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Someone named Sid this ways comes

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A fuckton of build up for a guy who will actually be skating around for all of 20 minutes or so. Too much media surrounds this entire game. You know what I see what I look at a roster featuring Crosby, Malkin, Staal, Whitney, Fleury? A hodgepodge of boyband virgin rejects. And I use rejects on purpose because they can't even garner more interest then what's left over of the fucking Spice Girls.

Since this is the first time Pittsburgh has strolled through Vancouver since the discovery of an indoor shitter, they may not have scouted the team that well. Permit me, as a public service to these little boys, to give them a quick comparison of the two teams:

1. You may have Malkin and Sidney, but we have Pinky and the Brain. I believe you should be familiar with what their plans are on a nightly basis.

2. Can Gonchar score, play shut down defense and whack the knee caps off elbow-happy opponents? No? Then he can chat with Ohlund for a bit (you'll thank me later during one of your 50 games against the Rangers).

3. Laraque is a force, but Cowan gets bras chucked on the ice. Top that. And tell him to watch out for Brown. We barely know what he's going to do out there and frequently gets carted into GM Place a la Hannibal Lector.

4. Before the night is over, your entire team, your parents, your pets, your neighbors, your co-workers and that bitch Susan from accounts receivable...all of them...will hate Matt Cooke.

5. We will allow your "trash left over" component in Petr Sykora to swap comfort food recipes during the second intermission with Brad Isbister provided that he sends a thank you card with a heartfelt message in return.

6. Maxime is not a real man's name. Neither is Sidney actually. Please feel free to use some of our more testosterone-fortified names in Lukas, Byron, Mason and Luc.

7. You waived Recchi showing your brass is terribly callous and thoroughly beyond reproach. At least do what Vigneault does with Linden and stick him in the box and force him to watch the game he's (inescapably) not allowed to play anymore.

Fearless Forecast: The game will come down to who can win the inevitable slugfest between Cooke and Ruutu. No? OK, how about it'll come down to which player with knock Crosby on his clothing-endorsing ass and inherit the wrath of the entire Pittsburgh team trying to murder him (my money's on Kesler). No? OK it'll come down to the fact Sid may be the NHL's Jesus, but Luongo is the Canuck's and, barring Visine in his pre-game ice tea (we call that the 'Sabourin') the Pens should ready themselves for a game where they won't score a lot, the'll get bruised/bloodied in their own end and will, once again, have to relive what the fuck they saw in Alek Stojanov when Markus Naslund and the twins go apeshit on them. Final score: 5-1 Canucks. Naslund x2, D. Sedin x1, Pyatt x1, Burrows x1. Ruutu gets credit for a deflection through traffic off his crotch. Game over, Sidney takes the red eye home and is back in Pittsburgh in time for his Sunday morning finger painting classes.

If you need some required reading from the other end, go to who no doubt will be ripping the Canucks apart.