Comrades! Rise Up Against the Real Red Menace!



Tonight is the dawn of a new world order, a glorious moment in San Jose Sharks history that will soon and forever be chronicled by historians, and celebrated throughout the land in both song and verse…along with many beers at Henry’s Hi-Life.

Tonight, we the San Jose Sharks and their fans shall rise at one, and witness the righteous forces of our just cause in glorious battle.  Warrior-poets clad in black, teal and that strange rust color shall finally rid the 2011 NHL Playoffs of the scourge of the venerated Detroit Red Wings.

Friends, this evening will mark a very special night for our cause, and our victory will also result in the San Jose Sharks no longer being relegated to lucky proletariat status by the bourgeoisie Red Wings and their media lap dogs.

For tonight, we shall beat back the real red menace for the second year in a row, and in doing so, cement our places as their rightful heir.

Old enemy, we know you well.

Fellow comrades, before we even fully knew our own potential, we were thrown into the lion’s den against this menace from Detroit years ago.  Against all odds, and having only the support of our fellow brothers and sisters clad in Pat Falloon and Bob Errey jerseys, we announced our arrival.

Though not their equal on paper by any sane person’s estimate, we were not dettered and were more than their match on the ice in 1994!  To classify us as the underdog that year would have been a generous interpretation of the word at best—we really had no chance.  Or so they thought.  Yet still we rose, and secured a historic victory over the enemy that would effectively launch our young franchise and serve as still, the greatest San Jose Sharks victory ever.

Comrade Jamie Baker, while we regret the loss of your mullet, we celebrate your heroics during each annual Feast of Baker held on your birthday at Original Joe’s and around the South Bay.  Your goal marked the second Shot Heard ‘Round The World for Bay Area fans, and your number should have been retired the morning after that game.  In fact, people shouldn’t even be able to voice your name at full volume around the Tank during the playoffs, it should be whispered…and your story passed on to future Shark generations in hushed tones of reference.

However comrades, the enemy has also reminded over the years that one series win equated to neither the need to respect or to fear us—so they didn’t do either.  Instead, the year after Baker’s Shot Part Deux, Detroit beat us senseless in a four game sweep.  They bloodied us in the 1995 playoffs like a over-matched bantam team, allowing the dismissive NHL media a chance to brand us as one-hit-wonders, and causing us to even doubt ourselves as a new force in the NHL.

I remember it being so quiet that day years ago, as I watched with fellow supporters.  It wasn’t even quiet, as much as it was silent.  An entire bar of fans who had been kicked in the gut all at once.  A silence that I still remember to this day comrades, and one that was like holding your breath underwater with your eyes closed.

But, within our bruised bodies held an indomitable spirit, and one that could not be forever extinguished.  And maybe, we should have fired Comrade Constantine after that sweep, but really, that would have been balls considering his epic 1994 victory.

Still, the enemy’s summary punishment left a sting with that 1995 playoff exit, but their victory’s only true legacy would be of steeling the focus of an entire Shark organization and fan base.  One who would work tirelessly to get back to a spot on the mountain, just ahead of them.

Friends, we approach that bluff tonight.

Yes, comrades, over the years and through other series in coming seasons with these very Red Wings, we have tasted both the sweet and the sour.  They arrive each time and prance around the rink as the so-called better team, demanding respect because of the laundry they wear.

In actuality, Detroit just masquerades as this champion of the industrial working class…not unlike their #1 fan, Kid Rock, who masquerades as just a good ole boy from the holler.

Nobody is buying the wannabe Southern-boy act Rock, we all still remember “Bawitdaba” and you upchucking the boogie so lose the fake accent for your own sake, before a real Southern boy…with a real accent takes umbrage…diggy diggy.

The reality is that the Red Wings are all just a bunch of tea sipping elites, who dwell high in an anciently constructed tower of the NHL.

But, friends, that tower is cracking…

We took out the foundation last year by knocking them out of the playoffs, and will finally topple this Most Dominating Team in the Western Conference edifice tonight.  Twice in a row will be no happenings of dumb luck my friends, and while the blinded media is happy to chronicle our series win last year as just a fluke, they will not be able to advance that drivel after we do it again.

Two years in a row comrades, is far from any fluke, luck or serendipity.

Tonight, the San Jose proletariat will RISE and the Detroit Red Wing fat cats, who live off the trappings and reputation of a previous age and exploits of previous teams, will forever be gone and relegated to the tracts of history.

Tonight, comrades, the San Jose Sharks will take their rightful place as captains of their own fate, advancing to the Western Conference Finals…against hopefully Nashville, because, I mean let’s be honest comrades…the ‘Preds would be infinitely better.

Tonight, the real red menace of Detroit and their fawning media and fans, will be silenced by the true heroes of the people…men wearing the symbol of the snapping shark of truth on their chests.

Men who will say little…but will make thunderous statements in front of the most glorious home crowd atmosphere on the face of the planet.

Go Sharks.