Swompdonkey

Let the hand wringing begin

So the Senators have been felled in five, and already the hounds, smelling blood, have begun their baying. In seeking a martyr to satiate their hunger, I trust they will look past Emery, who stood on his head during these playoffs and who wasn't even supposed to be between the posts-- don't kid yourself pal, one nod from the Dominator and they would have yanked poor Ray. Perhaps their gaze will fall on a more likely victim: the happless Alfie.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not advocating firing the guy, but lets call a spade a shovel, and lay the blame where it belongs: Right between the wobbly ankles that allowed a snot-nosed punk who was on waivers at the beginning of the season to waltz around him like a young Wayne Gretzky, circa 1981, and score shorthanded in OT, for crissakes. I swore I saw Emery weeping.

From 2000 until the lockout, Daniel Alfredsson was racking up 70-80 points during the regular season, and he's a big part of the reason that the Senators have dominated of late. But then comes the playoffs, and a change seems to come over the guy. Alfredsson who plays like a norse hero for 82 games, suddenly becomes a mere mortal. You can see the bewilderment in his nordic blue eyes, as everyone around him seems to kick their game up a notch, and he is left, far too often, looking like he just can't do the same.

Now I know that fans will point to the Captain's goal last night, and his classy post-game interview. But as Luke writes in the Gospel, "of those to whom much is given, much is expected". Occasional moments of brilliance won't cut it. A player of Alfredsson's calibre who has the priviledge of wearing the C in arguably the league's best team should be consistently fantastic. It's the second round of the playoffs, and Ottawa is already out. That wasn't supposed to happen.