Montreal Canadiens vs. Phoenix Coyotes
November 11, 2011, by Homme de Sept-Îles
Musings and In-Game Scribbles
My English is as good as yours, I just write these in a stream-of-consciousness mode that I insist excuses me from small things like rules of grammar or general etiquette. Let’s call it conversational English, hopped up on beans. You know what kind of beans (no, Carl Mellesmoen, not the magic ones).
Montreal Canadiens (5-7-2) visit Phoenix Coyotes (7-4-2)
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Game Fifteen (score posted following scribbles)
Missed it? Musings capture the game in writing. A written transcript typed during the game, posted and edited about thirty minutes afterward. Based on the RDS French telecast of the Montreal Canadiens game, Musings take about 20 minutes to read. More detailed than an article, fresher than a looping highlight and good with morning coffee. Or late-night chocolate. A unique way to re-experience the game.
click here to expand post (it looks prettier)
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What the fuck is McCain doing on the ice surface. And punching fists with each Coyote player afterward? Get the fuck off the ice. You don’t belong. The military doesn’t belong. We all hate you. And your quisling party.
Carey Price is in net.
Shane Doan’s insipid maple smile will haunt us all tonight. The Coyotes captain never fails to turn my stomach.
First Period
How many Canadians live in Phoenix, anyway?
Coyotes have the first lengthy incursion.
Eller, Palushaj and Moen. Eller handles it and then loses it. Palushaj follows up but the puck can’t be had.
Taylor Pyatt on the other end. Fires on Price. No. With a name like Taylor Pyatt I can only dread the worst.
Patterns and enemies.
Cole. Early. Puck follows on the three man entry. Not the first time for Cole.
He has a lot of bad habits.
Or maybe I’m just dehydrated.
Chipchura is on the ice for Coyotes. The former Hamilton Bulldog, ergo a Montreal Canadiens recruit, was serviceable if slow. In the old days, that often meant an invitation to Phoenix and the Old Boy Coyotes. Today, it’s an anomaly to see him here. Gretzky is long gone and his fondness for old, slow guys he could drink and gamble with sank the team in the standings.
Drink? Well, maybe. Gamble? Just ask Rick.
What’s wrong with drinking. What’s wrong with gambling. If you don’t have a problem with it, then you won’t have a problem with the truth. Now will you.
Sixteen.
Four men flow over the blue. And they’re out. Habs must retrieve.
Coyotes get fast. Faster. Cyclones on the board. And a pass. Whackstick. Price extends the right pad late. One-timer fed from under the Montreal end line.
Another deficit. Another losing streak.
And, yes, Red, where are the scorers?
Cammalleri talks a good game. Always has and always will. He should be a politician. Instead he has a guaranteed spot on TSN when he’s done. Count on it.
Fucking late games.
It’s late. Kids won’t be reading this.
I can swear.
What?
Who reads history anyway.
Taylor Pyatt. It all comes back to me. Like a palsied, yellow-eyed uncle tottering down from the attic. His brother Tom. Used to play for the Canadiens.
How many ordinary seasons must we endure. When is Bob coming back? And there are no magicians on the team anymore.
This is a team of chasers, of defensive system men.
And, as I type that, I see the one guy. PK Subban. Churning, shoulders shrugging and bursting with effort, he carries the puck with the aplomb and electricity of the great athlete. And then I remember that this team has one of the best goaltending athletes in the game, as well.
And if, (big beautiful if) Andrei Markov returns, they have their best player; a creator, a marvel in all facets and now, an older salt. Andrei Markov.
They have a captain’s ropes and gnarl in non-captain Hal Gil. They have a captain’s rigid savvy and Mediterranean grit in their actual captain Brian Gionta.
And more besides.
Eleven. (Oh captains, my captain)
And still chasing.
Price. Around his net. Small pass to Desharnais in the Montreal slot, big gaping basement door of blue. No Coyotes sniffing.
