23 April, 2014

Category Archives: Washington the cursed hockey town

Managing, and Excusing, the Ever Repeating Loop of Mediocrity

“I hope the Caps win a Stanley Cup before I’m dead.” — Kevin Fletcher, age 7, Alexandria, Virginia, earlier this week, relayed by his father on Facebook. The definition of precocious there. Good luck with that, Kevin. This Henrik Lundqvist offered to the Washington Post deep into Monday night: “The great thing is we managed […]

A Crisis of Mismanagement

If you are shocked and dismayed by where we are with hockey in Washington these days, you weren’t reading here last July. The Unexpected Rebuild, I called it. The Washington Capitals today on the ice are receiving their just due: they aren’t merely what their record says they are, they are what the composition of […]

A House Undefended

Separate and distinct from the scoreboard verdict, there was a disquieting vibe to Super Sunday’s matinee tilt between the Penguins and Capitals. I sat down low in Verizon Center for it, and I didn’t like the vibe at all. This game is a special tradition on our hockey calendar. While there are a handful of […]

Pride, Regret, and Questions

If we are of mixed emotions about the end of this hockey season — proud and uplifted by a Capitals team of unlikely cohesion and stunning sacrifice, but also exasperated by the frustration of banishment earlier than forecast, again — that’s as it should be. This Capitals team engineered a vibrant unity of our region […]

A Stick Foul into Immortal Infamy

Humans’ impulse for empathy is a great and powerful instinct, but there are times when it is banally misapplied. Sports are, in the biggest picture context, virtually meaningless pursuits, but we do invest billions in their architecture, to say nothing of our emotional investment, and as such accountability in high stakes showdowns is inevitable and […]

All in Our Army Are Now Sufficiently Scarred

This morning’s message is directed at all the newbies — those who’ve donned red just in the past 5-7 years of post lockout puck. Assuming you kept Jimmy Kimmel hours Wednesday night into Thursday morning and, at the onset of Blueshirt euphoria piled high by the nearside plexiglass, felt your forehead collapse into your palms […]