A few quick thoughts on the Detroit Red Wings Stanley Cup victory from this week and what the team's legacy will be. First off, it was nice that they went home with the equivalent of this and didn't get a repeat visit from this round and tumbly ass hat, like they did on Monday night. And that's may be this team's legacy. They simply never let anything bother them. Goalie changes. Disallowed goals. 3OT losses. Bad penalties. 5-on-3s. Road games. The President's Cup. Quick goals by opponents. They never lost their cool and always had a sufficient counter punch. They are the anti-Pistons in this regard. The Pistons seem to be distraught if Rip's face mask begins to fog and if Sheed's headband is slightly out of place so that it makes his bald spot look abnormally large. It's not as if the Pistons were never like this. Their response to the 3 OT loss at home to the Nets in Game 5 (which forever made me hate this man of all people), and after Kobe almost single-handedly won Game Two of the Finals when the Pistons had the Lakers on the ropes, was admirable and memorable. But the Pistons have gotten mentally weak as their ice-bound counterparts have bolstered their mental fortitude.
This version of the Red Wings - so technically sound and saavy, but also gritty tough and resilient - would let no such sideshows hijack their march. While Zetterberg rightly won the Conn Smythe, Datsyuk's play was equally amazing. Only a few years ago, people wondered aloud if the playoff pressure got to the young winger, but questions like that seem to have disappeared with memories of a hockey-less winter in Detroit. Datsyuk helped dominate play for periods on end, but it was his hitting that came as a welcome surprise and addition to his extensive quiver of tricks. This team seemed unwilling to bestow some undeserved title on a no-name goalie as had been their spring tradition for the past handful of years. There would be no Roloson, no Giguere, no Kiprusoff this year. Instead, they let their own unsung goalie do the stonewalling and get the recognition he so deserves, but fails to receive.
And so here's to the men in the Winged Wheel, who for almost as long as I can remember, have made spring hockey such a memorable and enjoyable staple in the life of some of my closest friends and in my own.
Time for a parade.
