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DOG: “CHRIS! CHRIIIS! The Long Island Islanders are ONE win away from their second Stanley Cup title, can you believe it?! 16–11 last night in Calgary, Bossy AGAIN, three hits, five runs batted in, and the Flames are TOAST.”
MIKE: “Listen, Dog. They’re up 3–0. Series is over. Calgary has NO pitching. NONE. You cannot give up sixteen runs in a Cup Final game at home. That’s embarrassing. The Saddledome crowd—disgusted. You saw ‘em leaving in the eighth inning.”
DOG: “Ahhh but Mike, the Isles, they’re relentless! Bernabel, Sijtsma, Bauer, Bossy—everybody hittin’! It’s an avalanche! And you’re tellin’ me tomorrow night, Game 4, in Calgary? Fuhgeddaboudit! They’re gonna bring the Cup back to the Island!”
MIKE: “Well, hold on. Hold on. Let’s not hand ‘em the trophy yet. I’ve seen sweeps before, Dog, but sometimes—you know this—you get that desperate Game 4, backs against the wall, other team sneaks one out. But—BUT—Calgary’s pitching has been atrocious. Erickson, Bonilla, Selin—garbage. Absolute garbage.”
DOG: “NO DOUBT, Mike, NO DOUBT! And how about the crowd at Nassau, when they go back for Game 5, IF there is a Game 5—ohhh, forget it! That place is gonna be ROCKIN’, MIKE, ROCKIN’!”
MIKE: “Dog, there won’t be a Game 5. Islanders in four. Write it down. Bossy the MVP. Series over.”
DOG: “HAAAA! THE ISLANDERS, MIKE, THE ISLANDERS! TITLE NUMBER TWO, RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER!”
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