an achievement for the Browns. After a decade-plus of languishing at the bottom of the AFC North — and the NFL in general — the All-Pro wide receiver was supposed to link up with an ascending Baker Mayfield to make Cleveland a division champion for the first time since 1989.

Instead, Mayfield has thrown more interceptions (16) than touchdowns (15), Beckham has fewer catches than 32 other players in the league, and the Browns are 6-7 and just barely clinging to the hope of an unlikely wild card bid.

Beckham is playing through a sports hernia that first perked up back in training camp, and Mayfield has concerns about how his own franchise has handled the injury.

“I’d say that it wasn’t handled right. He’s not able to run as well as he as should be able to, as well as he knows. And that’s frustrating for him. You can sense some of his frustration, where that comes from. It wasn’t handled the right way, in our training room. It is what it is. His not 100% is still good enough for us.

Beckham has averaged 4.5 catches and 64.9 yards per game — enough to put him on pace for a 1,000-yard season, but both career lows by a significant margin. He was vague when asked about his future with this team when talking to reporters leading up to Week 14, and later attempted to clarify his comments via Twitter.

Ok ... I NEVER said I was not happy in Cleveland, just like everyone else I’m hopeful for better results. Period. Next story plzz ...

— Odell Beckham Jr (@obj) December 6, 2019

But even after that, Fox insider Jay Glazer reported Beckham had broadcasted his dislike of Cleveland to teammates and other NFL staffers throughout the week.

The former Giant has been forced into a supporting role behind Jarvis Landry, who has emerged as one of the league’s top wideouts while recording 115 targets to Beckham’s 108. Would a fully healthy Beckham earn more looks and elevate Mayfield back to the late 2018 form that pushed him into rookie of the year consideration? Or do Cleveland’s flaws run deeper than a star wideout who’s played hurt in 2019?

Panic index: A trip to the postseason would be the balm to soothe the aches created in any rift between Beckham and the Browns. Unfortunately, the New York Times’ playoff odds calculator gives Cleveland just a 4 percent shot at extending its season. Beckham will undergo surgery in the offseason, giving him time to get healthy and the Browns a chance to sell him on his future in Cleveland.

If Beckham truly wants out, the club can release him while leaving just $2.75 million in dead cap space behind. Beckham could also be traded again, with teams like the Cowboys, Saints, and 49ers mentioned as possibilities. It would be a pretty short-sighted move — but these are the Browns, so let’s not rule anything out.

The Rams finally got their act together — but it might be too late

The LA Rams entered the month of December sitting at 6-5, with longshot playoff hopes only one year after making the Super Bowl. Quarterback Jared Goff hadn’t thrown a touchdown pass the entire month of November. They had just gotten outclassed by the Ravens in a 45-6 beatdown at home on Monday Night Football.

But through the first two weeks of December, the Rams have found their groove, with two straight wins over the Cardinals and the Seahawks. In his last two games, Goff has looked much improved compared to what he did the month prior. He put up some of his best numbers all season, completing 73 percent of his passes for 711 yards and four touchdowns (along with two INTs). He had a passer rating of 110 and averaged 9.7 yards per attempt, too.

It’s not just Goff, either. Running back Todd Gurley has been more productive in the last couple weeks, rushing for 174 combined yards, two touchdowns, and another 54 yards receiving. The defense held the Cardinals to just seven points and 198 total yards in the Rams’ 34-7 victory. In Week 14, it didn’t allow Russell Wilson to throw a touchdown pass for the first time all year, while Seattle’s 12 points were its lowest output of the season.

Despite the turnaround, it may be too little, too late for the Rams. They’re currently on the outside of the playoff picture and have to play the Cowboys in Dallas this Sunday, followed by another road trip to face the 11-2 San Francisco 49ers. As it stands now, the Rams have just a 34 percent chance of making the playoffs, per the New York Times.

Panic index: The Rams are already eliminated from NFC West contention, so they’re competing with the 9-4 Vikings and 7-6 Bears for the No. 6 spot in the NFC. The Rams’ best bet to land the wild card bid is to win out. But even if they win the last two out of three, they still have a chance, especially if the Vikings stumble.

Either way, the Rams aren’t in complete control of their destiny. They could have been if they hadn’t slumped so hard in the middle of the season — or, simply, if Greg Zuerlein hadn’t missed his last-second field goal attempt in Week 5.

The Texans’ defense can’t be trusted in the playoffs, if they get there

Deshaun Watson is doing his best to drag Houston into the playoffs. The Texans are tied with the Titans for the AFC South title and — even if they don’t win that — they could beat out the Steelers and company for a wild card berth.

While Watson has the Texans in the top 10 in total offense, the defense is on the opposite end of the spectrum. Only four teams have allowed more passing touchdowns than Houston, despite a trade that brought in cornerback Gareon Conley and the addition of cornerback Vernon Hargreaves off the waiver wire.

