A Truly Capital Failure

Last night, the Washington Capitals pulled off one of the great vanishing acts in the history of professional sports. The only non-Original Six team ever to break 120 regular-season points had won the President's Trophy and was seemingly a lock to get to the Stanley Cup finals, if not win the Cup outright. Look at all that talent. Ovechkin. Varlamov. Theodore. Backstrom. Green. Fehr. Hart, Norris, Vezina--all on one team.

Then, fate. Or, perhaps, reality.

The Caps, the Red already Rockin', were up 3 games to 1 before having the opportunity to finish off the lowly eighth-seeded Habs in their own building. They couldn't. Back to Centre Bell. Interesting that both arenas are named for phone companies. Drop a dime. Montreal, with absolutely nothing to lose, came out fast and furious and buried Washington on the shoulders of Jaroslav Halak, not to mention the ghosts of Jacques Plante, Gump Worsley and the living aura of Ken Dryden, probably watching from Toronto with a voodoo doll. Halak may have physically made those 131 series saves, but it was Plante, Worsley and Dryden who saw the pucks and pulled Halak's strings. Not that Halak is a bad goaltender. By no means. But he couldn't see half those shots. The ghosts could. Hell; even Bunny Laroque probably got in a couple of saves.

It also didn't help that the Caps were nervous, tentative; unable to truly pull the trigger. Count the number of times the Caps had wide-open shooting lanes and opted, instead, to work it in closer. Backfired. All the things that got Washington to 120 points and the President's Trophy were missing by the end of the first period Wednesday night. Gone. Try as they may, the magic just wasn't there anymore. The Caps weren't just beaten by Montreal, they were beaten by Les Canadiens; the New York Yankees of hockey. But you don't get that far and lose without beating yourself, which they did. Badly.

Several #1 seeds have lost opening series. But only the Caps have blown a 3 games to 1 lead in the process. Dubious and embarassing.

Remember when Ben Crenshaw won the 1995 Masters? One of the first things out of his mouth after he stopped sobbing was saying he had Harvey Penick (who had passed away the week before the Masters, I think) in his bag that day. Anyone who had Harvey for a golf teacher (Ben Crenshaw, Tom Kite, Sandra Palmer, etc.) would tell you he made golf more fun than you could imagine. He made you achieve without making you do a thing...because you had so much damned fun bangin' golf balls and listening to the master. Bring that fun on the golf course; you can't help but win.

Wednesday night, the Caps didn't have Harvey Penick, or Bobby Orr, or even a prayer in their bag. They were out of gas, but, even worse, weighted down with the failures of years past. It wasn't fun at all.

It is not the first time the Caps have choked. But this time, there were no excuses. They had the talent. They had the coach. They had the fans. They were a machine in the regular season. Auto mechanics have a saying: "Cars run best just before they blow." Perhaps that's what happened when the Caps were up 3-1.

It's easy to be an armchair quarterback. We don't have to go out there and play. We don't know what Bruce Boudreau did when he went home Wednesday night. Same for Ovie, Eric Fehr, Varly; even Jose Theodore. What we do know is one of the best regular-season NHL teams in the last 30 years couldn't make it happen when it really mattered. Next year--get in the playoffs through the back door, save your regular-season energy and win the damned Cup. This time--you owe us. We've seen enough.