The solution book on the Habs this season? These guys ain’t willing to work. Out-work em and you’ve got a win. That’s what I’d tell the kids.
Just outwork em son.
Sons.
Eller with a long shot. Mike Smith looking like Mike Liut (circa 1981) turns it away. Pad and stick move in unison. Rather gallant.
Nine.
Coyotes into Montreal ice. Three past the hash. Interference. Gionta. Pacioretty beaks like one of the more obscure lower-budget Muppets. Mouth open and a sneer of doubt as he asks the official. Or maybe tells the official. Gionta is incredulous.
Waiting for the replay, we are. I can talk like a muppet when need I. Green one. Dagoba system.
Gionta is still in disagreement. Seems legit but the puck wasn’t shown. I was going on body language and where I thought the puck might be. Brief replay.
Gorges reminds me of Cat Stevens tonight. And Ted Nugent. Hangdog lip, sweaty too-low mustache.
Cleared. The puck. Not the mustache (moustache).
Gorges and Plekanec. Gill. Moen. Our best on the kill. This is the unit that solved Penguins in 09-10; that halcyon round that saw the defending Cup champions ousted by your reds, whites and blues.
And by Jaroslav Halak.
Alak.
Should I admit that I sighed?
Habs keep the Coyotes out.
Nokelainen is up top with Eller. Spacek and Gorges low. Spacek. Old, desperate, scrabbling but savvy. Eller is very young. He’s the guy we got for Halak. And another obscure muppet. Not Pacioretty.
Plekanec is down as the penalty ends.
He’s on the deep boards. Wincing. Turning, and down on the ice.
Collision in the boards.
Ridden into the boards by Ekman. No remorse. Plekanec is still down. Houde guesses a leg.
The game has my attention now. Plekanec goes from back to stomach. He is one of the Canadiens three most important players. Price, Plekanec and you can choose the third. So important that his exploits are rarely noticed. So common is his excellent play.
He’s on his hands and knees now. Looking down the ice to the other end, not really seeing it. Wincing. His goatee forgotten. Other things remembered. His health. Maybe his wife’s name. Other times. Other pain. Or maybe nothing but the lancing bright white lights.
It’s not a game for olding men like me (isn’t old also a verb? Isn’t it?).
Plekanec was supported by Travis Moen and PK Subban as the three made their way to the trainer’s room.
Can’t tell from the expression how bad it might be. He’s never had a serious injury.
Six.
Price stops a long, slow one. Waits. Contemplates. Skates shush towards him, the burgundy of a Coyote. He snookers the puck right. And the Habs are gone again. Despite Price’s cavalier net work.
Eller and Boyd Gordon in the faceoff circle. Price eventually low-steers a puck to the right. And then another tennis swing to clear the puck left.
For all of Phoenix’ hard work, impressive as it was, they’ve let Montreal back into this game. And they didn’t get the scoring chances they needed to put it away when they had the chance.
The Plekanec injury has affected them all. Nobody can take his work for granted anymore. Markov is long forgotten but the loss of a key player can make a team. Yeah, just make it. Forge it.
Coyotes penalty.
Nice timing.
Cole scores. You could feel it. But the third whack was what it took and that was after the whistle.
Cole is a tough man to move from the crease. And he likes it there. That’s why he’s worth having, Homme.
I have to address the doubters.
Mike Smith takes a sure goal away.
This is how a power-play should look.
Spacek just golfs it. Weber doesn’t bother to be cute. Backhands the bouncing result and Cole chucks a blade at the thing. And it stays out. And feel a brief green jolt of resentment. Mike Smith is not that good. And there is no need for him to be that good tonight. Against this team. At this time.
I must have said whatever about nine times. As if, seven. Mike Smith.
Yeah. Sure.
Eller has three shots tonight. I see.
Weber with another shot. Was Weber on for the whole thing?
Pacioretty wrists the Weber rebound from the circle dot.
And Mike Smith is looking good for his Toronto buddies tonight, isn’t he?
Under two. Penalty lapses.
I wish I could skate for this team.