Instead of getting better with those acquisitions, the Texans’ pass defense is headed in the other direction. Opposing quarterbacks now have a 101.7 passer rating against the Texans, fourth-worst in the NFL. Tom Brady’s only 300-yard passing day in the last two months came in Week 13 against the Texans. Broncos rookie quarterback Drew Lock ripped the Houston secondary to shreds a week later in a 38-24 win that was his second ever NFL game.

J.J. Watt is on injured reserve and Jadeveon Clowney was traded away to the Seahawks before the season began. Without them, Whitney Mercilus is the only player on the defense with more than four sacks.

Their inability to stop any quarterback may lose them a spot in the postseason, and if the team still manages to get in, an early exit could be on the way.

Panic index: Houston is two wins away from the playoffs and anything can happen in January. If the Texans can make a run, they certainly wouldn’t be the first team with a shaky defense to get to the Super Bowl. After all, they already beat the Chiefs and the Patriots this season.

The 41-7 loss to the Ravens in November is a bad sign, though. The Texans need to find a way to get some stops or force some turnovers, and fast.

The latest 49ers injuries may be the most concerning yet

The 49ers have succeeded this season despite a long list of injuries that included both starting tackles, both starting running backs, their kicker, and their second-best pass rusher. They’d been getting healthier over the past couple weeks, but their win over the Saints came at great cost.

They lost starting center Weston Richburg to a torn patellar tendon. He’ll miss the remainder of the season and the postseason, meaning the 49ers will have to turn to Ben Garland at center.

Perhaps worse is the injury to cornerback Richard Sherman. He’s missed time already this season, but he’s now dealing with a hamstring strain that will have him miss “a couple weeks.”

Sherman has been among the best cornerbacks in the league this season.

Richard Sherman is currently allowing just 0.50 receiving yards per snap in coverage. That's the lowest of any qualifying CB, and so far, the lowest of Sherman's career. #49ers It's #GoodOnGood with Sherman and the #49ers coverage unit facing Drew Brees, Michael Thomas & Co. pic.twitter.com/U1HfX25CZB

— PFF SF 49ers (@PFF_49ers) December 7, 2019

He’s locked down his side of the field, so much so that the play of safety Jaquiski Tartt has been overlooked because Sherman does such a good job of taking away everything on that side. Sherman missing time could be huge, especially as the 49ers battle for seeding. They currently hold the top seed in the NFC, but face must-win games to stay ahead of the division rival Seahawks.

Panic index: Garland played well when Richburg left the Saints game, but the play of Ahkello Witherspoon behind Sherman has been spotty. The 49ers’ much-feared defense is a lot less fearsome without Sherman in there. Obviously, resting up and being ready for the playoffs is important, but if “a couple weeks” turns out to include the Week 17 matchup against the Seahawks, then the 49ers could easily drop from first seed to fifth.

The Saints screwed up their best chance at getting the NFC’s No. 1 seed

The Saints have lost shootouts before, though usually they happen early in the season. The Saints have lost heartbreakers due to defensive breakdowns before, though usually they happen in the playoffs.

In Week 14, they did both — and it might end up costing them a coveted top seed in the playoffs.

After jumping out to an early 20-7 lead against the 49ers, and then a 27-14 lead, the Saints fell behind right before halftime. They battled back-and-forth with the 49ers for the second half, and then Drew Brees brilliantly engineered a seven-play, 76-yard drive to put the home team up 46-45 with less than a minute to go.

That’s when the New Orleans defense, which was already in the midst of its worst game of the season, collapsed. On fourth-and-2, the Saints let Jimmy Garoppolo find his favorite target, George Kittle, and proceeded to let the tight end go full Beast Mode on them:

NO FEAR.@gkittle46 | #GoNiners pic.twitter.com/g3vprcCOpX

— San Francisco 49ers (@49ers) December 8, 2019

Not only did it take three Saints to tackle Kittle, but they also got called for an obvious facemask penalty. That set up Robbie Gould to kick the game-winning field goal as time expired.

The sequence vaulted the 49ers to the No. 1 seed in the NFC, and moved the Saints down from the top seed to the No. 3 seed. That means that if the playoffs started today, the Saints wouldn’t get a first-round bye and they wouldn’t get to host a possible NFC Championship Game either. That’s a big deal for the Saints, who are 6-1 in playoff games at the Superdome since Brees has been their quarterback.

Panic index: The good news is that no matter what, the Saints are in the playoffs and can’t finish any worse than the No. 3 seed (thanks to the god-awful NFC East). The Saints have a manageable schedule in the final three weeks, and New Orleans can jump right back up into a top seed. The bad news is that they need the 49ers and/or Packers to falter to do that — and now the Saints are without one of their best defensive playmakers, Marcus Davenport, for the rest of the season.

[andrewuttaro]

New Look Sabres: GM 2 - NJD - Goals for Everyone!

