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Eddie_Shack
likes oatmeal lumpy
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Congrats on the win. You guys played hard, you played tough, you won. I have a feeling this will be a tight series.
Dear Nashville fans: Don't take any shit from anyone. Your barn was hopping last night, on par with any other in the league. Kind of a college barn atmosphere, but still nice and loud, the way playoff hockey should be.
Dear Shea Weber: Eat a bag of rattlesnake dicks, you stupid slut. Didn't you just miss half a season with a concussion? Seems to me like players with a skull full of Velveeta Cheese would know better than to go around suckering dudes like that. Keep your head up, and your knuckles off the ice.
Dear Kronwall: I just threatened Shea Weber. Don't make me look like a punk, you lay his ass out good.
Dear Dan Cleary: You don't get enough respect. You could coast through the regular season, texting on the bench and cherry picking at center ice, and your playoff guts would make up for it. This dude is 110% certified bad ass, he may not be the fastest, the smartest, the most talented, even the most physical, but the effort and heart is off the charts. I bet Dan Cleary's nuts have never made it past airport security.
Dear Hal Gill: What's the matter, still hibernating? Come on out and play, I need a new rug.
Dear Pekka Rinne: Stop it. Just stop.
Dear Ian White: I like you as a player, but why do you always look like you're about to sell some guy $20 worth of fake weed?
Dear Detroit Red Wings: Wake up bitches. Time to shift into that other gear.
Dear Nashville fans: Don't take any shit from anyone. Your barn was hopping last night, on par with any other in the league. Kind of a college barn atmosphere, but still nice and loud, the way playoff hockey should be.
Dear Shea Weber: Eat a bag of rattlesnake dicks, you stupid slut. Didn't you just miss half a season with a concussion? Seems to me like players with a skull full of Velveeta Cheese would know better than to go around suckering dudes like that. Keep your head up, and your knuckles off the ice.
Dear Kronwall: I just threatened Shea Weber. Don't make me look like a punk, you lay his ass out good.
Dear Dan Cleary: You don't get enough respect. You could coast through the regular season, texting on the bench and cherry picking at center ice, and your playoff guts would make up for it. This dude is 110% certified bad ass, he may not be the fastest, the smartest, the most talented, even the most physical, but the effort and heart is off the charts. I bet Dan Cleary's nuts have never made it past airport security.
Dear Hal Gill: What's the matter, still hibernating? Come on out and play, I need a new rug.
Dear Pekka Rinne: Stop it. Just stop.
Dear Ian White: I like you as a player, but why do you always look like you're about to sell some guy $20 worth of fake weed?
Dear Detroit Red Wings: Wake up bitches. Time to shift into that other gear.
