The Art of Blocking Your Own Cock

Congratulations are in order. Last night both the Chicago Blackhawks and the Nuggets managed to pull off the unenviable feat of blocking their own cocks. The similarities are many. We're talking about two unanimous underdogs in their respective series', and two road teams needing a road win if they want any chance of advancing. Furthermore, both teams are full of young and undisciplined, yet exciting and talented players surrounding a "veteran presence" who should theoretically carry his team in these types of situations (Billups for Denver, the Bulin Wall in Chicago...and don't get me started on him). Finally, both are matched up against not only teams who were dominant in their respective leagues this season, but franchises who have long storied histories of post-season success. Yet, both the Hawks and Nuggs found themselves in a position to knock off a vaunted, more respected foe.

And then they each went ahead and crapped in their jocks. This would not have been a case of either team "stealing" a win on the road thanks to a lackluster effort by their opponents, or an otherworldy performance by their own team. Both Chicago and Denver clearly outplayed the Red Wings and Lakers for the majority of the contests. The Hawks outshot the Wings, played smart and surprisingly physical hockey for a team predicated on speed and scoring. The Nuggets played exceptional team defense all night, showed no reverence or fear of the Lake Show, and Melo outplayed his "brother" Kobe. (But shhhhhh, don't tell anyone. Kobe hasn't quite climaxed yet from the outpouring of grundle-washing after his "vintage" performance).

In spite of all this, the Blackhawks return to Chicago down 0-2, while the Nuggets try to come to grips with letting that game slip away. And the thing is, I never doubted that the Wings or Lakers would win. And that's the difference between the teams in both Western Conference Finals. The Red Wings and Lakers are championship teams, with championship coaching, poise and a championship attitude. They are teams that win when they shouldn't, win when they are outplayed and outmatched, and do it as if it were expected all along. All thanks to the outstanding cockblocking ineptitude of their opponents.

The Lakers did not climb on Kobe's back while he willed them back in the game with jumpers. Dude missed his last FG attempt, and lucked out with a ticky-tack (and ill-advised) foul call against your friend and ours, Kenyon Martin. The Lakers found a win because Anthony Carter decided to throw a water-balloon inbounds pass at the worst possible moment that Trevor Ariza gladly snatched up. Game, Lakers...a lead too large for even Mr. Big Shot to make up.

And the Red Wings didn't see any incredible individual performances from the Datsyuk's and Zetterberg's of their squad. Detroit got gifted a 3-on-1 odd man rush because Brian Campbell decided that overtime of a road playoff game is a good time to try the ole' "back-handed skip pass through the zone from just inside the blue line" technique. Going back farther in the game, Dan Cleary, slayer of Blackhawk leads, broke free for the goal which put Detroit up 2-1 because of a Brent Seabrook give away just inside the zone.

And that brings me to my point (finally). Two Blackhawk mistakes...two Detroit goals. One rather large and glaring Nugget turnover, one clinching possession for L.A. Chicago and Denver needed wins last night. They need at least one win on the road, period, and last night each had what may be their best opportunity to get it. They each outplayed their opponent. They were each hitting on all cylinders, and they each found themselves with momentum late in the game, unexpectedly perhaps. They each played well enough to win, yet lost. While their more poised, less panicked and more deserving opponents played as if they should lose, yet won. If inevitability exists, last night was it's manifestation.

Chicago and Denver, you cockblocked yourselves last night. Not just for that game, but possibly for what could become very short series. Nobody got in your way, except yourselves. You were the better team last night. You just aren't championship teams. So those blue balls you're waking up with this morning? Take a good look in the mirror and pat yourself on the back. And good luck finding yourself in such a prime position with a drunk, staggering, tit-hanging-out piece of ass like that again. At least until next year...