Undefeated. Let’s just say that as many times as possible before we inevitably can’t anymore. If this team plays well these first couple weeks not only could it be good for the long run to get a good start but, there are some very telling challenges coming up. We’ll get to last night’s opponent, a very well upgraded Devils team in spite of what the score says, but tomorrow we take a jaunt down to Columbus to face a Blue Jackets squad that isn’t what it was last year. Next week proper we got the two divisional rivals Buffalo maybe fighting for wildcard spots with later this season: Montreal and Florida. The Sabres hammered the Habs last season but I’m not certain that will happen again. Florida absolutely had our number and the addition of Coach Q and more competent goaltending is a little frightening. Then Dallas visits before the annual October California road trip. There is a lot of off time in early November because of the Global Series in Sweden so if October looks good we’ll have a lot of time to sit on it. If we’re all being honest, we need some time to just feel good about this team. The Devils are an interesting club to consider this season. Some folks have them winning the Met while others have them missing the playoffs by dozens of points. It’s weird in a league that stresses parody so much that such a wide chasm can exist between predictions but here we are. I’m going to err on the higher side after the first couple games they’ve put up. A 2-0 drubbing of Columbus followed by a shootout loss to Winnipeg that looked like a rout the other way for most of the game. Those examples are here to say what we just saw last night was a little explicable. It’s a bit of tale of two games in that this would’ve been a night to remember no matter the outcome.

Fifteen of the Sabres Twenty plus former Captains participated in a pregame ceremony that was touched off by Rick Jeanneret coming out to get a standing ovation. There was emotion before the puck even dropped. The crowd went crazy for the 50th Anniversary jerseys when they appeared on the jumbotron and booed when the Devils came out. It was bordering on a religious experience already and then… *breathes out nostalgically* …then this current Buffalo Sabres teams put together the fourth, fifth and sixth straight periods of complete, full-effort team hockey. Before we get to the four-course meal that was this game, I think it’s important to say the reason we have to get legitimately excited about this club right now is that we’re seeing levels of effort and consistency through two games that were few and far between in past seasons. A lot of people were talking about how bad a Coach Phil Housley must have been to not get this level of play out of mostly the same the roster last season. I see the reasoning there but all that blame you’re sending that way, turn it into credit and send it Ralph Krueger’s way. We joked about how this new coach talked a big, group buy-in rhetoric in the preseason that was supposed to pay dividends beyond the mere culture this culture that we’ve gotten so used to with the Buffalo Bills. But the tight, fast, everyone playing-together jargon we kept hearing is now unfolding right in front of us. If this guy gets Marco Scandella, Vladimir Sobotka and dare I say it… Rasmus Ristolainen to not be statistical black holes then he’s the miracle worker we’ve been waiting for. Only time will tell after all, we’re two games into an 82-game season. Wow though. Just wow, what a game I got to be at.

This game was incredible from almost the very start. Will Butcher got called for holding on Jack Eichel and to that I say: Will, you could’ve been Sabre and gotten to hold Jack legally, but there you are going to the Sin Bin for it! On the ensuing powerplay the puck found it’s way to Eichel beside the net and instead of shooting point blank the current Captain threw it out to Victor Olofsson who winds up for maybe a half second and then shoots it through the woods into the net. That goal was special. I don’t know if Devils goalie Mackenzie Blackwood even saw it. That will become a theme tonight by the way. The Sabres goalie, Carter Hutton, has now had two great games and I want to give him huge props for holding the fort again last night, but he only needed to make 18 saves to win this after facing a total of 20 shots. He’s seen far busier nights. The whole game I’m trying to figure out if the Sabres defense is good now or is the Devils offense just so bad? I mean the Devils have Hall, Hischier, Simmons, Zajac and Hughes so they should be a threat, but Marco Scandella had the best 5 on 5 corsi of every person wearing skates in this game. Like… what is going on? If I wasn’t at the game with people yelling all around me I would have thought I ate something strange and was on some kind of groovy hallucinogenic trip. Well the good kept coming and after another holding call against the Devils Jack Eichel cleaned up a Jeff Skinner rebound on the powerplay. Blackwood couldn’t control it deep in his own crease and there it was 2-0 Sabres at 17:26 of the first. For what a fun start it was, you go to the intermission with the most dangerous lead in hockey thinking this game is still very much a game. By the end of the next period it would become a rout.

