It was a tough holiday weekend for the Penguins and goaltender Marc-Andre Fleury. Two games in Detroit, zero goals, and halfway to having to answer stupid questions from reporters about where it all went wrong, what happened to all the momentum. But hey, it’s tough all over, and nobody is crying for Hockey Jesus and his demoralized band of disciples. Least of all me.
While Marc-Andre Fleury has been leaking goals, my basement has been leaking rainwater. Lots and lots of rainwater. It started, coincidentally enough, on Saturday. Just a trickle, really, in the spot that often gets a little damp when it rains. I wasn’t that concerned. Some towels and a fan, and everything would be just fine come morning. Nothing to see here, folks.
And then the skies opened.
By Monday morning, at approximately the same time the Wings officially announced the Game 2 return of Johan Franzen, half the basement was waterlogged. Carpet? Sodden. Precious, precious HD TV? Unusable, for fear that an unfortunate short circuit would shatter its beautiful liquid crystals forever. I tried calling Gary Roberts to help, but he couldn’t figure out call waiting and I kept getting dumped into his voicemail.
Still, I was prepared to soldier on. This was a temporary problem, nothing that a couple thousand dollars, a commercial water extractor and an industrial dehumidifier couldn’t fix. Then, during Game 2, I was sitting in my basement office liveblogging away* (sans TV), when I heard a suspicious noise. A noise that sounded a lot like dripping water. I looked up, and sure enough there was a leak from UPSTAIRS.
My office sits right below the kitchen, so this could only be the kitchen sink. Sure enough, the outflow pipe from the garbage disposal was loose, causing dirty water and tiny food particles to come leaking through the ceiling. Hey, nothing that some furious wrenching and a few new ceiling tiles couldn’t set right!
Several minutes later, Ryan Malone was called for “interfering” with Chris Osgood, and Val Filppula scored.
So, MAF, if you had a tough weekend, join the fucking club. At least you’re young, in shape, and a millionaire, so you’re three up on me. And maybe a return to Mellon Arena will be just the cure you need. And maybe my insurance company will generously offer to pay for the water damage. However, I think you should know (and I don’t want to read too much into this or anything), but…
It’s raining again.
* Full disclosure: there is no couch in the blogging office. I may or may not have been in my underwear.