Who's Got My Prileys?

By Adam W Parks

Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Round 1, Game 7
Red Wings 6 @ Coyotes 1

How is everybody feeling today? This time yesterday I was popping prilosecs like they were Pringles. I don't want to analyze last night's game too much (the Wings kicked ass), rather I will reflect on the myriad and range of emotions that it put me, and most of you, through.

Tony, a valued follower of Lamp The Light, commented on a Facebook post yesterday prior to the game: "For my blood pressure's sake, let's hope this goes like the Game 7 vs. Colorado in 2002, and the Wings just come out and lay a beat-down."

Game 7.

Joe, another great and appreciated follower, wrote this on the same post: "Scared to death about tonight's game...no joke."

Game 7.

Al, a close friend and phellow Phish Head, also commented on the post: "Stomach ulcer on the way for tonight."

Game 7.

After the first period ended at 0-0 and the Wings had outshot the Coyotes 17-6, I sent a text message to Brett, another good friend, and I wrote: "I'm glad I have Left For Dead and the sequel for the Xbox 360. Killing zombies after the game tonight might dissuade me from killing humans."

Now honestly, was I going to kill my poor neighbors if the Wings lost last night? Probably not all of them. Most likely just the guy from Wisconsin who roots against the Wings, Spartans, Tigers, and all my other beloved Michigan-based sports teams. (Hey Tim, sorry about your Badgers' recent 0-5 thrashing from Boston College in the NCAA Championships. At least you'll be able to watch their best player, Brendan Smith, play in Grand Rapids next season.)

Seriously though, I'm not a murderer, but I did share the same sentiments and disagreeable feelings prior to the puck drop that Tony and Joe and Al did. Watching the pregame interviews and analysis on Fox Sports Detroit and Versus was excruciating. "Just drop the damn puck!" My stomach was tossing. My skin was crawling. My bottle of Scotch whiskey was calling.

It does not matter what round or who we're playing against, when it comes down to the final game of the series and we fans are staring at a potentially dismal summer without anymore Red Wings hockey, we get a little sick. Erratic. Nervous. Crazy. But not quite murderous...

Game 7.

Detroit's last two playoff series, and three of the last four, have gone the full distance. Are they trying to kill us? Strokes run in my family. Fortunately, Tony got his wish and the game resulted in a blow-out...though those 30 minutes were a little too intense.

Dave Tippett said his team got "thumped" and they "had no answer."

Ilya Bryzgalov, who looked like he was unbeatable in Game 6, said, "They were unbelievable. The way the played, no team would have beat them."

Mike Babcock gave credit where credit's deserved, "Our big guys were fantastic today. They really came to play."

Certainly guys like Henrik Zetterberg (3 assists, +3), Pavel Datsyuk (2 goals), and Nicklas Lidstrom (2 goals, 1 assist) warrant their respective accolades, but let us (and Babs) not forget the Brad Stuarts, Darren Helms, Drew Millers, and Patrick Eaveseses.

How great were all of those guys attacking the puck and playing physical against the boards in the 'Yotes' zone? Killing it on the penalty kill? On breakaways stepping out of the penalty box? In a game where key faceoffs were the only blemish on Detroit's game, Justin Abdelkader won seven of his nine puck drops.

Everybody played great last night. They played the way we know they can. They looked like the team that we know they are. Bryzgalov is right, nobody can beat the Wings when they play like that.

And that right there might be why we were so nervous last night. Which Wings team was going to show up? The one that looked old? Or the one that looked experienced?

For the first time in the series, that lovely little intangible that we call experience was the deciding factor in the outcome of the game. Game 7 started out a lot like Game 6--the Wings dominated the puck but could not capitalize and get it past Bryzgalov. Unlike Game 6, Detroit did not let up an ounce, did not give up an inch, and completely overwhelmed the Coyotes.

Jimmy Howard said Phoenix got "lucky" in Game 6. Cocky. I like it. He backed it up in Game 7, and the Coyotes' only bright moment was a lucky one off a faceoff. He did not have to work too hard last night, facing 33 shots to Bryzgalov's 50, but he stopped the ones he needed to. His glove was quick, his positioning square, and his confidence strong.

I spoke with my buddy Brent early this day as I was driving around downtown Grand Rapids. We discussed the game last night and he said I had some pep in my conversation, or something like that. Damn straight I do! The Wings are moving on!

The sun always shines a little brighter on the morn after a Wings win, and today is freaking beautiful! I'm breathing easier, my stomach is settled, and my heart has slowed to its typical pace.

Am I too dramatic? Too emotional? Perhaps, but I'm okay with that. That's why I started writing this blog!

GO WINGS!!!

Peace