Before most of the enthusiastic crowd was back to their seats Kyle Palmieri scored a one timer off a Taylor Hall assist to cut the lead in half. Now I don’t know why but this game featured bone-rattling hits. The kind of thunder dome stuff that gets a crowd going. Jake McCabe was landing them left and right. This is generous for me to say because the shots were lopsided in favor of the home team throughout this game, but this was the only time the Devils could’ve taken control of this game. A goal to tie it early in the second and this would’ve been an entirely different game. Even at the 2-1 score line the crowd was a factor in this game. There were sporadic Bills cheers and totally spontaneous Let’s Go Buffalo chants. This little tyke rarely-sitting next to me was losing his mind and he was something of a barometer of the fans overall. Every time the puck got knocked out of the defensive zone there was deafening cheers. It felt like a playoff game and I’ve only been to Amerks playoff games and those have all turned to shite lately. This game did not. It was electric in there. Want to know how good the Sabres were doing? Kyle Okposo and the retread third line that we decried at the end of Training Camp were hemming the Devils in their zone! What!? Kyle Okposo redirected a shot originating from Rasmus Dahlin at the blueline and we’re up 3-1. Unreal. It only got better. Jeff Skinner, streaming into the zone with Marcus Johansson and *checks notes* Vladimir Sobotka, gets a cross-ice pass and shoots in short side. 4-1 Buffalo.

We all feared the guy we just signed for eight years to big money wouldn’t score until November with that Vladdy anchor on his line; but no, on only his tenth shot of the young season he sinks one and we get to see that beautiful smile again. The second period was a total shooting gallery, but one non-scoring play this period made a girl sitting a few seats down from me screech in a way you normally only hear in comedy clubs. Jack Eichel skates through red-jersey defenders moving the puck all around and dekes the ever-living daylights out of Nico Hischier. The poor kid fell on his ass like they were playing street basketball or something. The crowd went wild for the rest of the shift. In this environment, the Devils gave us another powerplay opportunity! You’ll need to watch the replay on this one. A clinic in Captaining unfolded as Eichel dribbles the puck in the right circle looking for someone and makes the kind of meaningful eye contact with Victor Olofsson on the other side that can only mean one thing: go to the goal. Eichel passes it through not one, not two, not even three but four Devils defenders to Victor who bounces it off of either Reinhart’s skate in front or Blackwood’s pads and recollects his own rebound. Not a second later Olofsson takes another shot and buries it. Correction, Reinhart passed it back to him. It’s as if this goal was going to happen one way or another. That made it… *pauses for dramatic effect* FIVE to ONE Sabres. Gee, I felt greedy.

I could talk for hours about how completely new the Sabres powerplay looks through two games this season, but the score was now 5-1 and I still have more goals to get to. In most games I’d call that box score a rout, but this game gets chippy. Remember I told you Jake McCabe was leveling hits left and right? He landed one in the middle of the game here on Taylor Hall that immediately unleashed pandemonium. I need to use every meaning of that word here because the crowd went wild and rose to their feet while some “extracurricular activities” if you will unfolded on the ice. It took a couple minutes to sort out the penalties, but McCabe knew what he did and went down the tunnel bopping fist bumps like he just won a WWE title. What resulted was three minors and two majors and a 23-year-old building struggling to keep the noise in. The Devils didn’t get the lift they needed from that fight. Not from that fight, not from running McCabe, not from running Hutton. The third period begins, and we get Travis Zajac goal to make 5-2 but… here’s the reason this article is so long again: the Sabres still had more goals to score. Sam Reinhart gets the puck way out by himself in the left circle and shot it bar down. I know Blackwood was trying to catch it with his glove over his head, but it was already in and it just looked like the poor kid was begging for mercy. “Please oh please don’t keep shooting at me!” 6-2! I’m feeling greedy now! The crowd is now doing that chant where they count the goals and ask for another. I am not swearing in disbelief now for no other reason than the child sitting next to me. I just didn’t know what to do with myself. My teams don’t score this many goals. We’ve seen probably a dozen breakaways in these first two games and no goals off of any of them. That changed when Sam Reinhart challenges PK Subban in his own defensive zone and poke checks the puck free. Subban can’t get to Reinhart and falls down briefly. Reino just takes off and goes five-hole on Blackwood. He puts his hands in the air like, yeah, just pay me now. Can we just pay him now? At this rate he’s going to score 5.2 million goals and Terry is going to have to drill a new well just to pay for it. 7-2 Sabres is the final outcome of this home opener.

There is so much to take away from this game that I’ll probably be referencing it for a couple weeks. Our New Look Sabres reply guy tweet of the game is actually a tweet not a reply. It comes from The Charging Buffalo’s Joe Marino who points out “the Sabres haven’t won the first three games of the season since the 08-09 season”, exclaiming Monday is huge. This recap is getting a little long and I’ve got a Bills game to go watch so I will agree wholeheartedly and invite you to look forward to Monday night’s away game in Columbus. I for one cannot wait. This team has got me in hook, line and sinker. Like, share and comment on this blog; at this rate we may have some fun this season and fun is best when it’s shared. I hope we can share in the fun together here. Who knows what these guys can accomplish if this is the level of play we see out of them in even half of the remaining eighty games ahead. Let’s Go Buffalo!

Thanks for Reading.

P.S. Rasmus Ristolainen: actually good! I’m looking at you Winnipeg, that blueline ain’t looking so hot!

