Cower Before the Big Pavelski

Sharks win Game 1, 4-3, and Mr. Pavelski scores two more goals to continue his assault on Sharks playoff scoring records. The biggest game of your life moves from tonight to Sunday, when Game 2 commences, right after the Giants beat the shit out of whoever they're playing, and the Tuna pukes all over the ghost of Frank Sinatra.

Bring on the Kings

Game 1 is tonight, 6:00.

Fill the Reservoirs- Round 2 Comin' Up

OK, so for those of you kind of playing at home, the Sharks' second round opponent is down to this: whoever wins tomorrow night's Game 7 matchup between Phoenix and Detroit earns a second round Game 1 at the Shark Tank Thursday night. It's no secret that most teal fans want nothing to do with the Red Wings, who have basically owned the Sharks and have clearly been the class of the Western Conference for years. Personally, I was hoping for Nashville, but they gagged to the Hawks, so now I'm thinking, hey, what better way to build confidence for a genuine shot at the Cup than to beat a slightly down Wings team after they've been beat up in a seven-game series? Hell, expectations are for suckers anyway, but if the Sharkies are going down, I'd rather see it happen in Joe Louis Arena than in the fuckin' desert. The stoic in me says what will be will be, though, so time to enjoy the calm domicile before blood shoots from my ears at high speed into the living room walls. I'm off to read poetry by the light of the stereo.

Admission: I did not watch the clinching Game 6 victory, for I was taking my wife out to a swanky SF birthday dinner followed by a highly enjoyable trip to Cobbs Comedy Club followed by a trip to the cavernous basement opium den called La Trappe at Mason and Columbus, a tipping spot to search out. I call this emotional growth and I think you should duly note it.

Who's bringing the blood sausages over for Thursday?

Nice game, Rooks

We took it back to the mainline tonight by making our way to George and Walt's for Game 5 and boy did those red vinyl chairs deliver. No tattooed boys screaming for blood but enough high energy to make this DOMINANT VICTORY a genuine pleasure. Mr. Pierre B. was slapping fives with the people, and Shark rookies were scoring like it wasn't no thing. Patty Marleau got a slam dunk goal that I could have put in so that does not relieve him of his ghost status, but how can you say anything bad about a Game 5 domination? It's back to Denver for Game 6, that time in a series when the Sharks lose nearly every game, if history is any guide, so keep that boot on their neck, boys, and let's end this thing.

Sharks 5 Avs 0

Sharks 2 Avs 2

It's a day for the Poles after so much tragedy. Pavelski is the new pope, and maybe the resurrection and the life. He who believes in him will live an even more intensely tortured life.

Game 5 is Thursday, 7:30 at the Tank.

Sisyphus Has a Meth Problem

Sharks -1, Avs 0= Avs lead series, 2-1.

Sharks are inventing new ways to get medieval on their own fans. Thanks, boys, for stretching the limits of my imagination in the suffering department. Like the methhead, I know there is no bottom. My brain is fighting my conditioning. Reaching back in the reservoir of horrifying defeats, I struggle to place this one in the pantheon. I am Sisyphus, fully conscious, approaching the crest, knowing the futility, promising myself I won't go down that mountain again, fully cognizant of the conditioned fact that I will. All the reason in the world calmly whispers, "Walk away," and then they pass the pipe and I'm filling my lungs until they explode. And so it goes.

It's 1-1, Bitch

I went to a birthday party for someone I hardly know at a swanky joint to assuage my wife and to avoid tonight's Sharks game. Game 1 was such a pathetic limp dick that I wanted no part of anything connected to the team. I have put in my fifteen years. I'm done. Let's go to the fucking party where I know no one. Somehow, we escape relatively early to a bar that's showing the game in big HD. It's 1-1. In the second period, the Avs go up 2-1, 3-2, 4-3, and each time the Sharks come back. The third period is a bit tighter, but the Avs score and make it 5-4, just about the time I'm paying the babysitter per hour more than a French civil servant. With a minute left, they pull Nabokov and the fuckers are struggling to even get the puck into the offensive zone. Finally, a lucky bounce puts it on the board where Joe Thornton finds a wide open Dani Heatley who fucks up the shot so badly it flicks over to Joe Pavelski who knocks it home with 25 seconds to play. In the overtime, the Sharks dominate after Nabby, who had been absolutely wretched in regulation, makes two key stops. The puck cycles down for Clowe, who flings it to the center where Setoguchi tip drills it into net. Sharks win. I was pumping my fists and screaming so loud I even managed to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and could only think psychokillin' wino. For all the shit this team puts you through, they occasionally give you this, and this is something regular life don't offer. You can be jaded and cynical and tired, but you cannot deny the power of what happened in this game. Crazy drama. I am not healthy.

Game 3 Sunday.

Get It On 2010

So the Sharks have won the Western Conference again, and this time fans have few expectations as they enter the playoffs against the fading Colorado Avalanche. Last year, the entire marketing campaign was about winning the Stanley Cup, but now humility has tempered the pre-game scoreboard. You'll hear no more cries of Cup or bust, and every Sharks fan I know is sitting back like a man from Missouri thinking Show Me. Look, we were very close to drawing the red hot Red Wings, so getting the top seed and the Avalanche in the first round is as good a draw as it gets. If they can't get past these guys, we all ought to start paying attention to our children. But, given how time soothes, hope sneaks its insidious head inside the scarred psyche. What else can you do but plant yourself in front of the TV and torture yourself for nights on end? This is the best and worst time of the year, and while I know the punk rock nation generally does not give a damn about such things, my advice is to give me plenty of space in the weeks to come.

GO SHARKS!

Eat It Raw

3-0, can you dig it? I don't care how bad Houston is. 3-0. Say it with me. Let hope burn a lazer through that wizened skin and zap a crater in those cynical jowls. Why not this year? Why not? Aaron Rowand will only swing at that third strike in the dirt every fourth at-bat. Edgar Renteria looks like an Atlanta Brave. The Panda looked like he sucked until I saw he was hitting .308. Audrey Huff has strong facial hair. Mark DeRosa's face is a big hit with my wife and he even hit an opposite field homer. John Bowker is also very handsome and he jacked a two-run shot. Bengie Molina is extremely fat but smashed several RBIs in game one. Juan Uribe is a freak of nature who owns the left-center field wall and the lovelies above. Eli Whiteside finally took Anderson Cooper's advice and cut the premature gray hair short. Freak, Zito and Cain dealed. Bullpen covered all bets. Bochy's head looks smaller. Jon Miller's lost weight. Krukow looks off death's door. Travis Ishikawa is not in the lineup and when he appeared in a meaningless game (the only kind in which he belongs) he hit a one-handed homer. Read that sentence again and tell me this isn't the year. OK, Brian Sabean just bought a duplex in the Marina and is expecting twins in the fall.

It's time. Eat your jaded naysaying raw.