Alas, poor Stanley. . .

Alas, Lord Stanley. . .I kneweth him well, Horatio. Then the great Bear from the East beateth the shit out of the mighty Orca, and we were smushed into the ice like a half-melted popsicle. Helas! and fooey, dear Horatio! - for long hath we watched these games where men pulleth each other's jerseys off to the roar of the crowd, while the great Potentate Cherry fills the arena with strange, hot gases. Let us not dwell on sorrow, but hope for the morrow! . . Hey, it's just one game, guys. . .the parrot said we'd lose one, remember? (and jeez louise, did we ever lose BIG!!)