[georgieporgiepuddininpie]

Astro baseball Au pt.1

Wow so I have never written a full fic before in my life and this ended up way longer than planned but this is the product of @astrofireworks and I brainstorming in the group chat so here it goes, I hope you all enjoy whatever this thing is.

part 2

Moonbin: pitcher, bats 2nd

Known for his ball control and numerous breaking balls 

No one knows where he's going to throw (except Eunwoo cause he can read that boy like book) 

His specialties are curveballs and sliders 

His maximum pitch speed is 78mph on his fastball (4 seam)

He's currently obsessed with perfecting his knuckleball

Sucks at changeups but every 1/10 he throws is really good so Eunwoo thinks there's hope 

His ultimate goal is to perfect every possible pitch (good luck Bin) 

Started playing baseball in 2nd grade after watching his cousin's high school baseball team at regionals 

He thought the pitcher was the coolest cause he was at the center and everyone was watching him 

But after he started playing baseball he fell in love with pitching because of all the different ways to throw the ball 

When he started middle school he immediately sought out the baseball club and asked to join 

On the first day of practice he was paired with a first year catcher 

The team had just finished warmups and they were both sweaty and out of breath but 

Dang if Bin hadn't already been gasping from running laps this boy would have taken his breath away 

How does anyone look so good with their hair plastered to their forehead wearing a dirt stained baseball uniform??????? 

For a second Bin thought he had heat stroke and was hallucinating 

But then this gorgeous middle school boy held out his hand and said he was looking forward to working with bin and just….. 

Wow 

Bin stuttered out something similar to a coherent reply and shook Eunwoo's hand 

But after the initial awkward greeting they went over to the ball pen and Eunwoo asked Bin about what balls he could throw 

Eunwoo was a little surprised to hear that Bin could throw a 4 seam as well as a curveball and a slider 

Most kids he knew hadn't learnt any breaking balls before entering middle school 

After Bin demonstrated each of his balls to a few different spots Eunwoo was star struck because Bin your control????? 

He had Bin throw a few more to a few difficult spots and after the 5th one hit square in his glove he just 

Threw off his helmet and ran over to the boy "how is your control so     good????" 

Bin is shocked cause as far as he knew his control was pretty average??? 

"I just???? Practiced a lot?????" 

Eunwoo has by this point decided to keep Bin and form a battery with him

Eunwoo: catcher, bats 7th

Eunwoo is known for being a master strategist and coming up with intricate plans to shake up the opposing team's batters

At first the other teams see him and think he's going to be really nice and gentle but jokes on them cause he might be the most devious member on the team

When the team is batting he works with the coach on strategies for the next inning

The night before games he stays up really late to watch videos of the opposing team and memorize all of the batters favourite balls and placings. Usually ends up memorizing the pitcher's throws as well

Started playing baseball when he was 5 because his dad loved baseball and wanted his son to too

So he signed them up for those father/son baseball things

And ended up coaching his little league team

Eunwoo usually ended up being catcher because no one wanted to play the position and he's not vocal enough to fight for being 2nd base or outfield

But after 5 years of playing catcher he realizes he's really enjoying it

He loves the feeling of being in control of where and the ball goes and the mental game of getting the batters out

So when he starts middle school he joins as a catcher and starts actually learning how to be a catcher for the first time

The older members quickly noticed his talent for strategizing during tryouts and decide to put him to good use by pairing him up with their promising new first year pitcher

This is how he ends up being assigned to help Bin at the beginning of their 1st year, when normally they would have paired up with 2nd years to practice with someone who is more experienced

And he was kind of looking forward to getting to catch for one of the upperclassmen pitchers (the team only has 3 so he probably would have gotten to work with one of the starters)

But then the boy standing by the bull pen turns around and

Wow

Just wow????

He's adorable really. His eyes are sparkling and he has this nervous little half grin and his cheeks are flushed with excitement and Eunwoo is stricken because

This kid is actually maybe the cutest thing he's ever seen?????

Cuter even than Sanha, the kid who lives next door

He's not sure how but he somehow remembers how to be polite and introduces himself and then leads the smoll kid into the bull pen

He's expecting this kid to throw a few average fastballs and then he'll work with him on his fastball for the next few weeks until Bin starts working with a pitching coach

But then this kid starts throwing sliders and curveballs

Right into Eunwoo's mitt

He barely has to even move and he's????

So impressed like who is this kid????

Yah, his speed and technique are average but the fact that he has this much control on breaking balls and he's like???? 12????

