The Fellowship continued on its quest for the Holy Grail, this time south to the foreign land of Texas. As night fell on the fifth night of their journey, they stopped off in a small town in the middle of Nowhere, a large region located between the Rockies and the Mississippi River. They sat in a gloomy tavern, pints in hand. Sir Matthew spoke, breaking the silence. "I hate this place."
"Dat don' make any sense, Dutchy," Sir Patrick replied. "You have seven goals in fifteen games against dese guys. More G/GP dan anyone excep da Preds."
"I know. It's vengeance."
Sir Matthew took a long, pensive drink. His eyes rested briefly on Sir O'Reilly, who rolled his and said, "Look, I made him tell me the story during the lockoat and he hasn't talked to me since. You want me to just tell them aboat it, Matty?"
Sir Matthew shrugged.
Sir O'Reilly cleared his throat. "Two years. Two years in a row Matt's team was one step from the Final."
"Well for sure you know definitely if there's anyone to hate from then it's the red wings," Sir Paul interjected.
"Fuck em," Sir Matthew grunted in agreement, which was met with general murmurs of "indeed." "But we had em beat, boys. Two years in a row you know, we beat that excuse for a hockey team. And then...." he trailed off.
"A Cup may as well have been in the backyard, waiting for him," Sir O'Reilly continued. "Two years. And you know what stopped it? Who stole a go at a championship from a young boy's arms, twice? A team that once had a giant uterus for its logo."
"It's Starbucks now, have you noticed?" interjected Sir Pierre-Alexandre.
There was a sudden commotion outside the tavern. A peasant burst in, covered head to toe in mud, as was tradition, and shouted "They're here! They've come!"
"What do dey want?" said Sir Patrick.
A young man clad in green--probably, it was kind of hard to tell due to the cloud of dust surrounding him--had followed the peasant in. "We have come to take two points. And if we must, we shall say 'Ni' at you until we get them."
Sir Matthew slowly rose, bracing himself. "Do. Your. Worst."
"Very well!" returned the filthy man, mustering all his strength. "Ni!"
"Okay," said Maxime Talbot, confused. "How did I get here, and what's going on?"
"Right!" Sir Gabriel bellowed, standing up. "Chaaaarge!"
O'Reilly - Duchene SLAP FIGHT!!!! + Parenteau
Landeskog Stastny Tanguay
Holden Cliche Bordeleau
Varlamov (who will, surprisingly, be with the team)
McLeod (feeling shame), McGinn (knee), Barrie (healthy)
I've no place for the 'Ars in my preview. There's information about that "team" at sister site Defending Big D and they're generally pleasant people over there despite their unfortunate affinity for knights who say "ni" so go be nice.
TV: ALT-2, FS-SW+ || 8:30pm Eastern || 6:30pm Mountain || 01:30 GMT
HONORABLE WRITING MENTION: the pun potential in a Holden Cliche line kills me. It really does.