Express' Christopher Porter had a fever dream while at a Washington Capitals game; the story told hereafter is part fanciful jest, aided by the "oaky afterbirth" of Paul Mason.

IT WASN'T THE SMOOTH JAZZ BAND that greeted the suddenly mellow-romantic hockey fans who entered the Verizon Center on Sunday that made the Capitals lose to the Flyers. (Did Bobby Clark get to pick the outside-the-arena music? Note to Ted: Darkest Hour might be a better choice to fire up beer-chugging puckheads.)

And it wasn't the Caps' turnovers, lost face-offs and bad line changes, or the Flyers' stifling play and consistent bodychecks, that tied the playoffs series one game apiece before Tuesday's tilt in Philly.

Express alone can exclusively reveal the real reason the Capitals were defeated. The damning camera-phone-snapped evidence is after the jump:

It's because these superfans never made it into the arena!

As I walked past the bodypainting lads on Fun Street, I overheard this conversation :

Jesse: Dude! You got a "Sweet" red tattoo!
Chester: So do you, dude! Dude, what does my tattoo say?
Jesse: "Sweet!" What about mine?
Chester: "Dude!" What does mine say?
Jesse: "Sweet!" What about mine?
Chester: "Dude!" What does mine say?
Jesse: "Sweet!" What about mine?
Chester: "Dude!" What does mine say?
Jesse: "Sweet!" What about mine?
Chester: "Dude!" What does mine say?
Jesse: "Sweet!" What about mine?
Chester: "Dude!" What does mine say?
Jesse: "Sweet!" What about mine?
Chester: [angry] "Dude!" What does mine say?
Jesse: [screaming] "Sweet!"

Sensing this was a Sisyphusian argument, I snuck away from the fellas and entered the Verizon Center while being serenaded by a funky-cool cover of Herbie Hancock's "Chameleon." (Not coincidentally, as I strolled past the band I became deeply desirous of a white-wine spritzer. Thanks, smooth jazz!)

After nearly two and a half hours of rather subdued hockey — and 37 tiny bottles of Paul Mason chardonnay — I walked back out onto Abe Pollin Way (aka Fun Street!) and was surprised to find Jesse and Chester still having it out:

Chester: "Dude!" What does mine say?
Jesse: "Sweet!" What about mine?
Chester: "Dude!" What does mine say?
Jesse: "Sweet!" What about mine?
[etc.]

As I descended into the Metro, I could still hear the tragicomic squeals of the boys as they tried in vain to break free of their verbal Mobius strip.

If only I would have stopped and helped my these young hockey pucks — who obviously took to rocking the red much more seriously than I did — perhaps Washington's Mike Green wouldn't have played so poorly, and perhaps Philly's Martin Biron wouldn't have played so well, and perhaps the Caps wouldn't have been shut out 2-0.

Next time, Hockey God, I promise to listen when you put the sad children in my path and have the wind whisper, "Help the lambs."

Posted by Christopher Porter at 10:18 AM on April 14, 2008
Tagged in Capitals , Free Ride , Sports , The District , Top Stories