I Don't Want To Shake Your Hand Either Hank Zetterberg...

The Red Wings do not have the right to be pissed off. I have the right to be pissed off. Did I get to spend Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals watching the Pens win their first Cup since I was 11 years old and rocking out the Paul Coffey jersey?

No.

Why?

Because I was in the middle of nowhere Connecticut. Now I was told not to worry because Connecticut was hockey country, I mean, they followed their beloved Whalers until the monstrosity that is Raleigh-Durham snatched the beloved Whale from their warm and tender embrace. So in a sense, Connecticut has a right to be angry. But I digress... I was in Connecticut for a wedding of one of my closest friends, who we'll refer to as "The Monk". I love The Monk, the Monk is a stand up guy who I have no doubt would not have planned a wedding during the Stanley Cup Finals had he known. I also adore the Monk's bride, who we'll refer to as Mrs. Monk, who looked absolutely stunning all weekend. In truth, I really didn't mind this part of Connecticut (Mystic to be exact, which sadly was not the birth place of hip hop artist Mystical) all that much, it had a lovely Dawson's Creek feel to it.

My anger arose that there was no television at the rehearsal dinner, not even in the staff break room. There were no radios. There was no wi-fi capability. I was in the dark, with only the spotty cell phone on my Internet and text messages from Mr. Riley to keep me up to date. When the rehearsal dinner was finally over, there were 2 minutes left in the game. I tried catching the game on terrestrial radio in my car, but I could not find GAME 7 OF THE STANLEY CUP FINALS ANYWHERE. The Mets were playing the Yankees, and that was on at least two stations, but no fucking hockey game. After the win, I couldn't even celebrate the win in The 'Burgh with Pens Fans, Iron City and insobriety. Instead I got to celebrate in a casino with my Miami friends who barely give a shit about hockey. So there's that.

So I come back to Pittsburgh expecting the Red Wings to be respectful like the Pens were last year. You know, a little "Hey guys, nice series, you played us tough and capitalized when we couldn't... but you know it took you 7, we beat you in 6. See you next year for the rubber match." That kind of stuff. Did that happen? Of course not. What happened instead?

Most of the Red Wings decided to bitch because SIDNEY CROSBY DIDN'T SHAKE THEIR FUCKING HANDS WITHIN THE FIRST 2 MINUTES OF WINNING THE FUCKING STANLEY CUP. Way to be classy Detroit.


Kris Draper, Nik Lidstrom, Hank Zetterberg and any of you other motherfuckers should just shut your mouths and stop whining. "But Ironhead, Sidney Crosby didn't shake my hand." "I was waiting for Sidney Crosby to come shake my hand and I waited 45 seconds which was too long so now I feel I have the right to complain." Your usually a classy guy Nik Lidstrom so I'm going to blame this whinyness to the fact that you just lost one of your testicles. Kris Draper and Hank Zetterberg, you get no excuses. The Pens won the fucking Stanley Cup in a series in which you had absolute control of yet you gave it away. You can cry all you want, but if a handshake is that important to you, then you can wait for it. Patience is a virtue my friends.

Sid was all jacked up from the dirty hit on him by The Donkey. He played all of one shift in the third period of Game 7. As soon as the Pens clinched the victory, Sid was grabbed in seven different directions by reporters, teammates, coaches, Gary Bettman, etc. He just won the fucking Stanley Cup at Age 21 and as the face of the league, everyone wanted on him. He was barely able to properly enjoy the victory with his teammates immediately after. Listen, I had a Bar Mitzvah, I know how it sucks when all you want to do is party with your buddies and get your hands on the kosher pigs in a blanket but the goddamn paparazzi is trying to take your picture. So back off Draper and Zetterberg. Let Sid enjoy this. Let us enjoy this. This shouldn't even be a story but your whiny assess tried to make it one to rid yourselves of the stink of your giant collapse.


Now excuse us while we go celebrate.