Game 7

On Sunday, I was headed out to my car and my neighbor stopped me. We made some small talk and I was hoping he wouldn't bring up the game. I wasn't ready to talk about it yet (even though I had blogged about it right after the fact, which, in retrospect, was a mistake). But, wouldn't you know, he said: "How about that game, huh?" To which I replied, "I'm trying not to think about it."

And then he said, "Do you know what that reminded me of? 1960." I was stunned. I didn't know what to say. It was so simple. So brilliant. So obvious. Why didn't I think of that? The single greatest underdog moment in Pittsburgh sports history and I completely didn't think about it. My crazy 75 year old neighbor that didn't even watch the game thought of it.

(To fill everyone in that may be lost: The significance of 1960 is that Pittsburgh used to have a professional baseball team. They were called the Pirates. In the 1960 World Series, the Pirates played the Mighty Yankees, who had won, like 35 World Series in the last 15 years. The Buccos -- the nickname for the Pittsburgh Pirates -- were outscored 55-27 for the series, yet somehow managed to win in seven games. They won the seventh and deciding game in Pittsburgh after the Yankees won Game 6 by a score of 12-0. Crazy, right?)

Brilliant. Flawless. A true underdog story. I told all my friends on Monday. They all thought it was awesome. They were all excited for Game 6.

Well, we're now in Game 7. Just like 1960. Brilliant. Flawless.

Unfortunately, it doesn't make any damn sense.

We'll set aside the little details, like the fact that the Yankees smoked us in Game 6 to push a game seven and stave off elimination. We'll set aside the fact that, other than Game 5, all the games have been close. The biggest margin of victory for the Buccos in the '60 World Series in any game was three runs, which is much less dominant a victory than winning by, say, two goals, which the Pens have done twice this series.

Let's focus on the big stuff. Two different sports. Two completely different sports separated by almost 50 years. I mean, you can't even really compare two different baseball teams that are separated by 50 years. The game has changed so much. The media has changed so much. The scope has expanded. The players have expanded.

So, if comparing the 2009 Pirates with the 1960 Pirates is like comparing an iPod to a phonograph, comparing the 2009 Penguins with the 1960 Pirates is like comparing an iPod to a solar powered push mower. It just doesn't make any damn sense.

If you really, really want to get down to the nitty-gritty, the Penguins are more like the '60 Yankees with their star power and explosive offense and big name pitching/goaltending and the '60 Pirates are more like the '09 Red Wings with their lack of all-stars (Maz was known for his defense and Clemente wasn't a big name yet), sound fundamentals, and clutch performers.

Now, I'm not trying to make an ass out of my neighbor. He vaguely knows that the Internet exists and, like the vast majority of people, could care less what I write in this blog. What I'm trying to say is that he made a completely non-sensical statement and, not only did I not correct him, I told other people about it and they agreed with how great it was. It wasn't until after Game 6 that I fully realized how ridiculous the 1960 Comment was.

So, in the words of Obi Wan Kenobi: "Who's more foolish? The fool, or the fool who follows him?" The answer to that question, of course, is "Yes."

Listen, we're all idiots, all of us sports fans. We spend way too much time and energy throwing way too much of our spirit, Concern Rays, and emotion at a group of athletes that, point blank, could really care less if we live or die. They understand the need for us in terms of season ticket sales and to make noise when the other team is trying to do something, but if you think that Sidney Crosby loses sleep over the way you don't put quite enough pressure on the top end of the stapler when you use it, you're even crazier than the rest of us.

And I'm the worst one. Not only do I know all this is happening, but I continue to watch everything and even write about it in spite of the fact that no one is paying me to do so.

On the other side of it, I know that, ultimately, nothing I do matters and that the players on the ice/field decide the game, but I do it anyway. The Penguins are 3-0 when I go to Garvey's, 0-3 when I do not.

On Tuesday, I blew out my knee playing softball, but didn't go to the emergency room until the next morning because I needed to be at Garvey's for the game so that they'd win. I'm courageous, I'm friggin' stupid. I haven't shaved my neck since Saturday. I haven't trimmed my beard since April. I have to sit in the same seat I've sat in for other victories when I go to Garvey's and I can't stand up while the puck is in play. Well, now I have crutches, but I can't watch the game at home. I need to go to Garvey's. That's how it works.

