Post Duckmatic Stress Syndrome

A hardcore Detroit Red Wing Fan lay face down on the floor of her Santa Monica condo, amongst the remnants of sparsely eaten take out dinner and its wrappings, coated in a thin layer of … um…

the sweet smell of a nail biting Game 7 playoff victory?

Numb and gasping for the breath she’d held for 57 minutes of elimination hockey, she lay unmoved as the television chirped with interviews of the dejected Dirty Dirties. Echoes of “coulda shoulda woulda” strained, blocked only by the elated shouts of a loco Californian goalie who had run out onto the front “lawn” circling like a big ol’ Labrador retriever, arms raised above his head, dropping to his knees, ala Brandi Chastain circa 1999, ripping from his puck-welted chest a shirt that read: “F(Red Wing logo)(Red Wing logo)K the Ducks”, swinging it wildly above his head while loudly echoing said shirt’s sentiment.

The hardcore Detroit Red Wings Fan, who’d spent the last 60 minutes of play sitting on the floor inches from the television, Igor Larionov sweater pulled over her knees catatonically rocking back and forth as she nervously flipped an autographed Detroit Red Wings game issued puck in the air, grimacing every time it landed orange side up- this girl lay on the floor like a slug, it was her only defense.

A montage passed slowly beneath closed eye lids:

• A game winning Lidstrom Special from the point;
• A brutal hit on Jiri;
• Clutch goals by our own Blue Eyed Newfoundlander, the “Baby Euros- Our Hudded Helm line” and the Mule;
• Zetterberg taking on the 9’7” 845lb Pronger;
• An emasculated whining, dirty Gets-laffed-at;
• A game tying “No-goal” Goal by the man who should want a Cup more than anyone else on the ice;
• The puck possession stylings of one Pavel Datsyuk: the best hockey player in the world and the hardest working man in Cup-biz;
• A heart breaking opposition goal in triple overtime;
• Sloppy SOGs, crappy passing, bumbling line changes, followed up by amazing domination followed by inexplicable losses;
• And save after spectacular game saving save from the Wizard of Oz.

It was over. Really over.

Dazed and confoosed, she tried to convince herself it was really over and that the good guys won. But it would not stick. Nothing was sticking, nothing but a wrinkled Baja Fresh receipt she had accidentally laid her forehead on as she crumpled to the floor after Daniel Cleary- Danny Boy, oh Danny Boy, The Blue Eyed Wonder from Newfoundland, No 11. swatted the game winning goal through Hiller’s five hole.

Wings win 4-3. Game 7, 57 or so minutes into an epic series. Wings Win. Fighting all the way, every single minute of every single game. Playing harder in the losses than the wins. Fighting through overtimes and against the odds no one in Vegas was calling.

Wings Win.

No one could tell her this series wasn’t the “true” Stanley Cup final, luckily no one had yet dared. Wouldn’t matter anyway, because she knew it all along. It was the match up she feared more than anything. More than San Jose, more than the Bruins. She had said as much to anyone who would listen.

A match up pitting the 2007 Cup Winners against the 2008 Cup Winners. A match up pitting the dirtiest, hardest hitting, meanest, thuggi-est team in all of hockey against the best puck possession, most skilled, deepest, most talent laden team in all of hockey. The Red Wings in a second round series with an 8^th seeded team that had made (what appeared to be) chum of the very best team in the regular season, a team with a style very much like the Red Wings. The Dirty Dirties unraveled the fiercest predators from the coast of NoCal. A team that was supposed to go all the way, hooked, reeled and sunk before they even began by Disney’s finest.

She began the series having flashbacks to '07. Oh the horrible Night Terrors…Have you ever “dreamed” of a larger than life sized version of Howard the Duck in a Black Anaheim uniform, bearing the Number 25? Its almost as bad as the dreams some of you have where you play goalie against a team of gnomes lead by Gary Bettman…

Oh, you dreamers, know who you are….

Night Terrors and Flashbacks people, sweat soaked nights wondering what you would do with your spring if hockey abruptly ended for you, vurping in your throat at the very idea...That is what this series put most Wings fans through….

At best, the hardcore Detroit Red Wings fan thought her Wings would survive with minimal injuries. At worst? Well she dare not think of that, as it was too probable and fearsome an outcome to envision. Instead, she prayed to the Hockey Gods for a quick and relatively clean series. Prayed the Wings’ depth speed and skill would nullify the thuggism. For a brief while it looked like she would get just that.

Oh but the Hockey Gods seek more than the most talented champion this time of year. They demanded a warrior champion with the Heart of the Tin Man and the Courage of a Lion. The Will of a Wizard. The Hockey Gods “Cleary” wanted the Wings to earn, pay and work for every last inch of ice in this series.

And in the end, through a furious, hard fought series full of bad plays, bad calls, bouncing puck goals, waived goals, brutal dirty hits and flared fisticuffs, the Wings did what Anaheim could not.

The Wings beat the second best team on ice this time of year, in the second round of playoffs where many a reigning Stanley Cup Champions slip and slide into oblivion, as the Ducks had done in 2008.

In her book, it is the clearest indication of what everyone else probably already knew: that there may be no answer to the depth and level of talent this Red Wings team possesses. Beating the Ducks, a recent Cup championship team who manhandled an amazing San Jose Team, and who still had 12 of their Stanley Cup winning players in the line up.

This was match up that forced the hardcore Red Wings fan to rely the depths of her faith in her team, yet even as she clung to that faith and поверено, she still knew that sometimes all the talent and skill and depth in the world does not win.

This series shook this Red Wing fan to the core. How many times had she screamed at the television “Damn it Hoss, I thought you wanted a Cup!!!! Go get it!” or “Come on Pasha, just one goal”, or “Danny, be a hero” “Come ON Filps, be a hero!!!” or “Please Mule, just one more goal????” Even when she knew- could see- they were working their hearts and souls out.

It was a rare moment when she could celebrate, and enjoy a win or a goal, mostly all she could do was sit and watch and pray. Tension never for a moment relieved. Fear with every Duck possession, every kill. Absolute swallowing of all pride, silently relieved with a win, worried sick with each loss. Night terrors and flashbacks, people. Restless fits of ill gotten sleep.

The only belief she could cling to was the belief that these 2009 Detroit Red Wings, this Stanley Cup winning champion team, had the will to win the series. Had more drive, heart and will to win than the 2007 SCCs.

Only when the ice spray had melted in the crease, revealing that it was the current Stanley Cup Champions who prevailed could she breath.

A hardcore Red Wings Fan watched the last of the Dirty Dirties line up to congratulate a jubilant throng of men in Red. Still shell shocked in disbelief that it was really over, she picked herself up off the floor of her Santa Monica condo, pulled the store receipt from her forehead, rubbed the register ink from her brow, and walked over to her brother, the Loco Californian goalie, hugged him as hard as she could. They both knew this series meant more than anyone else was saying.

Wings win. Wings win. Bravo my team. You gave the lovers, the dreamers, (the faithful) and me a helluva a gift last night. You showed us your will to win, your heart and your drive. I can’t ask for anything more.

Except maybe 8 more wins before June 4th…

And a cure for the Mighty Mighty flashbacks.

And a pony.

But that’s it. I swears.

GO WINGS- Onto the Spring Classic!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!