Maybe it was the NC State Fair food or my penchant for watching holiday movies based on British literature out of season and high school or some small combination of both, but last night I was visited by the three specters that represent the dying season of the frozen pond sport. Representing the boilerplate ambiguous eras of time, past, present, and future, were the three Staal brothers, Eric, Jordan, and Marc. In their translucent form and bluish Jedi hue, they all revealed to me important wisdom as to the direction of hockey.
The Past
Eric Staal initiated this ethereal state of affairs by being chained to the half boards, one hand shorter than the other, and then breaking away and scoring a goal on Vokoun. And then Neuvirth. And then Varlamov. And then Sabourin. And then Neuvirth again. And then Theodore. And then Kolzig stopped him with his father time beard. Eric then reminded me that there had been lockouts before and the NHL was able to overcome them. And then Eric reminded me that there had been hockey before 2004. And then I told him about the time that DC had a chance to win the cup in 1998. And he just laughed and laughed and laughed.
The Present
Jordan Staal tagged into the dream via a trade you would only see with a rookie fantasy hockey player, Staal for Brandon Sutter and Brian Dumoulin. We spent a good part of the dream just driving around the open and free roads of Raleigh as when he lived in Pittsburgh, he lived in constant fear of bridges, his belief that he would either find a troll or Brett Kiesel. He assured me that the lockout would be over any day now and all the teams really need in this scenario is a really good mediator acting on their behalf. He is filling the void from the lack of hockey by learning to count to 60 million.
The Future
Marc Staal was either eating a turkey leg from the fair or Zdeno Chara's leg in some weird form of symbology suggesting that the Rangers would the Bruins soundly (or Marc Staal will be getting rabies and be feasting upon the quadriceps of various Slovakian behemoths). He then imparted upon a premonition on me as my time in dreamland began to wane and transition into the cruel brightly lit morning. He showed me this really big house in Michigan where hockey was being played in someone's backyard. Red winged Sephiroth's were pitted against defenseless trees. I think this mean's that the first hockey game of the season will be the Winter Classic as played by Gary Bettman and the mayor of Detroit on NHL '13.
It was at this point that the melange of deep fried food stuffs and the airborne pollutants of Pall Mall cigarettes had finally forced its way through my unfortunate digestive tract and caused me to rise to the stupid yellow sun. I wish to destroy that goldenrod sphere or at least delay its rise in the morning. Can't wait 'til this lockout's over and I can get back on a normal sleep schedule...waking up at noon.
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