Minimal Rowdiness in the Name of Ulanov

I'm starting to write this post thirty-five minutes before the game is scheduled to start.

My friend and I went to game 4 on Friday, where the process of losing my voice began. It was, of course, and exciting game. I'm sure I experienced more hearing loss, and I will probably curse this playoff series when I'm forty and deaf. We went to Whyte after the game, along with the rest of Edmonton, apparently. There were fireworks, police, people throwing things at the police (future constable me does not approve of this behaviour), people climbing things (lamp posts, bus shelters, the Chapters doorway). The police pretty much let people run amock in a the blocked off part of the street.

The chants were ever present, the most popular being, "Let's go Oilers, fuck you Cheechoo," with many "Oilers in six, Show us your tits!" I did not succumb to any of these chants, as I was completely sober. I would still probably have behaved myself had I been drunk (I don't tend to destroy public property ever...the only things I tend to destroy when drunk are personal relationships and my dignity). I countered every "Shirts off for Samsonov" with "Pants off for Ulanov," until I lost the rest of my voice. I tried to demand the compliance of the people of the male gender, but they insisted that I go first. I found a major flaw in their demands, however, as I wasn't wearing pants. I had thought this one through.

Semi good news: Ulanov is back on The Journal's scratches list. It appears that it is now Todd Harvey who is being punished for no reason.

If San Jose wins tonight: Oilers in seven, show me your Van Massenhoven (be still, my beating heart)!