St. Patrick now clear to coach Nos Habitants

The face of our next coach

Lap dance to fezworth for pointing us to the fact that Patrick Roy has refused Colorado's coaching offer which he said a couple of days ago they never actually made. He says he wants to spend more time with his family and continue to coach the QMJHL Ramparts and enter the WBC as a middleweight under the name "Paddy the Kid."

Of course, we all know he's holding out for the big prize - telling the Habs to fuck off.

Quiet Discomfort

It’s unfortunate. It’s unfortunate because after Saturday night’s game and everything it was supposed to mean to the organization, the evening fell flat.

Unfortunate because with the promise of the interesting undertones drawn by the blanket thrown over Milan Lucic by Habs enforcer Georges Laraque, that fell flat too.

A game, played on the heels of an emotional ceremony, with the guest of honor being the only player most of today’s young Canadiens could actually call their own hero, a game with a legendary number reaching the highest of heights, also fell flat.

An eagerly awaited ceremony and the much anticipated “I’m so sorry for leaving too soon”, with the most awkward family gathering you’ve ever seen at centre ice, it too fell flat.

Patrick Roy came home on Saturday night. Je rentre chez nous. His speech hit the right notes, with the speaker unafraid to broach, albeit rapidly, the very delicate topic of his turbulent departure. If the fans made it clear they would take all the time required to let The Reason two more banners were raised to the rafters his number would join know that all was forgiven, the participants in the Roy camp were just as loud in their quiet discomfort. Instead of a celebratory disposition one may expect for a moment of this magnitude, both it and Roy actually felt lonely. He seemed distant, removed. No tears, no visible emotion, which of course is not to say he didn’t feel everything inside, but it was not in rhythm.

The puck was dropped and the nostalgia washed away, swept by the very immediate concerns trailing these Montreal Canadiens. Claude Julien learned a lesson and would let his respect for tradition and history take a back seat to his duties as coach. When he insisted on having his players sit through the entire ceremony for the Canadiens’ centennial home opener, an awestruck Bruins allowed the Habs to pummel them in the first period, with Montreal jumping to a quick 3-0 lead. Not this time. While Roy was being honored in this all-important ceremony, in a career on which Boston left an indelible mark, the Bruins were nowhere to be found. They could have been at the hotel for all we know.

It was a good move. The Bruins started the game fresh. No complexes, no intimidation. On equal footing. This time it was the Habs who couldn’t shake-off the hour-long wait. This is obviously a vastly improved Bruins squad. These are the Bruins who had the Habs figured out by game 2 of the first round of last year’s playoff series. This is a team that has plugged the many offensive holes that made them welcome mats for too long. And Tim Thomas looks like a real goalie, awkward, yes, but real.

The Lucic-Laraque billing left fans wondering what the point was. Lots of talk, during play, on faceoffs, from the bench. Yap, yap, yap. Whatever. Lucic finished the game with a goal. Laraque finished the game in irrelevance. It’s time Georgie Porgie, cashmere! stops waiting around for players to invite him to dance and make the suggestion himself, if that’s what he intends on doing. As Lucic quickly learned, the Laraque shadow is an easy one to slip by, because it’s as slow as the guy who’s casting it.

Carey was great. A fitting tribute to the money goalie Patrick was and that fans still miss. Greek Lightning was inspiring. But, by and large, the Canadiens failed to respond to the challenge on Saturday; they didn't live up to the billing and showed that their unwillingness to work will, more often than not, leave them on the short end of the draw. If Patrick Roy did in fact come home last night, the game, as a whole, although interesting at the end, could have and should have given us far more to write home about.

It's St. Patrick's Day on FHF

Well this is it. #33 goes to the rafters tonight. Whatever controversy about whether or not the Habs should retire Patrick Roy's number, or whether they should be doing it now, is behind us. Well, probably not, because I am sure that will be the main topic of conversation in the comments today and in the thread tonight. Ah well. ANYWAY, I'm not here for that. I'm just here to start the day off with my own memories of St. Patrick. You know, from on the ice. FHF resident goalie Panger will be bringing you the main feature this afternoon, that will be your preview and open thread for the big bad (yet now Easter Conference-leading) Bruins tonight.

For now, let's take a trip down memory to that beautiful time of 1993. David Koresh went postal on the ATF. Pearl Jam was slowly taking the grunge mantle from Nirvana. The breakup of Czechoslovakia ensured that Jagr and Hossa would never play together. And the Montreal Canadiens went on the greatest playoff run I've ever seen, led by #33.

