It almost seems each game checks off another item on the list of objectives that need to be met before the playoffs arrive. Saturday's win over St. Louis was the low-scoring shutout by the backup goalie, Monday's win over Montreal was the high-scoring shootout punctuated by the new defenseman's highlight-reel goal, and Wednesday's win over Ottawa was a late comeback capped by the captain's overtime winner.
The Sharks' current run is remarkable because they're not just winning hockey games these days, but they're winning the hearts and minds of Shark fans. Everyone familiar with this team carries some amount of trepidation, but they're making a lot of people believers these days. People weren't exactly jumping ship after months of indifferent play, but it sure is fun to see optimism building for the upcoming playoff run.
I really enjoyed watching the game from section 214, feeling the tension of the game and the absolute jubilation that came from Cheechoo's equalizer and Marleau's winner. Watching the game from the press box, you're disconnected from the emotion of the game. Sure you can hear the boos or cheers, but you don't get to see the shaking heads and fist pumps that occur over the course of a game.
There were a lot of whispers about the clock striking midnight after that first period. The Sharks were slow out of the gate, unable to gain the offensive zone and struggling to mount any attack against the Ottawa defense. But the Sharks carried the play in the second period, and had a handle on the game despite trailing 1-0 after the first 40 minutes.
Marleau evened things up less than a minute into the third, and San Jose dominated the period but trailed 2-1 after Ottawa's power play goal with 7:10 remaining. I don't spend much time complaining about the referee's because I figure it all balances out over the course of a season, but that call on Ehrhoff was one of the worst I've ever seen.
Burned on a bad penalty call and trailing despite having outplayed their opponents, San Jose really found itself behind the eight-ball. The January 2008 Sharks would have hung their heads, tossing a few shots on goal in the final minute and blaming some bad luck for a regulation loss.
Sometimes stats bounce around your brain like a racquetball. I just kept thinking how Oct. 29 was the last time the Sharks had won a game they'd trailed in the final 10 minutes of the third period. Turns out these new Sharks are up to the challenge, and Cheechoo's goal sent the capacity crowd into a frenzy. After that puck hit the twine there was no way San Jose was going to lose that game.
Marleau's winner was the result of hard work, and really showed some veteran leadership. Mike Commodore's stick had broken, and he was trying his best to rough up the San Jose captain. But Marleau kept pressing, fighting through a check/interference and busting his way to the net for a one-timer that found its way through Martin Gerber.
The game wasn't perfect, but the Sharks showed a whole lot of resilience and displayed some of the heart a championship team needs, creating their own bounces down the stretch. It added another storybook ending to San Jose's current seven-game streak, and almost makes you think there's some magic in this team, especially considering all they've been through this year.
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As far as individual efforts go:
-you have to give McLaren credit for trying to gut it out with that knee, but he was really laboring out there and needs to take a seat
-Murray has become even more of a physical force playing with Campbell, and you could see the Ottawa forwards were worried about the Swedish Meatball barreling down on them
-I really liked Plihal's effort, and he got a few shifts on the third line with Mitchell and Grier
-Thornton had an off night, turning the puck over and taking some ill-advised shots, and he was really getting worked over by Volchenkov but made up for it with that perfect feed to Cheechoo
-Setoguchi needs to finish his checks along the boards, because there were a lot of situations where the Ottawa defender was able to make a play because Seto went the long way around attempting a poke check rather than pasting the guy's chest to the glass. He also needs to hit the open net when he has the chance.
-Disease, flood or famine, whatever the reason for Marleau's poor play it's finally over and he's playing like we all knew he could for the first time since the Nashville series
-Cheechoo wasn't having the best game before his goal, but he was going hard to the net and it was nice to see him rile up some of the Ottawa defenders with his aggressive play
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Personally, I'd like to thank the Sharks for putting on a great show. For the majority of us men out there, I'm sure the women in our lives would rather send a day at the spa than a night at the rink. But a win like that goes a long way towards justifying the countless hours spent watching, writing about and agonizing over this great sport of ours.
