Game Seven
Well, this is it, folks. 82 regular season games, four playoff rounds, and it comes down to one single game. I personally would not want it any other way.
Here’s the thing. I’ve been chirping about wanting a game seven since we made it to the finals. Part of me says its because its good for the sport of hockey, which I am a general fan of. The NHL is my second favorite team behind the Red Wings. This is the best stage we could ask for at this point; a boring NBA finals in a league already saturated with faux-scandal and cheating. Baseball is no different; 95% of baseball athletes are doped up on steroids only horses are supposed to take. It’s a Friday night, its on NBC, no other major sporting events are on to interfere. It is the NHL’s night to shine; Sid v. Hank, Malkin v. Datsyuk, Ozzie v. Fleury.
These are all great reasons, but none are the most important. I wanted a game seven because I am a romantic when it comes to hockey. I love the Red Wings; always have. And ever since we made it into the finals I have been falling asleep with visions of the Wings winning 1-0 in a game seven triple overtime in what will go down as the greatest game in NHL and hockey history, elevating Zetterberg and Datsyuk to super-stardom, and allowing the NHL to become the top major sport in the world. Franzen is given a cereal contract, “Mule-O’s,” Hudler gets his own sitcom, and Helm is immediately inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame. People in turn flock to Detroit for the obligatory Stanley Cup parade, and realize it is not such a bad place after all, settle down, and turn the Motor City into the great metropolis it is destined to be. It is renamed “Detroit Worldville,” becoming the capital of the world. The Worldville Red Wings go on to win more and more championships, and all is good forever.
Maybe that’s why I really wanted a game seven. Go NHL, its your time in the spotlight. But, more importantly, go Detroit Red Wings.
