An Open Letter

Dear Craig MacTavish,

Any time you want to come over to our apartment and swear for a few hours, you are welcome to. Depending on what would make you more comfortable, we can discreetly vacate the premises, or we can stick around and join in. Whatever you please. We have some nice mini-quiches from Costco in the freezer we could heat up, and I'll make dessert--strawberries are in season, and since we buy those at Costco too, and the whipping cream, I'm certain there'll be enough to go around.

The thing is, MacT, it's clearly good when you let it out. Case in point would be Friday's game against Anaheim. You looked like you were freakin' out on the bench, and somehow the team pulled out a tortuous win, despite many of the copper and blue looking distressingly unfamiliar with the business end of a hockey stick. Maybe you simply intimidated the voices that pester Roli, maybe Roli became inspired by what he thought was your similar plight, but whatever happened, it was ultimately for the good.

Tonight? You had that introverted, resigned look I've been noticing of late, and the team--well, I don't know what they were, but they weren't exactly fired up. And against the Minnesota Christmas Elves, really they should be.

I'll level with you, MacT. I was really hoping to be watching the playoffs in HD, with the Oilers in them. Can't we work something out? Because tonight, doing my taxes was the consolation for having to watch a hockey game, instead of the right way round.

Thanks,
marriedtotheoil