This is unacceptable. Eighteen seasons without a Cup. I mean, really. Come on.
Get fired up. Get INTO it. Give a HOOT.
Eller wins the draw. Loses it to Gordon, sure, but Moen turns it into a possession.
Three on three, suddenly. And offside.
Errors of aggression, of wanting it, can be worked with.
Wanting it.
Want it.
Want.
And take.
Fifty.
Nokelainen. Carries it in. To the right point.
Kept in. Bounced out.
Can’t we jut have a team of workers? A whole bunch of fourth liners.
Eighteen linebackers.
Houde remarks on Montreal’s high shot total for the period.
Mike Smith. What. Did he grow up hating the Canadiens?
Montreal led on shots 16-7.
It must be so nice to be affiliated with a team that isn’t hated so widely. Imagine being a Detroit fan. Who gets angry at Detroit fans? Who?
I ponder lost boxers and Detroit for a moment.
Death. Fuck you, death.
First Intermission
Phoenix 1, Montreal 0
Chronique A La Une features Denis and Benoit. Hosted by distinguished Alain Crete.
Bring back Francois.
Get rid of Brunet. I don’t care who he married, who his dad is, whether he was on a Cup winner or not.
Some weirdness shown. Flyers. Holding the puck. Not passing. Against Tampa. What is going on heah?
It happened last night. Tampa Bay doesn’t send a man into the opposition zone to forecheck. They hang back and wait. That’s their prerogative. Flyers refused to move the puck out of their zone. Lightning stood outside the zone, watching. No movement. Time ticking down. Remember when there was no NBA shot clock?
“The two teams brought the game to a standstill, with the Lightning setting up a 1-3-1 formation and refusing to move past the Flyers blue line, while waiting for the Flyers to take the puck up ice.
The Flyers refused to move the puck from behind their own net, and the whole episode turned into a game of chess, or chicken.”
Guy Boucher, Tampa Bay’s head coach is an innovator and a winner. He will have his name inscribed on the Stanley Cup one day. In the meantime, teams that don’t like having to solve problems are going to kick up a fuss. Solve the problem.
Boucher’s unwillingness to send in a forechecker puts the NHL in a rare position; they need to come up with a rule to counter this. But first they have to decide who is in the right. Flyers? Or Lightning? More to the point, can a team refuse to send a man in? Does that hurt the game?
Ron Wilson, Leaf head coach, called it food for thought. I’ll ponder it myself.
First thoughts are the Flyers are in the wrong. If a team wants to sit back in that 1-3-1, it’s up to another team to punish them for it. If you’re going to sit back like that and give my passer time, we’ll just run guys on and off the ice til someone gets open for a long pass. And with nobody rushing my passer (under the blue line), I’ll be able to make the most accurate pass possible.
Go ahead. Run the flippin’ 1-3-1. But until it’s solved, a salute to Guy Boucher.
But the refs shouldn’t have penalized Philly. They should have just blown the whistle for a faceoff. Each time. Again, not a lot of thought on that. But more to come, I’m sure.
Second Period
Old Winnipeg 1, Montreal 0
Nokelainen and Weber chat on the bench. And the puck is dropped. Nokelainen’s handlebar moustache reminds me of some of the kinder men I’ve known. I shrug. Just something I’ve noticed. In my life, my personal experience, that’s what I’ve noted.
Darche jamming.
Another Hab waiting at the side. Cole. No. Yandle stands tall. And now he has the puck.
Plekanec is back on the b3nch. What a brief relief. Now we can all go back to taking my favourite Hab for granted.
Ninety seconds gone.
Eller is irritated tonight. More than usual.
He’s at centre but when Gomez returns, Eller will have to go to wingman again. He’s good at it and he says he doesn’t mind but any good player would want to play their natural position. Is Eller’s natural position centre? I don’t know. Pat Hickey (or was it Mike Boone?) said today that Gomez’ size is better for defensive duties and that he’s better on faceoffs. But a young player like Eller is going to improve rapidly. And faceoffs is one of those voluble areas. Gomez, a ten-year plus veteran is not going to have any drastic changes in performance. He’s a known quantity.
