Bahh, It's a Stupid Name Anyway - Ducks (...pssshahahaha) 3, Habs 1

While Anaheim and Montreal skated around the pond for a rather dull game last night, I tried to think long and hard about the better ducks out there in this world. Then I concluded by thinking that ducks are kinda like the Indians in Hollywood movies - wanting to be hip and calculated yet inherently socially awkward and clumsy, and cursed by a missed-the-mark virility (that's what the movies want you to think, not me, call off the defamation suits, what the hell sue me I'm a lawyer, I have Indian friends), ....(ok not really friends more like acquaintances).

Think about it. Take a look at these ducks.

Daffy: Terrible lisp. Sounds like Bryan Murray. I don't care how smart you are, you're coming across as a 7-year old with a sugar rush.

Donald: The cooler duck. A wanna-be suave. Kind of like the James Bond of ducks. But he's still a geek and every Disney character would bone him last if stranded on a desert island with other Disney characters and Jurrasic Park dinosaurs (1st movie).

Howard the Duck: Uber nerdy, tried to bang Lea Thompson. The only other character who tried to get into her pants was that creepy dude from Back to the Future. Howard is responsible for one of the most disastrous bits of fiction ever committed to film.

The Aflak Duck: The Keanu Reeves of ducks. Kinda cool at first but you soon come to notice that his thin acting skills fail to veil his dense persona. I'm sure he gets the chicks but they usually go home with that dirty feeling rather than a sense of jubilation. They screen his calls afterwards.

Losers. All of them. Sure some of them may have hatched prematurely. Some of them just had it rough from the beginning. Some learned to waddle late, some refused to eat on their own, insisting their parents continue to vomit the food in their mouths. Some lost everything in the dot com bubble. Some said, "Hey, laser discs! That's a great idea!" I know, it's not right to judge. But look, I'm just calling them how I see them.

Sure, Anaheim can skate rings around most teams in the NHL, but at the end of the day no player who respects himself`can say" I'm real proud to be a Duck" without feeling his testicles vanish. Really. "I'm proud to be a Duck" - checks for testicles - "phew!!!" - another quick glance to make sure.

It's too bad because the Habs could have left the West Coast with the mental reassurance of having beaten at least one of the top teams in the Conference, with a 3-1 record to boot. But the hostile wildlife in California would eventually have its say, and the Sharks and Ducks can now tell themselves they won't have much to fear should the Habs or Sens make their way across America in June. They sure didn't in June of 2007.

These Ducks, formerly of the Mighty lineage, schooled the Canadiens for 3 periods, limiting them to 12 shots after the first 2 of play. An inspired Kovalev, who finally notched his 30th of the season, couldn't find enough fuel to lead the reunited Kovy-Grabs-Tits trio of love. With a Turtleplek nursing a Turtlecold, the team reluctantly fed Grababybovski to the Ducks. It wasn't enough; Turtlepleck was turtlemissed.

So yes, the name is terribly puerile, but the players wearing the jerseys are not the bumbling buffoons of Disney. Pronger, Niedermayer, (bis), Selanne. All carved out of the trunk of Man. Champs. Nothing Carey Price could stop when Anaheim turned the jets on late in the third to break an endless tie. It was just a matter of the fortress being breached and eventually falling to a far stronger opponent. They play the game the way it was to meant to be played. One thing you can say about ducks: they always mean well. These Ducks insist on being taken seriously.