The_Infernos

Welcome back to the sack Mr Makar

Ladies and gentlemen, the Avalanche starting lineup according to EA…

We complain about corporate sponsors in the U.S. for major sporting teams, but at least they don’t outright own and brand their own teams. This is two of Korea’s largest telecom companies facing each other in the KBO, I’m not sure if it’s an event or just a regular series.

Today I commemorate PFC Bacho. Probably one of the brightest, smartest soldiers I’ve ever served with, taken long before he should have. I’d have loved to take this outstanding individual with my on a deployment. Fuck alcohol. (And yes, that shirt does completely describe his personality)

Hear me, Jobu. Lately, the sticks of the avalanche have been sick. They are afraid of putting the puck against Carter Hart. I offer you beer from the breweries of the Rocky Mountains and French Canada, rum from your homelands in the Caribbean, and fragrant candles of the burgundy and blew. Please, Jobu, heal our hockey sticks, and let us win one against the den of villainy and sin that is TMobile Arena. #goavsgo

Can we get this meme format back for Ahcan? #goavsgo

Still vouching for this to be the intro video for the playoffs youtu.be/KB7H5auScq8?si=sCp3… @Avalanche

LIFTOFF!

Since Bednar called Gabe Landeskog “The Godfather”, here’s chatGPT’s version of what happened in the locker room after the Eberle-Cogliano hit: “The training room was dim, quiet, insulated from the noise outside. Equipment bags were stacked against the wall. Tape, sweat, and cold air. Gabriel Landeskog sat behind the desk like he had all the time in the world. Cale Makar stood in front of him, tense but measured, like a man trying very hard not to let anger make him careless. Landeskog didn’t look up right away. He finished wrapping the blade of a stick, set it down, then finally raised his eyes. “You’ve got something on your mind.” Makar let out a slow breath. “You saw the hit.” Landeskog’s face didn’t move. “Everybody saw the hit.” “Then you know why I’m here.” A long pause. “I know why you’re here,” Landeskog said. “What I don’t know is what you expect from me.” Makar stepped closer. “Cogs is one of the best men in this room. He does everything right. He plays the game right. He takes care of people. He says the right thing, does the hard thing, never complains. And now he’s out because somebody decided the numbers on the back of his jersey gave them permission.” Landeskog folded his hands. “You think I need convincing.” “No,” Makar said. “I think you need to decide.” Landeskog’s gaze sharpened. “Decide what?” “How this gets answered.” The captain leaned back in his chair. “You’re asking the wrong question.” “Then give me the right one.” Landeskog nodded once. “The question isn’t whether it gets answered. It’s how public we want the answer to be.” That made Makar stop for a second. He lowered his voice. “I’m not asking for chaos.” “Good,” Landeskog said. “Because chaos is for teams that panic.” Makar’s jaw tightened. “Then I’m asking for a message.” Now Landeskog stood. Not fast. Not dramatic. Just enough to make the room feel smaller. “A message,” he repeated. “You know what messages are in the playoffs? They’re not speeches. They’re not scrums after the whistle. They’re not one guy flying off the rails and putting us shorthanded.” Makar held his ground. “Then what are they?” Landeskog walked a slow circle around the room, thinking aloud. “Sometimes a message is a hit. Sometimes it’s a stare across the red line. Sometimes it’s a bench that suddenly remembers it has teeth.” He stopped in front of Makar. “And sometimes,” he said, “it’s a name on the lineup card.” Makar’s expression shifted. He knew where this was going before Landeskog said it. “MacDermid,” Makar said. Landeskog gave the faintest hint of a smile. “You didn’t come in here because you wanted poetry.” Makar almost smiled back, but didn’t. “No.” “You came in here because you wanted reassurance.” “I came in here because I wanted to know we weren’t letting it pass.” Landeskog nodded. “We’re not.” He reached for the phone on the desk. Makar watched him. “You’re really doing it.” Landeskog picked up the receiver. “Cale, when somebody takes liberties with one of ours, there are conversations that happen. Quiet conversations. Important conversations.” He started dialing. “That’s what leadership is. Not pounding the table. Knowing which table to pound.” The line clicked. Landeskog’s voice changed immediately — calm, direct, all business. “Joe. Yeah. It’s Gabe.” He listened for a second. “I’ve seen enough. Put MacDermid in next game.” Silence on the other end. “No,” Landeskog said, “I’m not chasing a circus. I’m restoring order.” Another pause. “Yes. I know exactly what it says.” His eyes flicked toward Makar. “It says we remember.” He listened again, then nodded once. “Good. Then do it.” He hung up the phone and set it down gently. Makar looked at him. “That easy?” Landeskog shook his head. “No. Easy is pretending nothing happened. Easy is telling the room to be mature and move on.” He stepped closer. “This is deliberate.” #GoAvsGo @DNVR_Avalanche

Colorado is a four sport city! @Rockies @Avalanche @nuggets #goavsgo

Avalanche defense completely leaving Blackwood out to dry, what is wrong with these guys? #goavsgo