And he’s been a disappointment to boot.
Goal.
I should ramble more.
Gionta grabbed one from behind the end line, wrapped and ended Smith’s Hall of Fame bid.
God.
Montreal 1, Phoenix 1
Cole, one-arms and struggle-bullies to the net. Can’t get it to his forehand quickly enough. Puck floats. Desharnais sweeps it towards him. Around the net. Hassled. I watch his arms. He’s short but he’s strong. And he keeps his man off the puck. Around. Up to the hash. And then cycled back.
Stoppage.
Nokelainen. Wins it easily. Shot in. Weber on the right wing gets a blade on it, wicking. And over it.
Coyote zone. And then Habs. Gill and Gorges low. Gill has been stretching and skating more than usual.
He’s become part of the fabric of this team. And he gets the job done.
I’ve learned a good lesson about defencemen through watching him. It doesn’t matter how it gets done. There’s a textbook. And then there’s shutdowns, shots on goal and possessions ended. Gill gets it done despite a lack of speed or particularly hot stick skills. He knows a lot of little tricks and defencemen do well to watch and learn from #75.
Thirteen.
Long shot. Traffic. Price dives. On his back. Mummified. Aggression after the whistle. Houde seems unconcerned. I follow suit.
Puck hit the post on the pingback, Price saw it, dove despite a foreign leg. And found it.
And now a near goal.
And a shoe flying in the foreground.
Glendale. Poor, maligned, misunderstood Glendale. And though I’ve defended them for so long, I can only feel derision for this burg tonight.
Montreal penalty.
Plekanec, Gill, Gorges and Moen. Moen and Plekanec up top.
He’s moving normally.
Ninety seconds. A clear.
Gorges and Handzal zoop to the back. And Handzal is hooked by netting and falls too quickly. He’s up, though.
Cleared.
Yandle, skates outside the zone, stick and puck inside. Smooth.
Penalty ends.
Eller is free. Plekanec with a desperate shovel. But it’s off a man. Houde notes it all.
And now a Coyote two on half a man. We’re so doomed all night long but Price gets across. How did two whole men sneak by. How.
Ten and fifteen.
Wheah? Wheah did you get the balls? That keeps running through my mind this week. Watched some old Peters stuff online. Brilliant.
Subban. Seven feet over the blue. Knuckler. Smith has trouble with it, so says Houde.
Nine minutes in the second.
Habs fall into five finger. . And Price across like a superstah.
We need a chant. Wheah. Wheah ah all the Hab fans in this building.
Coyotes are losing their integrity and the Canadiens are at the five points. Price grabs one and the Coyotes seem almost exhausted.
The shifts grow ragged.
What. Judas Priest is going on a farewell tour?
Reseau finds the fans in the crowd. Region de Sherbrooke, some older gent with a forty-eight jersey and an A. Quoi? Qui?
Data must be sorted in ascending order before it can be of use. I usually sort the opposition team by jersey number along with the regular alphabetic document. I hadn’t sorted the Coyotes by number and every time I looked at the number column, I had to sift. And I didn’t notice I was doing it and that the document lacked.
My brain is a jumbalo fugue right now. Mostly fed but awfully fleep. And beeple.
Five and a half.
Long Phoenix puck. Price plays it. Called.
Where is zippin’ Markov, man? When? When? When did you get the …. ah. You know.
But Markov has missed most of the past two seasons and with him, everything changes. It’s almost as if he’s coming out of retirement after three seasons. Is what it feels like.
Two long shots. Both are works of art from Price. One isn’t seen til the last second and his reflexes allow him to kick it out even as he looked down. The second was an electric cord dot bounce. One way and then sudden another. And he got it. Split body jigsaw save.
Four minutes.
Four Coyotes. They enter mostly down the middle and create a crowd of Canadiens each trying to pick out a man. And as the four spread, the visitors find the ones they need.
