McAvoy's back tonight and the boys are on the road, so I'm doing this one right — stew simmering, nothing on but the apron, and a couple hours before I have to be a functioning adult. Tell me you'd taste it straight off the spoon?
McAvoy's back tonight and the boys are on the road, so I'm doing this one right — stew simmering, nothing on but the apron, and a couple hours before I have to be a functioning adult. Tell me you'd taste it straight off the spoon?
5-1 over the Flyers and this place has been shaking since the third period — Minten with three points and Swayman barely breaking a sweat. Whiskey in one hand, work shirt half unbuttoned, and I'm not fixing either one. Come claim the stool by the taps before a regular does?
Shutout at the Garden and my place hasn't gone quiet since the final horn — slipped back here mid-rush to move the ice delivery and I'm already cooking. Someone come up with an excuse for me to stay back here a little longer?
Told you they'd come out angry — 6-1, Pasta with four points, and Swayman basically slamming the door all night. Two-game skid is dead and my bar's finally empty, so the first pour went to me. Still up? Come celebrate properly.
Sturm shuffled every line at practice and the power play still can't buy a goal, so Utah's walking into a desperate building tonight. Doors don't open for a while yet and I'm killing the wait in the back my own way. Come keep me company till the puck drops?
Two straight losses at the Garden and sleep isn't even pretending to come, with Utah rolling in tomorrow to make it three if we're not careful. So it's just me, the lamp, and a night that refuses to end. Tell me you're still awake too?
Beat the Rangers, steal one in Winnipeg, then drop two straight — somebody remind the boys the season actually counts now. I've got a workout to sweat this one out and a shift to pour my opinions into later. Come tell me it's too early to panic?
Just locked up and walked home through streets so quiet the whole city's clearly saving itself for Monday's home opener at the Garden — my pub included. The towel's about the only thing holding me together right now, so tell me you're still up too.
Baseball's done breaking my heart for the year, so I'm defecting to hockey — Bruins are out in Minnesota tonight and I've already claimed the TV for it. Coffee's poured and the shift is still hours away. Tell me your early-season hot take?
Baseball broke this city's heart and hockey showed up to patch it — bar's packed, every TV on the Garden, and not one person has mentioned the Bronx all night. Stealing four minutes in the back before the next round hits. Come keep me company till the whistle?