Look, the lousiest sports teams in the world will occasionally win a game, the questions are these:
(a) Do the Ottawa Sena-snores not make any changes, happily believing in the prophecy of their oracle, Miracleman Melnyk, who promised they'll finish in the top four of the Eastern Conference?
(b) Do the Snores decide Miracleman is ineffably nuts, changes have to be made immediately in the hope they'll result in said Snores making the playoffs?
(c) Do the Snores decide this season is a write-off and increase their current dosage of lethargy-inducing medication in the hope they'll finish the season even deeper in the swamp so as to give them a crack at the consensus greatest junior hotshot in the world at the draft?
Decisions, decisions, decisions.
NO TIME TO KICK BUTT
Personally, I don't think the Snores hierarchy should do a damn thing.
What, blow a chance to get Tavares?
These rumours about Miracleman bringing in Pat Quinn any moment now to replace Craig Heartburn as head coach or Bryan Murray as general manager -- Snores fans had better hope not.
I mean, c'mon, get real, what if Quinn, or some other coach, does the unthinkable?
Like kicking butt?
Like being intolerant of sloppy, lethargic play?
Like benching slackers?
Like wanting to trade one of the underachieving Big Names for a talented Smaller Name whose heart, desire, and skills will provide much more competitiveness and chemistry to the line?
Like saying to reporters after losses: "Pure and simple, we played rotten, we stunk the joint out, they couldn't beat the Royal Winnipeg Ballet in a pick-up game," rather than "I thought we showed moments of promise, things to build on, if it hadn't been for a couple of unlucky breaks the score could've been different, it's not the time to beat up on the boys."
God forbid the privileged, pampered, cuddled, coddled millionaires who flit and float around the ice for the Snores have some idiot behind the bench demanding responsibility, accountability, effort, and telling it like it is when they can have an Enabler behind the bench.
The more reachable prize for the Snores is not the playoffs, it's Special Delivery Tavares, and the current collection of lovelies will get them there just fine, their own self-assessments expressed when one of them provides to reporters, for the zillionth time, the scintillating insight: "Well, uh, you know, we just have to work harder, we just have to believe in ourselves, and, uh, you know, it's hard to say what it is, we just have to eliminate the mistakes, get the puck to the net, and, uh, you know, keep it simple."
Is that keep it simple or keep it simpleton?
Being that Miracleman believes a miracle of Biblical proportion is about to happen to the Snores, he could do anything to try to achieve it, such as passing on Pat Quinn and going for the all-in-the-family familiar -- ordering back behind the bench the man who got the team to the Stanley Cup final.
Bryan Murray. As both GM and coach.
Miracleman stands to lose a massive pile of shekels at Scotiabank Place with the Snores missing the playoffs, and these days in the BHL (Bettman Hockey League), money screams. It's why there are no longer goal judges behind the glass, back of the nets. Two reasons: (a) Instant replay as the goal judge, (b) Greed.
Greed as in clubs can make extra bucks converting the goal judges' red-light districts into expensive prime seating, two examples: The Prudential Center (New Jersey Devils), six seats at $200 each; the Wachovia Center (Philadelphia Flyers), 12 seats (six each end) at $500 each.
The guys who used to judge goals? Now either up in the press box or a section high in the stands where all they do is press a button making the red goal light come on when the ref signals a score.
For the Ottawa Senasnores, the league's lowest-scoring team -- sorry, assemblage of individuals -- the red light they love most is the one that means Stop.
As in: Stop Playing.