Seven…: Oilers @ Ducks

It’s here.

Do or die. This is legitimately it. Needless to say we’d like to forget the last time the Oilers played a game 7. But reality is, the night of June 19, 2006 is all too engraved in our heads. We can all tell you exactly where we were that day. I could tell you exactly what I was wearing: Chris Pronger jersey, blue jeans, lucky sweat pants underneath. Obviously the magnitude of this game is far less than what it was on that difficult night 11 years ago, but it doesn’t feel that way. Not right now, at least. The Oilers franchise has only played in a seventh game three times in the last 26 years (!!!!), so this is brand new for us. Anaheim, meanwhile, has played a seventh game in four straight years, and they’ve lost every damn one of them. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not ready for this ride to be over. It’s been a dream year for the boys and I’ve been lovin’ every minute of it. So let’s get up. Let’s wear the exact same shit we wore on Sunday. Let’s buckle these beards up for more weeks of hell. And let’s go finish the fucking Ducks.


Friggin’ Todd said Rej is done for the series, and judging by yesterday’s skate, it looks like Eric Gryba stays in. And I’m more than alright with that, because the dude had duck for dinner on Monday:

Holy shit. That’s a guy who’s serious about winning! Andrew Cogliano is now one of two Ducks murdered by Eric Gryba this week.

Tonight’s Opponent


How is that even possible to say with a straight face? I mean… this is just sad. Could it be that Kesler deliberately went out of his way to lay the body about four times in 20 seconds on that particular shift? Jesus Christ. Seems sufficient to me. The answer could be, “Because he’s Ryan fucking Kesler” and 29 of the 30 teams would nod in unison. Anyways:

Why I’m Sick of Their Shit


This fucking guy, the other Iceman. We’re not begging for penalties in a 7-1 massacre, we’re demonstrating passion about the game being played. We’d also appreciate the officials to call a game exactly the way it’s meant to be called, regardless of the score. That’s called caring, Anaheim. Look it up. Try selling out more than your home opener next year, then come talk to me. And give me my name back.

Then there’s this regurgitated buffet food of rhetoric being spewed across our Twitter feeds:

Ah, the old “paid the refs” shtick. It stinks. I can’t stand when people say that. Obviously Anaheim isn’t paying the damn refs. They couldn’t afford it — that money’s being used to pay the Big Rig’s salary.

The Roundup

Somewhere, Mess sheds a tear:

Whoops. Hate it when you try to take a cute picture and you come out looking like a Third Eye Blind song. Those are some savage grips. Refs missed the call.

Oh and we casually sold out another road game in a record-shattering two minutes:

That’s our fifth road sellout of the playoffs. Anaheim sold out 11 home games all year.

Then there’s this vomit:

Running up the score? I says pardon?! A) who cares, and B) we scored one goal in the last 39 minutes. What were we supposed to do, Don? Sit on a three goal lead? If anything we proved literally 48 hours before game six that no lead is safe, no matter how much time is left. What’re the odds Grapes has watched 30 seconds of this series? His bedtime is 8:30 ET. And what exactly are we going to regret? In five of the six games we’ve trailed for a total of 00:32:38. Pipe down, you senile mouth breather.

But as much as I’d love to annihilate these clowns one more time, chances are that isn’t going to happen tonight. Plenty of shit went down on Sunday that likely won’t happen again tonight, like the Oil getting seven power plays, or John Gibson playing like Greg Goldberg. No. I fully expect this to be a tight game. This is game 7, folks. Both teams will show up. We’re still going to win, I can feel it in all my parts, but my gut tells me it’s going to be tighter than the Pint’s bathrooms on a Friday. I’m simultaneously wired and horrified. Odds are my body won’t be able to handle a one goal game, so if you don’t hear from me tomorrow, just assume I’m gone.


Let’s dance, Western Conference Finals. 4-2 Oil with an empty net goal that sends the city and the thousands of Oilers fans in Anaheim right over the moon. Big game for the big cheese as Connor steps to the plate with three. Leon Draisaitl, PhD in killing Ducks, comes in just two behind Evgeni Malkin for first in playoff scoring, so he also gets three. Chris Scheetz, I’m expecting big things outta you down there. Get the fans going and keep them engaged until that final horn sounds and we’ve cemented our crown as PAC champions. We want Nashville. Let’s go.

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