By the 15th ball he's made up his mind to form a permanent battery with Bin

Except the coach is the one who gets to decide the batteries and they are both still first years so after the first month they rarely get paired up with each other anymore

But Eunwoo isn't giving up yet

He approaches bin halfway through the year and asks if he wants to practice with him after normal practice is over

Bin is 2000% always there for more baseball so he agrees

So the two of them start practicing after official practice a couple times a week

And then practicing turns into hanging out

And by the time they are second years they're together almost all the time

Bin is a reserve pitcher and Eunwoo became starter catcher after the last once graduated so they actually get to work together a lot so now they mostly just hang out at café's or one of their houses after practice

But even when they go to each other's houses they often end up playing catch in the backyard

In the last tournament of their second year they make it to semifinals with Eunwoo as the starter catcher

Their 3rd year reserve pitcher get's pulled partway through the 6th inning due to fatigue so Bin is up for his first official tournament match

Bin plays great and Eunwoo is so proud of him but they still loose and Bin can't help but feel like it’s his fault

"you played for 3 innings and only 5 batters got hits off of you Bin there's no way it's your fault"

Eunwoo blames himself for not leading the calls better

They both end up crying outside the change rooms

But they're young and life is fast and by the time the next season rolls around, although they still feel bitter about their past loss, it only fuels their desire to develop their skills and get stronger

However, they are also young and growing and sometimes they can be more than a bit reckless

Which is how Bin ends up injuring his shoulder at the beginning of their third year in middle school

It was a combination of not enough stretching, overexertion, and trying to learn new pitches without a proper coach but it results in Bin being unable to throw properly

Eunwoo, being a mother hen, forces Bin to see a doctor, despite Bin trying to convince him that it's probably just overuse

Bin is shocked and upset when he's told that he has overuse tendinitis in his rotator cuff

Luckily for Bin, he is still growing and with careful attention and physical therapy he is told that he will be able to make a full recovery

So he takes a break from the team for his 3rd year and instead focuses on improving his overall fitness and strength

But he loves baseball too much to not be involved in the team, even when he's resting

So he helps Eunwoo work out strategies for games and helps coach the 1st year pitchers whenever he's not doing his own training regimen

Playoffs come and go with Bin still on the bench

They end up losing at semifinals again and everyone is a bit depressed but then suddenly they're getting ready for finals and applying for high school and there isn't really time to be too upset

Of course Bin and Eunwoo apply for the same high school and they both get accepted

The school is pretty well known for their baseball team and the tryouts take place the summer before school starts

By this time Bin has been cleared by the doctor and he and Eunwoo practice almost every day before tryouts (Eunwoo keeping a close watch on Bin to make sure he doesn't overdo it again)

Tryout day rolls around and the two of them take the train together to Fantagio high

And they're nervous and excited but they promised each that they would both make the team and play as a battery together again so they hold their heads high and walk onto the field side by side.

Thats all for part 1! As you can see I can’t write ships at all so this will probably just be ot6 Astro being teammates and best friends. Not sure when I’ll post the next part but I’m planning for at least 3-4 parts total. Thank you all for reading!! Have a great day!

[islesblogger]

10 Reasons Islander Fans Shouldn't Panic

Here are my top 10 reasons why NY Islanders fans shouldn’t panic with five games left. There is plenty of good news to go around.

1. The Standings

The Islanders are currently tied for second place with Pittsburgh in the Metro division. They are three points behind first place Washington, and four points ahead of Carolina who has a firm grip on the top wild card spot in the Eastern Conference. They are still seven points ahead of Columbus who is in ninth and on the outside of the playoff picture looking in. The playoff bubble projects to be 96 points. The Islanders would only need one win to eclipse that number. The maximum bubble is 99 points because Montreal plays Columbus on Thursday, and that is what the loser can obtain, even with the loser point. The Islanders would only need to play NHL .500 in their last 5 games to eclipse that total.

TEAMW L OT P  PPG PRJGRATLTBL59144122        1.584 1305BOS46219101        1.329 1096TOR4525696        1.263 1046METWAS4524898        1.273 1045NYI4426795        1.234 1015PIT42241195        1.234 1015WCCAR4227791        1.197 986MON4128890        1.169 965OUTCBJ4230488        1.158 956PHI3632880        1.053 866

2. The Schedule

The last five games of the season will be tough no matter who they are playing. These games will be particularly tough, but will serve as a good experience for a young team with little to no playoff experience.

@Winnipeg The Islanders lost their only game against the Jets this year, but the Jets are a pedestrian 6-4-0 in their last 10.

Buffalo. They have split their season series so far. Both home teams have won 3-1. The Sabres are a mithir serable 1-8-1 in their last 10. If the Isles lose this one at home you might want to start looking for the panic button.

Toronto. They are 2-0 against Toronto this year and have outscored them 10-1. There’s another narrative at play here as our favorite ex-Islander may be shooting for his first 50 goal season. Toronto is a meh 4-4-2 in their last 10. This is a good matchup on paper, but there will be a lot of emotions on the ice and in the stands. It should be a fun one.

