Penguins Win Shootout at PPG Paints Corral

“I don’t even know how to assess it,” said Penguins coach Mike Sullivan, when asked about his team’s incendiary 8-7 overtime triumph over Washington last night before an amped-up capacity crowd at PPG Paints Arena.

That’s okay, Mike. I’m not sure I can describe it, either. Except to say that in my 40-plus years of watching Penguins hockey, I’ve never seen anything like it.

I’ve witnessed some wild ones, too. The 10-7 victory over Philadelphia in the 1989 playoffs, when Mario Lemieux scored five goals (and Flyers goalie Ron Hextall tried to kill Rob Brown) immediately comes to mind. So does the 10-2 destruction of the expansion San Jose Sharks in December of 1991. Followed nine days later by a 12-1 annihilation of Toronto.

This tops ‘em all.

It was sort of like the notorious Gunfight at the O.K. Corral in aptly named Tombstone, Arizona, a shootout that defined the Wild West. The Earps and Doc Holliday (Sidney Crosby and the Pens) swapped hot lead with the Clantons and McLaurys (Alex Ovechkin and the Caps) in a 30-second blaze of gun-totin’ fury.

In the hockey version, the Penguins emerged as the last team standing.

Viewing the game on a big screen TV at Wright’s Gym, I watched the Capitals—winners of nine in a row—snatch a quick 3-0 lead. Having seen enough—or so I’d thought—I turned my attention to front-desk duties. I confess that I missed Evgeni Malkin’s first of three goals altogether. Hearing the announcers and crowd react, I glanced up at the TV and noted the score.

At least we won’t get shut out, I mused with a shrug.

Once more turning my attention to work, I heard another outburst. Then another. To my utter amazement, the Pens had tied the score on goals by Conor Sheary and Nick Bonino! In just over two minutes!

Stepping away from my paperwork, I watched in bewildered awe as the Pens proceeded to turn Caps goalie Braden Holtby into a cigar store Indian. Indeed, while the black and gold buzzed the net with kamikaze abandon, Holtby seemed to slow down. Like he was suddenly a character from an old Twilight Zone episode witnessing his own demise.

Finally, after the Pens grabbed an improbable 5-3 lead, Capitals coach Barry Trotz mercifully pulled his shell-shocked starter in favor of backup Philipp Grubauer. To my horror, Washington immediately responded with a pair of goals to knot the score.

“What the bleep’s goin’ on?” I hollered to no one in particular. The words had barely escaped my lips when Malkin chipped the puck over Grubauer’s left pad…with a helpful shove from Patric Hornqvist.

I held my breath while we escaped the remaining 2:41 of the second period with a 6-5 lead.

Good. We can regroup in the locker room and settle things down in the final period.

Wrong.

After Crosby struck for a huge insurance goal, our boys seemed intent on giving the game away. When Olli Maatta drew his second consecutive penalty—a needless trip on Caps strongman Tom Wilson—I seethed. Especially after Washington struck for a power-play goal.

When Bryan Rust inexplicably dangled the puck in the neutral zone instead of working it in deep I winced, sensing impending doom. Sure enough, the Caps pounced on the turnover and struck for the game-tying goal.

“What the hell was the kid thinking?” I fumed, stomping around behind the front desk like a mad man. If I could’ve reached through the TV screen and…well…let’s just say the patrons at the gym were amused.

Following my outburst, I lapsed into a Holtby-like trance. The final five minutes of regulation were a blur.

Overtime, too. Convinced the Penguins would somehow conspire to blow it, I felt more relief than anything when the ubiquitous Sheary burrowed into a net-front pileup and poked the game-winner past a prone Grubauer to snap our three-game losing streak and secure a much-needed two points.

Exhausted, I smiled weakly at the TV while the Pens poured onto the ice in celebration.

Needless to say, I slept well last night.