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Greg Wyshynski

Eulogy: Remembering the 2008-09 Detroit Red Wings

Greg Wyshynski
Puck Daddy

(Ed. Note: You've been waiting for this one. As the Stanley Cup Playoffs continue, we're bound to lose some friends along the journey. Gone but not forgotten, we've asked for these losers to be eulogized by the people who knew the teams best: The fans who hated them the most. Here is the Committed Indian, of the Chicago Blackhawks blog Second City Hockey, fondly recalling the Detroit Red Wings.)

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By The Committed Indian

Ladies and Gentlemen, we are gathered here today to gleefully dance upon mourn the demise of the 2008-2009 Red Wings (or as they are called around our parts, Scum).

They've provided so much fodder over the past eight months, it's hard to know what to do with all that bile and emotion we've built up.

Where to begin? Much like my neighbor in the freshman dorm, who once passed out face-first on the floor with one hand on his bed, the Wings fell at the last possible moment, oh so close to home, and yet so far away. Much like it was when my friend came up just short, it's hilarious for everyone else ... though painful for the passed out.

Funny how Detroit couldn't wait to tell us how tired they weren't when they were winning, and just as quick to tell us how tired they were when they lost.

Firstly, we must say the Wings' fall did not begin where we all thought it would, and that would be in net. For an entire season expert and derelict alike called on Chris Osgood(notes) to fail on the biggest stage, and those 8-spots he let up late in the season did nothing to quell our confidence that he would. But it must be said that Ozzy was more than solid throughout the playoff run, though Letang's goal in Game 3 and Staal's shorty in Game 4 were saves screaming to be made.

But seriously, has there been a goalie, or any player, more aware of his own stats than Osgood? If he campaigns for the Hall of Fame any more than he already has we might have to start calling him Chris OsSanto around here. Enjoy a nice summer of memorizing your updated numbers, Ozzie, so that you might share them in bed with Pierre McGuire.

And then there's Marian Hossa(notes), and his sad panda-face.

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Marian went chasing a Cup last summer like a drunken cougar at a wedding, only to watch his beloved run off with the best friend who he'd knocked out of the way for the bouquet. Hossa's playoff performance reminded me of myself and my method for meeting women. Basically stand around and hopefully someone else will do the work for you, and you can just pick up the prize.

Do you think he'll put that in his next contract? That Zetterberg will have to do all the work for him?

But there's oh-so much more. We'll have to spend a summer without watching Tomas Holmstrom(notes) and Mikael Samuelsson(notes), two of the toughest guys in the league when they can see your name and number. Maybe the whole team hangs out in the same pool in Stockholm, all the better to practice diving together (there were times when Wings games looked like a SCUBA training class).

Perhaps Maltby and Draper will finally take those Karma Sutra classes to improve their relationship, if they can stop coming up with phony complaints about Sidney Crosby(notes) of the Pittsburgh Penguins.

No more will we have to be jealous of Henrik Zetterberg(notes), who went from making out with A.J. Langer on "My So Called Life" to Jennifer Connelly in "Requiem For a Dream" to being an NHL star. Hardly seems fair (that's a Jared Leto joke for the truly dense, or Wings fans).

Nicklas Lidstrom(notes) will have time to rest that horrific injury, though there are thousands of women in Chicago just begging to get speared in the groin by Patrick Sharp(notes), so muffle those complaints, sir.

Niklas Kronwall(notes) can spend the summer in musicals, more the better to hone his skill of leaving his feet and flailing his elbows. Though your hit against Martin Havlat was probably legal, you'll be asked to answer for it next season, and we're all sure you won't answer the bell.

Sure, you'll hear calls that a Cup would have been good for a moribund city quickly descending into hell, though no Wings fan actually lives in the Detroit metro area.

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But frankly, any city that inflicts upon society the plagues that are Eminem and Kid Rock deserves whatever befalls it, and no argument can be made about that.

But most of all, we'll miss the Red Wing fans, simply the most obnoxious, unaware, and humorless bunch of people this side of a group of lobotomized Germans.

They've plagued all our blogs and boards with their misspellings, misplaced anger, and drool stains that have somehow worked their way onto their comments, not understanding why anyone could hate them so.

Enjoy another banner Lions season, friend.

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