Do you miss Marc-Andre Bergeron?
Pas moi.
I thought I saw the number 47 for a moment.
Pacioretty follows on several seconds of Montreal mayhem and his shot gives Smith trouble.
On the other end, Price bends low like a Saskatchewan skip and gloves the puck, glove up. It feels like a matter of time before Coyotes fur gets too short for preening. Tufts of burnt body-fox cotton.
Acme won’t save ya.
Beep beep.
Moen scores.
I love feeling these things.
Montreal 2, Phoenix 1
Moen with a high wrister from the slot. Not the guy you expect. The guy that beat ya. His fifth of the season. Vow.
You know. Wow.
Under two.
Legs and Eller. Darche bump ended.
Around the boards. Nokelainen. Tries his luck. They all will now.
But the puck slows and the river gets low. Coyotes are making bubbles.
Doan. Right side. Trundling. Pushing. Sending a message. He’s old, he’s slow but he’s the captain. And he knows when to go and when to get.
But he loses the puck behind the net and a stoppage sees him leave the ice.
Faceoff to Smith’s left.
They finally get it right and with twenty seconds left, the Coyotes are facing Gionta on the forecheck (Wilson says having no forecheck is “boring”) and Moen is just above. Coyotes can’t tic nor tac and the puck is sent back down.
Coyotes led on shots 17-12.
Montreal leads 26-24, overall.
Second Intermission
Montreal 2, Phoenix 1
Nothing worthy.
Third Period
Montreal 2, Phoenix 1
Doan and Moen are shoulder to shoulder on the wing as the puck is dropped.
Rounds the boards on the Coyote side. Flung along and Gill sees it on cleaned ice in Montreal territory. It slows and the Coyotes make the best of it. But the Canadiens are quick to the disc and Gill close the sequence with a push to the opposing blue and shoves it down.
Cole. Another move. He looks slow but he can move. When he wants to. He doesn’t stride much to get his speed. Goes to the net. Like an angled blade he twists to the net and is pushed off tack.
No call. And no puck.
Who is Mikkel Boedker. Denmark. Twenty-one. Phoenix forward.
The flow is east to west, as Montreal controls the puck and the slant. PK Subban rounds and retreats and then wings a smart long pass onto a stick blade three lines away. A teammate, yes.
The swirl favours the Canadiens and then a stat is flashed. Montreal has not lost with a lead heading into the third this season. They’re four and oh. And oh. That lovely OTL (overtime loss). I nod to myself and my three invisible buddies. They nod back. Yes, we all know that a veteran team (mixed with a few primers and several younglings) will know how to close out. And I add to myself (and my three buddies) that the first goal has also often been Montreal’s in 11-12 and that this, too, reflects a quality that is sought in the playoffs.
Resolute. Grim. Destined.
Yes. It’s just a matter of time. If I had a tie, I’d straighten it. If I had a suit, I’d brush it. If I had teeth …
And then Phoenix scores.
Yandle.
Doesn’t sound like a candle anymore.
Montreal 2, Phoenix 2
[Expletive deleted]
Hey, some younglings may be getting up in Australia. Or Yemen.
What.
Cole. Left side. Giveaway. But somehow it’s back on Montreal sticks.
Desharnais is on the ice. Baboomph and a potato sack butt in the air. Yandle takes the time to press that sack into shape. Again. And again. And again.
Houde chuckles. It’s legal. One of those old gestures left over from the sail-away breakaway expansion league seventies.
Just under ten.
Coyotes’ Korpikoski is tripped and falls offside. He’s annoyed. No call. Just a whistle. And an official (there are four, two refs and two linesmen … used to be one ref and two linesmen; only refs can call penalties, linesmen call infractions like offside or bloated ego).
Subban. Chewing his mouthguard. It’s back in. He nods to a teammate. Finishing up a hockey caveat.
Coyotes win it. It’s on Subban’s stick. And cleared out again.
