Peter Prucha as Tommy from Goodfellas

It had been a rough one. My first night back on the Silver Sheet since I'd gotten run on a Sunday afternoon against the Capitals. Sixteen games, a black and blue shoulder that looked like it could have been served with a Pilsner Urquell and a side of sheep's testicles. I could see the smirk on my nemisis' face as I hobbled my way towards our bench.

Tom Renney had had it with me. My blundering of chances in front of the net. My failures at getting the puck deep in the zone. The Evil North American Doctor had his hopes diminished before by my ability to hop up and get right back on the sheet. After getting laid out like a Budejovice whore on the night that my countrymen won the gold medal in the Olympics back in Nagano. So many times I bounce back up. So many times I am ready for my next shift.

Some call him "Dandy Tom". Dandy if you come from Canada. Dandy if you look better with a stick impaled in your chin instead of weilding it like an artist waiting to toe drag and rip a wrister over Brodeur's shoulder in a shootout.Anyway, T.E.N.A.D. I'll call him Tenad for now, well, he'd gotten his wish. I had finally taken a shot that I couldn't just bounce back from. But I worked hard. I kept my training at a high level. I was fit to play soon after. There was one problem when it came time that I was ready to assume my position and regain my glory on slab a of ice in which the crowd would chant "Pruuuuuuuu". The team was winning. They hadn't lost in over a month. I could understand why Tenad would keep the players that had been performing well in the lineup.

I had started spending alot of time with Fours and Struds. I had even started to try to grow, as they say, a "Porn-Stache". All that happened though was a few whispy little hairs that made me look like an old lady that had given up on waxing her lip. I learned alot from Fours during my time away from the team, or "Up in the Halo" as it is called.What happened the other night is something that may come back to haunt me later in life. But I'll tell the story as best as I can remember.

I had a bit of a frustrating game, as did the rest of the team. J-squared scored a goal early in the game and Tenad gave strict orders that we were to protect that 1-0 lead at all costs. It worked well for the next period but things in the third period started to look bad. Orrsie took a penalty that by all rights should have led to a tying goal against us. Well my mates did a good job of killing off the penalty. A few minutes later I had my shift and it ended up in a scrum right around Hank.I tried to push the Flyer ahead of me off of Hank and then all hell broke lose. I felt a punch to the back of my head and then blind rage took over. I went right back at who I figured had hit me. Scott Hartnell, 6 feet 2 inches, 210 pounds of Saskatchewan Studliness. I gave a facewash and threw a few Grecco Roman manuevers at him that would make my former Eastern Block bretheren proud. I ended up on top of him. Two minutes of well deserved time on the Punisher's Pulpit.

What happened next was a horror to my eyes. Unlike how the boys picked up Orrsie and killed off his penalty, they were unable to kill off our Achilles Heel. The Four on Four. Mano-a-Mano. Couldn't do it. I skated back to the bench and felt the death stare from Tenad before I even looked up to meet it. In Tenad's eyes I had failed again.

The game ended up with us allowing another Quatro- eh- Quatro goal. This time with Aves giving up the puck and leading to a rush that ended the game. If things weren't bad enough, I hear Tenad say to Aves, "You'll get'em next time fella" while looking at me like I'd taken the 2% out of his fridge and replaced it with Whole milk.

After showering and answering a few questions from the writers I mentioned to Jags that I needed a drink. We decided to meet at this dive bar on 8th that we found out we can go to because if you don't play soccer, they don't know you.

So I walk in with Gretchen, a girl I'm trying to nail, and I see Jags and Rozi sitting at the far side of the bar. As I get near them I hear a voice I remember calling me from the far end of the bar.

"Shit, I didn't know you were having a reunion here tonight." I said to Jags"Don't worry about it." Jags said, "He just came back to the States.

""Yo, Little Petey, Pete, C'mere ya little prick ya."

There he is, Petr Nedved, back from the homeland, back in NYC."Ah, shit." I mumble to my teamates.

"Hey Big Pete, How ya doin'."

Big Pete is loaded, I could tell he'd been there for a while. He smells like a combination of cheap champagne, cheap vodka and Heineken. He was there with Cdeno Ciger, Thomas Kloucek and some broad I didn't recognize.

"Come here you." he says while grabbing me into an awkward hug.

"Look at you, Little Petey all dressed up and doin the town.""C'mon, watch the suit." I say frustratingly."Watch the suit? HaHa. Look at ya all grown up. I still remember you from when I played back in Czech Jrs."