It started like crap. I remember watching the first two games against the Nordiques at the old Lincoln Pub with some friends from school. One of them was a HUGE Habs fan, and was very upset that he would only see the first two games, because he was off to France for the summer. After we lost those first two (leading to the fans and media calling for Red Light Racicot!), he was happy as he left us and went home to pack. "Now I won't miss anything - Habs will be out in four straight."

You all know what happened next - Habs reel off 11 straight wins and 10 straight overtime wins on their way to the Stanley Cup over the Kings thanks to a bad-ass curved stick. It was magical. But what I really remember was Patrick. I have never seen a goalie like that either before or since, and I've seen alot. You talk about sports stars being in a zone, but this was beyond the zone. After a few games you just knew, if the Habs got to OT, Patrick wasn't letting in a goal. I'm really not sure what you could compare it to. Maybe Mariano Rivera for the Yankees in 1999, or Michael Jordan for the Bulls in several of those championship years. You just knew if the team kept it close, those guys would close the deal. Patrick was like that in 1993.

His GAA from those playoffs was merely very very good, at 2.13. But the numbers don't tell the story. It was the feeling, that with Patrick on our side, destiny would be fulfilled. I barely remember the rest of that team (Brian Bellows? Gilbert Dionne?) because that team was Patrick. Patrick carried a mediocre team on his back, something he did time and time again. That's what I'll remember, and even smile at, when that 33 banner goes up.

Sports Illustrated recap of the 1993 Stanley Cup Playoffs

1993 Road to the Cup on YouTube

Gotta Make'Em Go to Rehab but Habs Say No, No, No - Sens Gazillions, Habs 1

From Parliament Hill in the nation's capital, The Habs commemorated the 20th anniversary of the Supreme Court's decision to strike down Canada's Abortion Law by aborting their own game against the Sens after the first four minutes of play.

Nice.

So since I much prefer to discuss the 5oth anniversary of the Grammys rather than abortion or hockey related matters, allow me to fuse last night's celebration of music with Saturday night's ode to terrible hockey. The Hockey Grammys are upon us.

Record Of The Year

Irreplaceable: Daniel Alfredsson, producers: Daniel Heatley, Jason Spezza and Mr. Alfredsson impregnating a Mrs. Alfredsson with some special hockey semen.

The Pretender: Christopher Higgins producer; Christopher Higgins circa 2006-2007, Saku Koivu, Michael Ryder. Higgy - Good name for a rapper. Try that rather than hitting more posts than..um....a guy who hits a lot of posts. BOOYA!

Umbrella: Senators First Line, for peeing all over the Habs' parade. They are the best in the league. No offence to the big Tampa Line and coach Tortorella, ella, ella....

What Goes Around…Comes Around: The Ottawa Senators, thanks for beating us by a pussy goal on Tuesday, Montreal, now we're going to defecate in you ears. Mike Komisarek for making sweet sweet love to Elisha Cuthbert. Sean Avery for ditching Elisha faster than the writers on 24.

Rehab: Michael Ryder, producer; Midget AAA coach, Bantam coach, First grade teacher, a good priest, a rabbi who will work with a priest, an imam who does not fear assasination, a midget who's good with miracles.

Album Of The Year

Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace: A day in the life of Andrei Markov. Make that a noisy day.

These Days: Alexei Kovalev - For doing it all by himself of late. Kovalev is hockey's tribute to masturbation.

River: Cry me one, Patrice, because even if you played 10 minutes against the Sens, those are 10 minutes of my life I'll never get back.

Graduation: Ray Emery, grow up you infant. It's time. You watch your team in a full line up trounce a pretty good Canadiens squad, you need to wake up, smell the Hummer fumes and realize that you have a shot a history here. The NHL doesn't need a Mike Tyson. Neither did boxing.

Back To Black: John Paddock, after much juggling, for finally realizing what goaltender would give him the best shot at going all the way.

Song Of The Year

Before He Cheats: Cristobal Huet, How much more to the right did you intend on leaning, on the Senators second goal. I could hear Carbonneau from the bench watching in dismay and thinking, "to the left, to the left"...

Hey There Delilah: Wade Redden, What's it like in New York City? I won't go to San Jose, but maybe I'll accept a trade to the Big Apple.

Like A Star: Jason Spezza, 6 points. Making Montreal his love slave. I think all the Zs in his name may have put the Habs to sleep.

Best New Artist

Little Tits: For connecting with his big bro on Montreal's only tally of the game. But we all saw you sipping on some turtle soup taking a few puches to the face, Sergito. No good. Don Cherry was watching.

Big Tits: For combining with his little brother for the only Ray of Light on Saturday.