My wife might forget the feelings and emotions of the game by the time the weekend is over, but all the cheering left her hoarse and she had a great time. She even took a trip down to the broadcasters' row after the game and was amazed to hear Dan Rusanowsky's voice in person. She always thought it was fake, transmitted through some kind of altering device.
She also had the line of the night, and she's probably been watching too much "American Idol." After the national anthems, she turned to me and said "It was a little pitchy, and I'm not sure about the song choice." That reminds me, if anyone's interested in some extra-curricular reading here's a column I wrote last July. I'm my own harshest critic, but I figure it's better than most of the stuff you'll read on this blog.
The Wife Is Catching On
SAN FRANCISCO - Most men hope to indoctrinate their wives/girlfriends into the fascinating world of sports, and I'm no different.
I love sports, for better or worse, and I've been trying to impart some of my sports knowledge to my wife, Amanda, from the moment I met her. That's just human nature, wanting to share the things we love most with those we love most. And if a little of the passion rubs off on her, I'll take that as well.
We've made steady progress over the last four years, and come a long way from the days she thought a halfback was an automobile with limited trunk space. Today she can recall that Jimmy Connors was trained by his mother, she can explain the movement of a split-fingered fastball, and she not only hates Chris Pronger, but the entire Anaheim Ducks organization. It all gives me a great sense of pride, molding a sports fan in my own biased image.
Most weekday mornings we'll watch the Chicago Cubs together, taking turns chanting out "Hit a homa!" or "Strike 'em out!" as we witness Piniella's bunch limp through the 2007 season. She's taken a liking to Sweet Lou, while my opinion of Carlos Zambrano swings like a frenetic pendulum with each start. We're quite a pair, and she's developed into a bona fide sports fan.
A huge stride came two weeks ago, courtesy of supervillain Barry Bonds. Bonds is a cheater, plain and simple - a man who injected his body with performance-enhancing drugs for years, gaining an unfair advantage that enabled him to break records previously believed to be unattainable. He'll break Hank Aaron's all-time home run mark sometime in the next couple months, causing a celebration tainted by shame and deceit.
However, for one night all the cynicism melted away, the slings and arrows disappeared, and I was able to enjoy the performance of baseball's greatest power hitter - steroids or not.
Visiting AT&T Park to take in the opening game of the Giants-Blue Jays three-game set, she was excited for the chance to see Bonds up close, watching a living legend at work. We made our way to the concourse in the fourth inning, hoping to grab a couple hot dogs and some nachos, when Barry stepped into the batter's box.
The crowd rumbled with excitement, and even the vendors stopped to take in the scene. My wife scrambled to see the action, standing on her tiptoes and peering over two sets of shoulders to see Bonds' at-bat.
Moments later he connected with a mighty swing, blasting a Josh Towers offering to the center field bleachers, and the party began. The park erupted on contact, music blared, and Amanda began jumping around uncontrollably.
"Did you see that?" she asked, a wide smile beaming from her oval face. I just nodded, shocked at her frantic excitement.
Hot dog in hand, she raced down the concourse, high-fiving a complete stranger as we made our way back to our seats. It was an incredible scene, witnessing the overwhelming joy that followed a simple act of physics. A man hit 430 feet, and my wife acted as if we'd just won the Powerball jackpot.
She replayed the event several times that night, marveling at our perfect timing and Barry's incredible power - a sports fan drunk on the excitement of a thing done well. I couldn't have been happier.
Bonds stepped to the plate in the eight inning Monday night with runners on second and third, score tied 3-3. San Diego manager Bud Black gave him an intentional pass, playing it safe as Barry hunts down Aaron's legendary mark. A capacity crowd booed as one and Bonds trotted to first as hundreds of wives and girlfriends, robbed of another spine-tingling moment, missed out on a shot at conversion.
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