The Quest for Proline Success (Leafs/Caps Preview)


    It was a dark night on Friday, and I thought I could accurately predict who will win tonight's game between the Toronto Maple Leafs and the Washington Capitals. What occurred over the course of the night is nothing short of the truth in a world full of lies. Am I lying about that? Read on for the ultimate truth by drinking my honesty serum with your mind gullet.

    It was a dark and stormy night. That's not true, see, I kicked things off with a lie. Let me start over.

    It was a dark and kind of cloudy potentially rain coming on but due to the fact that it was nipple-hardening freezing outside it would likely be snow kind of night. There, now we all feel better. I was out to seek the truth on the Maple Leafs. They have become a team of irregularity every time I have bet on them in a proline before. I held the ticket in my hand on the corner of the street in my dark-like cloak. That's also a lie, I was wearing my Toronto Maple Leafs jacket, but it has a hoody and I covered the logo with duct tape and attached a garbage bag to the back with stables to give it more of a cape style looking jacket that would look so wicked cool in the dark, and hide the fact that I was wearing something TML related. Trust me, it was awesome.

    I was standing outside Alec Brownscombe's house and used my LED key-chain flashlight to signal his office room window. I had intended to signal "S.O.S. Help Proline", but instead he informed me once he came outside that I had actually signaled him "Pants to the ground, balls in the mouth." "My bad," I said to him. This could also be a lie. My grin likely gave that away though.

    Alec did well to stand at least 8 feet away from me at all times. I think he was embarrassed by my cape, but the fact that I was wearing no pants could also have factored in here somewhere. I advised him of my problem and he said "I'm not too sure what to say. The fact that Toskala has been rather decent lately still hasn't earned them a win but if Gustavsson plays, they'll likely have a better chance." I knew he'd say that, and I had been thinking that all night, but the Leafs are a different team when Gustavsson is in net. "Yes," I began to reply. "But when Gusto is in net, the Leafs defense core seems to turn up the suck because they believe he'll stop everything." Alec pondered that, then gave me a great idea. "You're right," I knew this already, I'm always right, he should know that by now. "Let's go see G-to-tha-Batman." Agreed. Off we went.

    Garret Bauman waited on his front porch, as per usual. He created new hiding places to sneak up on people in the dark when they approached his home. It makes a lot of sense as to why he's always up late and commenting on MLHS. He has his laptop wirelessly connected and built a trap in front of his door. The strange thing is that the only people who visit him this late are half naked guys in makeshift cape-coats.

    "Bauman!" Brownscombe shouted. It wasn't necessarily to get his attention but rather a sign not to jump out and hit us with things, or even, so help us, his trap which just leaves you stuck in his porch until the morning.

    "Who goes there?!" he yelled back. He had found a way to make the porch echo so it was always impossible to tell where he was.

    "It is us, the Knight's of the Blue and White table" I shouted. For the last year we had made him believe that there actually is a big blue and white table that he's never seen. It's why he tends to use the majority of his sources to seek it out rather than chasing down most of his rumors. His sources find this to be frustrating, but he repays them with the perks in his back shed. I'll get to that.

    "The password!" he shouted. "Matt Stajan Sucks the Honky Tonk" was Brownscombe's reply. Out jumped Bauman as if to surprise us, but the fact that he too was wearing no pants made me understand why Alec was still 8 feet away and growing more uncomfortable. "I really gotta buy pants," I said to myself.

    We explained the proline/Leafs situation again, to which he replied as expected. "But if Gustavsson plays they'll have a better chance at winning." Again, I repeated the way in which the Leafs do not back check when he is in net, and Bauman nodded. "You're right, where the hell is Aki Berg when you need him?" Alec slapped himself in the forehead and began to understand that the majority of writers he had on his site were half naked wearing coat-capes and always referred to previous shitty teams as "the good old days." Ahh, Clark and Gilmour and Andreychuk and Potvin and Anderson… to be that young again.

    "Jonas Hoglund sucks!" Bauman screamed at the top of his lungs. We didn't flinch and endured an awkward stare from him for about 5 minutes. He tried to make sure he wasn't blinking and once I did, he screamed "I win, I win" then directed us behind his house. There it was, all amazing and beautiful and awesome and beautiful and sexy and beautiful. His back shed, where dreamers come to live and livers come to drink more.

    He knocked not once, not twice, but thrice and soon the "Artist in the Ambulance" began to play. A strobe light turned on and the door swung open. There they were, the beautiful women he stored for such an occasion. Whenever a writer at MLHS had run out of ideas, they would come here to figure out what to write. There, in the left hand corner, was Ron Guillet. He was sleeping quietly in the fetal position, and was shaking mildly. It was likely he had hypothermia but we just let him be and pretended it was the fact that was engulfed with so much writing awesomeness that his body was trembling with ideas. On the other side lay Gus and Andrew, coddling each other. “They’ve been there since the shootout loss against the Hurricanes,” said Bauman.

    Bauman directed us to the back of the shed and opened up the door. A beam of light hit us, and there danced the Portuguese woman. She was beautiful. She was born the very night the Leafs had last won the cup but didn't look a day over 20. In fact, her green card stated she was 22 years old, but we all still believed she was born in 1967. After all, the Portuguese women are untruthful on occasion.

    She came over to me and informed Alec and Garret to each grab my arms. They held me tight and things got confusing. She put on a hockey skate and began to repeatedly kick me in the groin. Over and over and over and over and over. Finally I had collapsed to the floor. "You're right!" I screamed in tears. "You're right, please, no more! I won't buy the ticket, there's no way to every know! Oh God!"

    Alec rushed me to the hospital and dropped me off. "See you on Tuesday. Seriously dude, every single time you try and bid on a game you make us take you to her to get kicked ten times."

    "I know, I like the attention," I replied. I tore up what was going to be my ticket and walked inside.

    If you should dare bid on this game, here is the team by team breakdown. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to repair my genitals.

    Team Comparison:

    Powerplay: TOR 4th (25.0%), WSH 6th (24.7%)
    Penalty Kill: TOR 30th (72.3%), WSH 22nd (77.5%)
    Faceoff % – TOR 20th (48.9%), WSH 4th (52.1%)
    Average Shots For: TOR 2nd (33.2), WSH 6th (32.0)
    Average Shots Against: TOR 21st (30.8), WSH 16th (29.8)
    Average Goals For: TOR 20th (2.60), WSH 2nd (3.59)
    Average Goals Against: TOR 30th (3.75), WSH 24th (3.00)
    5 on 5 Goals For/Against Ratio: TOR 29th (0.69), WSH 3rd (1.31)

    Micheal A. Aldred