@Florida. As exciting an atmosphere April 1st will be at the NVMC, is about how dull I expect the arena to be on April 4th in Sunrise. Florida was done months ago and they’re 5-5-0 in their last 10 and on a current 3 game losing streak. The scary part… The Islanders are 0-1-1 against them. Barry Trotz will need to find some motivation to get his clearly superior team to defeat their ex-coach. Panther’s assistant, Jack Capuano, probably knows the Islanders better than he knows his own team at this point. There are some scenarios where this game can clinch playoffs, or home team advantage. That should be enough motivation because you don’t want to go into the last game of the season with those things hanging over your head.

@Washington. The final game of the season can mean so much… or it can just be 60 minutes of practice for two teams preparing for the playoffs. Unless it is for first place in the Metro, let’s hope it’s the latter. The Isles are 1-2-0 against the current Metro leaders and they have been playing well of late. The Caps are 6-3-1 in their last 10 and the current Stanley Cup champions seem to be firing on all cylinders going into this year’s tournament.

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3. Barry Trotz

If there is one thing that has made this season vastly different than any other since 1994 it’s Barry Trotz. For the first time in 25 years the Islanders have been led by an experienced, Stanley Cup winning coach. The results so far have been fantastic, and there’s no reason to doubt their future. The defense first philosophy brought in by Lou Lamoriello has been embraced by every member of the organization. It may not be pretty to some, but winning is.

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4. The Goalies

Currently the Islanders have given up 188 goals against. That is the lowest in the Eastern Conference and tied with Dallas (who has played one fewer game) for the league lead. This is mostly due to the overall defensive strategy. You don’t get their from the team with the worst GA total in the league without stellar goaltending. Robin Lehner and Thomas Greiss have been, by far, the best goalie tandem in the league. They are third and fifth respectively in save percentage in the league. More importantly they are first and second in the eastern conference. It appears that Robin will be the “hotter” of the two as they enter the final five, and the playoffs. There will be almost no drop off in expectations should the first starter fail.

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5. The Defense

For the first time in over a decade, maybe two, the Islanders have SEVEN NHL caliber defensemen. The improvements of the young four at the core over the past four months has been exceptional. Ryan Pulock is a legitimate top pairing defenseman who has shown he can play in all situations. That was expected since his pro debut in Bridgeport. But it wasn’t expected from the rest of what could be considered the rest of the top four. Adam Pelech, Scott Mayfield and especially Devon Toews have performed well within the scope of being called NHL “Top Four” defenders. That is status earned by the other three defensemen (Nick Leddy, Johnny Boychuk and Thomas Hickey) years ago. Going into the playoffs with seven NHL defenseman is unfamiliar territory for the NY Islanders. It will present a strong foundation for whoever their opponent might be.

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6. The Centers

The most worrisome part of the team in October was their center group. After losing their 2009 number one overall selection to free agency the organization went into panic mode. They had last year’s Calder Trophy winner, a perennial 20 goal enigma, and the pivot of what was once considered the best fourth line in hockey.

If nothing else, Lou Lamoriello and Barry Trotz are astute assessors of hockey talent. Lou went out and acquired Val Filppula and Jan Kovar to compete with Stephen Gionta and Tanner Fritz for their vacant center roles. They also had some prospects that needed some AHL development. All we, as fans had, was hope and fear… not particularly in that order.

What transpired over the next 5 months shows what good leadership and instruction can create from, well, not much. Instead of trying to break scoring records Lou immediately identified the need for two way play by subtracting Kovar from the roster. Barry Trotz has done masterful work transforming Nelson and Barzal into defensively conscious 200 foot players, though young Mr. Barzal is still a work in progress. The acquisition of Filppula was the highlight in hindsight. He became the long sought after replacement for Frans Nielsen by almost every measure. Stephen Gionta basically proved that his time had come and gone.

The top four centers have been identified. Nelson, Barzal, Filppula and Cizikas got this team to first place in the Metro Division. They also created some depth at the position. Something nobody thought would ever happen this year.

They cut Tanner Fritz late, but knew that he could play in the NHL He’s been proving that as a replacement for injured Val Filppula.

One of the more pleasant surprises from Bridgeport this year was the development of Otto Koivula after moving him from wing to center. He still needs some work, but with an off season to work on his skating and another year of AHL work the Islanders could have a legit middle six center in the wings.

If they sign Nelson, Filppula and Fritz they should be in a good place going forward. They could fish for something better in July, but more importantly they will probably target a center in June.

7. The Playoffs

If you’ve gotten this far you understand that the Islanders are playing for position in, rather than to be in, the playoffs. Given their October expectations this is all gravy. It is well beyond even the most optimistic predictions. I consider myself among the most optimistic of fans, and still only had them as a bubble team, about where Columbus is now. Any entry, even a “back in” has got to be looked at as a victory given that lens.

8. The Draft

Currently the Islander project to be well within range to pick up one of the top centers in the draft. I like the choice presented in TSN’s Mock Draft here. They should have a wider selection earlier in the draft unless they have an incredible playoff run. The one good thing about “standing pat” at the trade deadline is that they still have all their prospects, and their 2019 first round pick. This may also be a time to shed some contracts (Nick Leddy) for a few more picks. It should be a positive few days for Islanders fans, especially with their scouting staff’s recent June successes.

