The sporting life

This is what happens when you ask someone if their mom is a prostitute:



Now that's what I call a pitched battle.

Speaking of the pitch, go here to read me waxing idiotic on some footy.

Speaking of feet, those north-of-the-border frogs used theirs to kick our nation's capital to the icy curb. This will not stand. Canada, prepare for an invasion of our finest crackers brandishing fried foods.

Pittsburgh vs. Montreal: I'm not sure people are grasping how large a miserable failure Washington just barfed on the East coast. A 33-point regular season gap, a 91-goal differential gap, world-class star power against a collection of midgets and pieces-parts and blowing a 3-1 lead. Somehow, I can't see Crosby, Malkin, Gonchar, et al permitting a second coming of blasphemy. Penguins in five.

Boston vs. Philadelphia: A shame when two perennial underachievers meet, for one gets to shed a few blemishes off such truth. The city of brotherly angst is already aware that three key forwards will be lounging it up at home while the beaneaters are getting back offensive wiz/defensive fizz Marc Savard. But the latter also has Satan, the ultimate sleeved ace. Bruins in seven.

San Jose vs. Detroit: Now here's a matchup brimming with tradition. Hockeytown vs. The Choke Job. Californistan has talent, but until they put up, they can shut their piehole. Red Wings in six.

Chicago vs. Vancouver: The number two seed is the chic pick, and though rookie goalies with postseason success aren't unheard of -- Cam Ward in 2006 and backstopping gods Ken Dryden in 1971 and Patrick Roy in 1986, for starters -- the Canucks have a bit more thermonuclear weaponry at their disposal than those quarterfinal hillbillies. Still, who doesn't love being à la mode. Blackhawks in six.