From the bubbles a three on two. But there are no openings and Plekanec can’t make anything happen.
Kovalev could have.
A genius with the puck. And the speed and stick-handling to use it. Or was it the other way around.
Eight and fifteen.
Tie game.
Too many moments and only one goal. Or maybe two.
Maybe shots on goal should count for points. One each. And goals could be worth fifteen. Just saying.
Shooooooooot. Shooooooooot. Ok. Goals would be worth thirty.
Fifty?
Ok, bad idea.
Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Seven-thirty PM. No deviation. Can it be done?
Desharnais leaves ice chips behind and has Cole across and third trailing. Desharnais in full flight. Waits. Gets the space. Sends it across. No. It’ back to him. And from this angle, it’s an empty net to shoot at.
It probably isn’t but the chance is gone and the puck is behind the Phoenix goal, Desharnais chasing.
All from a turnover.
Defence. Coaches love defence. If they can control, win the turnover game … the big if. And there’s so little they can control in hockey. So. Defence. Turnover control. Minimizing interceptions.
It’s a rice farmer’s game. Always at the mercy of the capricious weather.
Plekanec, Moen and Gionta. Tape to tape to tape. And Shoulders don’t matter. Balance is there. Gill advances.
Diaz does the same on the other side. And Mike Smith has to trap the puck.
Shots are 34-32, says Houde.
Chipchura. Tries to split two. AT the blue, he’s separated easily from the puck.
He was the Bulldog captain at one point.
Derek Morris finds an opportunity to elbow Aaron Palushaj in the face. Morris is from Edmonton, Alberta.
Three minutes.
Tie game late. Who shows the aggression and who shows the play-for-a-tie mentality?
Both want the goal for now.
Two and twenty-one.
Gionta; long blast just outside the Coyote blue.
Gill gets his arm up. Blocks a puck exit. And Cole benefits with a circle shot. Power. Smith loses the puck under his arm. Sweeps it to him with his stick.
Wrister.
Darche discusses something with an appreciative Palushaj.
Under two.
Gill still on the ice.
Subban with him.
Pacioretty on his hash.
Desharnais and Cole.
Cole with another entry. He bends over the puck, floats out of lanes. Uses force of will as much as strength of legs. He finds ways. And he sees more ways. He’s like a farmer. He’s solved more problems than a suburbanite can imagine exist.
Seventy-two. Solved. And seventy-five. Same.
Seventy-six?
Hmm.
Olympics?
Time drains away with both teams floundering for the puck but with most of the enthusiasm of three minutes ago.
Overtime
Montreal 2, Phoenix 2
One five-minute period. Four players against four. Plus the goalies. Normal is five on five.
Shots on goal are 35-34, Montreal.
It’s really cool to see the fleur de lis on Price’s mask.
Phoenix’ goal was by indomitable Raffi Torres. He reminds me of John Tonelli.
Not looks. Moxie.
Plekanec with Gionta. I should have mentioned that neither Cammalleri nor Kostitsyn are in tonight.
Four and a half.
Hanzel hit on Gorges is shown. Hanzel is six foot six. Big, solid legal hit.
It’s a young man’s game.
Weber. Moves to the circle. Good instinct (back on the blue) fires off the post.
Brunet said in one of the intermissions that Weber is out of sync as a winger, doesn’t know where to go.
Another rush.
Gorges with men.
Accelerates, coasts, shoots. Scores.
Houde says that Gorges is very popular with his teammates. Slapshot from the circle top.
Keep winning.
Eller’s rush drew three defenders. Clear lane. Smith was disappointed.
Not your scribe.
Gorges’ first of the season.
Montreal 3, Phoenix 2
Ce sont mes Canadiens.
Final Score
Montreal Canadiens 3
Winnipeg Jets 2 (OT)
HDS Stars: Hal Gill, Josh Gorges, Yannick Weber
RDS Stars: Gorges, Gionta, Price
HDS Supernovas: Carey Price, Brian Gionta, Petteri Nokelainen
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