My blood started to boil. The second I saw this old has been I knew this was going to come up.

"Now remember this was back before the Berlin Wall came down. This little kid used to hang outside of the dressing room at the rink in Chrudim and sharpen skates. And I ain't talkin about no mechanical skate sharpener. This kid had this pouch with all of these stones in it. Round ones, flat ones all that shit."

I started walking back to where Jags and Rozi were.

"Hell, he had any kind a stone needed. He could take a knick out of a blade in a few seconds. Make'em look like mirrors. We used to call him "Spit Shine Petey."

That was it. One thing from my past that I was trying to get away from was the whole "Spit Shine Petey" thing. And now he is bringing it up. I try to play it cool though.

"No more sharpening Nedved."

"What's that Little Pete?"

"I don't know, I know you been away long time maybe nobody come out to see and tell ya. I don't sharpen skates no more."

"Whoa, Whoa, Little Pete, I mean no disrespect, don't get all hot and bothered alright. We're just tryin to have a little party here."

"Yeah, Alright Nedved, I mean no disrespect. Salute."

"Salute, Little Pete"Everybody in the place took a shot to ease the tension. Until.

"Now go home and get your Fuckin Sharpening Box."

That was it."You Mutha Fucking Mutt"I started to try to get at Nedved but Jags and Rozi were holding me back.

"Yeah, C'mon Little Pete, Ya feel strong?" Chided Nedved from across the room.

"Hey P-squared, take it easy will ya" Begged Rozi.

"C'mon." Commanded Jags. "Everyone settle down, P-Squared, Nedved, Everyone settle down. Let's have a drink."

"Yeah alright. C'mon everyone drinks on me." Said Nedved

"No, Petr Drinks are on the house." Corrected Jagr.

I downed my shot and grabbed Gretchen by the wrist and said "Come on we're leavin'.""I'll be back in a bit J-Squared. I'll be back in a bit. You keep him here."

Heading Towards Climax

Well, here we are. 72 down 10 to go. 10 games left in the regular season. Tonight kicks off the homestretch of the 2008-2009 NHL season. The Atlantic Division title still within reach. The conference title still within reach. 10 games in the next 20 days that will, if nothing else, be entertaining. Five games are at the Garden where the Rangers are 22-13-1. Five games are on the road where the Rangers are 15-13-8.

One thing the Rangers have going for them is that each and every game of the final ten are against their own division rivals. The Blueshirts are 15-6-1 in divisional games this season. 3 games against Pittsurgh who they are 3-2 against. 3 games against the Devils who they are unblemished in 5 meetings. 2 games against Philadelphia in which they are 4-1 against. And last, and least the Islanders who they are 2-3-1 against despite the Isles being in last place in the division.

Fun times are ahead in the next three weeks. The chips will all be on the table, now we get to see who gets them all at the end of the hand.

Jagr Retiring A Possibility???

Reading an article on yesterday's 1-0 shootout win in today's New York Post, a pretty glaring quote comes through Larry Brooks' pen/typewriter/tape recorder/iPod/keyboard, whatever he uses.

Jagr, in Brooks' article said:"I have a pretty good idea what I'm going to do next year, and I've known for three or four weeks, but I'm not going to say anything. I don't want that to become an issue," Jagr said. "I'm not going to say something that's going to be a distraction to the team."

I know it is sort of vague but it just sounds like the type of quote that seems to come when an athlete has decided to retire.

Jagr, who is in his 17th season as an NHL player, is having his least productive season ever. Now while an undetermined portion of the blame for that could be attributed to having a very difficult time finding a center who could help Jagr play his game, the point still remains that the Ranger captain's skills may be deteriorating.

In the past, poor performances by Jagr were always attributed to him either sulking, or just not caring about the overall result of his past teams. I can thankfully say that has not been the case in his tenure as a Blueshirt. While he may have coasted at times and seemed to give up on occasion due to sheer frustration of having to fend off multiple defenders anytime the puck came near him, one thing remained. He cares. He hates losing.

The past month or so I've watched him closely and he is putting in a very strong effort each and every night. While the points totals may not show it, the effort is there.

If this indeed is the home stretch of a distinguished NHL career, there is only one more thing I can say when it comes to Jaromir's final games as a Ranger. Cheers, it's been a pleasure watching.