Penguins Stun Capitals for Sixth-Straight Win

As I took my seat at the Pennsbury Pub and Grille last night to view the Penguins-Capitals game on the big screen, I felt an odd blend of excitement tinged with trepidation.

Scarcely 24 hours earlier, I watched our Pens clobber a very good Flyers squad. Heading into the weekend, I confided to a hockey buddy that I’d be happy if we got two points. Thrilled if we got three.

Maybe I was setting my sights too low. But we were facing the first-place Caps. Alex Ovechkin and T.J. Oshie. Old friends Matt Niskanen and Brooks Orpik, too.

Washington came out hard. Marc-Andre Fleury looked shaky. I was surprisingly okay with it. After all, we’d won five games in a row. Without Evgeni Malkin (and Scott Wilson) to boot. Heck, there’s only so much you can expect from a hockey team.

Then Bryan Rust and Trevor Daley turned Washington goalie Braden Holtby into a reasonable facsimile of a cigar-store Indian. I sat a little straighter on my bar stool. I seethed when Oshie slew-footed Chris Kunitz. Cheap shot. Cursed him when he pummeled our captain, Sidney Crosby.

The Caps found their legs. Jason Chimera blew past Daley like a runaway freight train and bonked one in off his helmet, thanks in part to a failed Fleury poke check.

Darn. I wish Flower’d quit doing that. Andre Burakovsky beats Fleury clean on a breakaway and it’s 2-2. Shoulda’ started Matt Murray.

I shook my head in disgust. Here we go again. Just like last time. Up 2-0…lost 3-2.

Next rush, Tom Kuhnhackl one-times a feed from Matt Cullen. Is the puck behind Holtby? YES! Kuhnhackl’s on his back, fists pumping in celebration. I clapped and hollered and sprang from my chair, generally acting like a nut.

I didn’t expect this.

I don’t think the Caps did, either. “Ovy,” in particular, seemed lost. Maybe he missed his favorite target, Malkin. He soon found a ready-made replacement. “The Great Eight” ran Brian Dumoulin. The Pens’ defenseman crumbled. He had to be helped off the ice.

“[Expletive],” I muttered. “Dumo’s” playing so well.

Cullen and Kunitz scored to make it 5-2. Pleased as I was, I knew the Caps would try to extract a pound of flesh. Which they did. Mike Weber, forgetting his Pittsburgh roots, face planted Rust into the sideboards.

Weber got tossed. So did Kuhnhackl. Presumably for refusing to stand idly by while his teammate got mugged. I leaned closer to my good friend, Tom Blanciak.

“Wish we had a couple of guys to handle that crap,” I said. Tom agreed.

Silently, I prayed no one would get hurt. Cheered some more when Justin Schultz struck on the power play. Good, make ’em pay. Bleep Tom Wilson, too.

I beamed with pride at the final horn. Sweet victory!