9. Free Agency

There are currently 9 pending unrestricted free agents on their roster. They also have over $30M in cap space for 2019-20. I expect them to sign 5 of their UFA’s (Lee, Nelson, Lehner, Filppula, Fritz) at a cost of around $23M per year. Possibly shedding a contract or two, and Andrew Ladd’s likely LTIR status should give them some ammunition to target big game on July 1st. This hasn’t been the case for decades, but the team may be a bit more attractive thanks to the new attitude ushered in by ownership, Lamoriello and Trotz. July will bring, if nothing else, some heightened interest for Islander fans.

10. 2019-20

Just scroll up. The team should start next season without the 20 game learning curve they had this year. Their biggest question mark might still be their power play. Their defensive and penalty killing issues were certainly addressed and mostly resolved. They should be able to start the season in competition for the Metro Division. Something they didn’t really avail themselves to until December. They already have half their home games scheduled for the Nassau Coliseum and hopefully this year’s success will help improve attendance numbers at Barclay’s Center.

Things are looking good. This is no time to panic. It’s time to celebrate a season of improvement and the beginning of the playoff season… something we’ve missed the past two years.

Let’s Go Islanders!

10 Reasons Islander Fans Shouldn’t Panic was originally published on islesblogger.com

[shes-like-cold-c0ffee]

THIS IS FOR YOU PENS HATERS

Aight listen here people. I am not a hockey blog but I really just gotta say this. All you Pens and Crosby haters have been saying the same shit over and over again all throughout the playoffs. “Crosby is dirty” “Crosby is a bitch” Crosby this, Crosby that, and none of it has ever been something good about him. 

Fist thing I’m saying here is that I do not condone/make excuses for some of the things he has done. Yes, he shouldn’t have done some things he’s done, BUT, Sidney Crosby literally gets targeted and abused in every game he plays. If you want evidence, I suggest you rewatch the entire 2017 playoffs. A lot of the shit that all you people are calling him out for for being dirty is done to him in almost every game he plays. He has gotten his head pounded into the ice, he has been cross checked in the face, he has been slammed into the boards, the list goes on and on, and guess what?! Those players get away with it! Just as you all say he “gets away with everything.” You all don’t ever say anything when it’s done to him, but once he does it all hell breaks loose and you immediately label him as dirty and a bitch. You all do this because he’s Sidney Crosby. You have to find someway to label him and take away from his success. You make excuses when it’s done to him, “that’s hockey play” “he just needs to take it” but suddenly when he does the same thing everyone gets on here and calls him dirty. Frankly it’s extremely hypocritical. When we try to defend him as I’m doing now, you also immediately jump on us and say that I’m making excuses and I’m “so far up his ass.” Well I’m saying now that he has done some things he shouldn’t have done, but you all act like he gets away with murder every time it happens, and again when someone does that to him you all pass it off as a “hockey play.” And no he is NOT “protected” by the NHL. There has been some pretty nasty things done to him that no one was penalized for. Just look it up on YouTube if you want “proof.” And don’t come at me with the “but look what he did to PK” yes I saw what he did to PK. No I don’t think he should’ve done it but he was penalized, PK was not hurt so get over it. 

Also I’m pretty damn tired of people saying we did not deserve to win this cup and that Sid is overrated. We have been through hell and back throughout these playoffs with a mound of injuries, including the loss of our #1 defenseman Kris Letang. Well, we did it anyway! We overcame all odds. We beat the Washington Capitals without Sid for almost 2 games, our defense stepped up in the absence of Letang, and we came back from terrible deficits. If you don’t think we deserved this, you all need to reconsider how you view the sport of hockey. And Crosby is “overrated”?!?!?! I could make a whole tumblr post just about his accomplishments. He’s probably got more trophies than your favorite players combined. He may not have led the playoffs in goals or points but his leadership and the way he sets up plays is what got us here. He is in no way “overrated” and again if you think that you should probably reconsider how well you know hockey. Sidney Crosby is the glue that holds the Penguins together. 

You may hate Sid, but he is our hero and our captain and he is amazing. For you to sit here and say “Crosby sucks” makes you sound uneducated about hockey. Anyone who hates the Penguins/Crosby but is educated about hockey can tell you Sid is nothing short of an amazing hockey player. The man just won his third Stanley Cup for fucks sake. That’s the difference between some of you, some can respect greatness and others can try to ignore it. He’s so good, it’s what you hate him! Keep on hating tho, we’ll just keep winning while you pout :) it makes us happy to see you get flustered by our amazing team and knowing that you’re rooting against us only makes the victory that much sweeter. 

Moral of the story, you all need to just shut up about Sid. You’re being hypocritical when you say the things you say and really we all know it’s solely because of the fact that he’s Sidney Crosby. 

Have a good night!