After Saturday's game, you could have nailed me in the testes with a steel toed boot and I wouldn't have noticed. I was in shock. I was two steps away from death. It was the worst I've felt about a sporting event since the 2004 AFC Championship game. That was the last time I collapsed when I got home and the last time I wept uncontrollably.

Speaking of the 2004 AFC Championship game, I have been dreading Game 7 since Saturday. Somehow, I knew that we were going to win Game 6 (or refused to recognize the possibility that we'd lose).

Like any person, my expectations are based on past experience. My past experience tells me that, since the Penguins have never beaten the Red Wings in the Stanley Cup final, they can't do it tomorrow. My past experience says that the home team has won every game this series and the game is in Detroit. Past experience says that the last time the Penguins were in Detroit, they lost 5-0.

My brain is trying to prepare my heart. It is trying to warn my heart. It is trying to do damage control on the liver so that, God forbid we lose on Friday, the liver doesn't pump up alcohol conversion and end up killing a lot of brain cells. Just like the 2004 AFC Championship game, my brain knows that we cannot win, but my heart refuses to believe that we can lose.

But, really, Game 7 is why we're all sports fans, right? The finality of it, the building and waning momentum, bad blood, sweat, tears, and the wear and tear of a long hockey playoffs that, come hell or high water, is going to finally end tomorrow night. I'm exhausted and I haven't been playing in the games. I can't imagine what the players are going through.

Mathematically, Game 7 isn't any more important than Game 1. In a seven game series, one individual game is worth 1/7 of the outcome. First team to 4/7s wins, right? Again, though, that's not why we follow sports.

If we wanted to do something that made sense, we'd learn German or fix things around the house.

If we wanted to do something logical that sharpened our brains, we'd do crossword puzzles or figure out algorithms in our spare time.

Here's the thing: I've never collapsed because of a really bad conjugation. I've never broken down in tears because my basement's not finished. I've never high-fived and hugged a bar full of strangers because I figured out that "gnu" is a three letter word for a flightless bird. I've never trash talked someone just because they're a "Fibonacci Guy".

So, if you're going to base a prediction on something, base it on something that doesn't make any damn sense.

The Penguins are going to win because I haven't shaved my neck since Saturday.

The Penguins are going to win because of Sidney Crosby's face. Did you see him after Game 5? He looked like he wanted to play another three periods right then. Just him against the entire Red Wings team for 60 minutes. There's no way he lets his team feel that bad again.

The Penguins are going to win because it's Game 7 and they just have to. They beat the Capitals in Game 7 after being down two games, right? That's gotta mean something.

The Penguins are going to win because I haven't trimmed my beard since April.

The Penguins are going to win because Nik Lidstrom is finally going to break down. Rafalski was starting to slip by Game 4 and Lidstrom is going to join him. I can see it in his eyes. They look tired.

The Penguins are going to win because I think Geno won't let them lose, either.

The Penguins are going to win because I think Jordan Staal steps up.

The Penguins are going to win because... what about Pascal Dupuis? Petr Sykora? Someone's gonna step up. Detroit had a bunch of no-names that kicked ass when Datysuk was out, so we've gotta have our guys in there, right? We have a sleeper, don't we?

The Penguins are going to win because I'm sitting in the right seat in the right bar.

The Penguins are going to win because last year wasn't their year. They weren't ready yet. They're ready this year. This year is their year.

The Penguins are going to win because we want it more than they do.

The Penguins are going to win because I want very desperately to watch the game with my buddy Laszlo, the hockey guru that re-introduced me to the game. But, the Pens are 3-0 when he watches the game at Gene's and they're 3-0 when I watch the game at Garvey's, so we're just going to text each other.

The Penguins are going to win because our Concern Rays will overwhelm theirs.

The Penguins are going to win because I'm wearing the same Gonchar jersey I've worn for every game this series. I was also wearing the Gonchar jersey when I blew out my knee. Fitting.

The Penguins are going to win because... because I said so.

And, damnit, the Penguins are going to win because this is a special group. Everyone has a little Bill Mazeroski in them. Tonight, they prove it.

LET'S GO PENS!

LET'S GO PENS!

LET'S GO PENS!

LET'S GO PENS!