National Baseball League

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From the Watchtower at Amerant Bank Arena: Montreal Holds the Line, Florida Falls in Game 3

By Jon Snow
The Miami Sentinel
September 26, 2001

The battle for the Eastern Conference is far from over, but tonight, the men from Montreal struck a blow worthy of song. Beneath humid skies and a partisan crowd at Amerant Bank Arena, the Canadiens carved out a 6-3 victory over the Florida Panthers, taking a 2-1 lead in this hard-fought semifinal series. There was valor. There was blood. And in the end, there was Jose Ruiz, whose bat proved mightier than Florida’s pride.

Ruiz, a warrior cloaked in quiet confidence, stood tall amongst a field of fierce competitors. He struck three blows—two with might and one with subtlety—adding a home run, a double, and a walk to his tale of the night. He crossed the plate twice himself and left chaos in his wake. A lesser man would call it a career night. For Ruiz, it was duty.

He was not alone. Jacopo Peterman, a knight of curious demeanor, rode alongside him. Three hits, one a soaring shot over the left field wall in the third inning, brought Montreal to a lead they would not surrender. Art Vandelay added a thunderous strike in the seventh, and by then, the battle's course had been set.

For Florida, the fire flickered, but never blazed. Young van de Griendt doubled twice, but too few rallied to his banner. The once-mighty Jorge Baca, the Game 1 hero, found himself shackled by Montreal’s arms. The Panthers scratched across three runs, but in truth, their blades dulled before they drew real blood.

The blame cannot fall solely on the hitters. On the mound, Roger McCutcheon bore the weight of defeat. Six innings, fifteen hits, and three home runs surrendered. Like a ranger caught in a snowstorm, he could see no way through. Montreal’s bats found him at every turn, and though he fought with honor, honor was not enough.

Meanwhile, Jose Salgado stood firm for Montreal. Seven innings. Six hits. Three earned. But more than that, he gave his comrades belief. Around him, the bullpen tightened the noose, and Florida, try as they might, found no escape.

And so, the series turns. Montreal now holds the advantage, but they know as well as I do: no lead is safe in war. The Panthers still live, and wounded beasts are the most dangerous. Tomorrow, they clash again.

I have seen many things from the Wall—victories born of courage, defeats born of pride—but if I have learned anything, it is this: the night is long, and full of surprises.

Game 4. Amerant Bank Arena. The war continues.

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“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! RANGERS WALK IT OFF, TAKE 3-0 LEAD OVER ISLES!”
By Chris “Mad Dog” Russo
Broadcast transcript-style, because that’s how we do it, folks!

Alright, LISTEN TO ME — I don’t wanna hear from anybody today about pitch counts, bullpen strategy, none of it! Because if you were at Madison Square Garden this afternoon, or even if you were breathing oxygen anywhere in the five boroughs, you know EXACTLY what I’m talkin’ about — THE NEW YORK RANGERS JUST WALKED OFF THE LONG ISLAND ISLANDERS IN ONE OF THE WILDEST GAMES I’VE EVER SEEN!

Final score? TWELVE to ELEVEN. That’s right. 12–11. This was not hockey, folks — this was a baseball game in name only. We had fireworks. We had home runs. We had meltdowns. We had Ben Rice, bottom of the ninth, GONE! Two-run walk-off bomb off GARETH ZWEERS — remember the name — and the Rangers are now up THREE GAMES TO NOTHING in the Conference Semis!

Now let’s break this down because I’m steamed and I got a LOT to say here:

Eli Grubin! My god, this kid! Two homers, scored THREE times, drove in TWO, got on base FIVE times. He’s got ice in his veins and a Louisville Slugger in his hands. I mean, who is pitching to him at this point? What are we doing?

Kosmo Kramer! Another bomb, three RBIs, double to start things off — the man’s a lunatic, but he’s producing!

Ben Rice! Game-winner, folks. Off Zweers, who by the way — how is that guy still getting the ball in the ninth? Are we serious with this? The kid threw FIVE pitches, gave up a rocket, and walked off the field looking like he forgot how to tie his skates.

Let’s not forget the Islanders — they didn’t come to play tiddlywinks, either. Mike Bossy? FOUR hits. Two homers. Jack Bauer — THE Jack Bauer — THREE hits, drove in a pair, scored twice, probably foiled a terrorist plot during the 7th-inning stretch!

But it wasn’t enough. And why? Because the Islander bullpen BLEW IT. Completely, utterly collapsed. Gave up SEVEN runs in the final three innings. You cannot, I repeat, CANNOT do that in the postseason and expect to win.

And by the way — Rangers fans? They were going CRAZY. You had signs in the crowd saying “Stanley Cup 2001 CHAMPS???” — hey! SLOW DOWN. Great win, yes. But there’s still one more to get. Let’s pump the brakes before we start planning parades, alright?

That said, they got the momentum, they got the swagger, they got the depth — and the Islanders? They got one foot on the banana peel and the other one in the East River.

Game 4 tomorrow, right back at MSG. Islanders need a miracle. The Rangers? ONE. WIN. AWAY. From the Conference Finals.

DON’T MISS IT. I’LL BE YELLING THE WHOLE WAY THROUGH.

Mad Dog out.

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“OH MY GOD, YOU GUYS — DALLAS JUST GOT TOTALLY CRUSHED!”
By Eric Cartman, Genius Sports Analyst and Snack Aficionado

Okay, okay okay okay… SIT DOWN, BUTTERS! Because I’m about to tell you what happened today in Vegas and it was freakin' RIDICULOUS.

The Dallas Stars walked into T-Mobile Arena all like, “Hurr durr, we’re gonna SWEEP Vegas!” And then the Golden Knights were like, “NO YOU’RE NOT, FATASS!” And then they exploded in the first inning like a bag of flaming Cheetos — SEVEN RUNS! SEVEN! It was like a home run parade and Dallas was just standing there looking stupid like, “Whuhhh?”

AND THEN — you ready for this? You better be, Kyle — Lançarote Golfin (I don’t even know where that name came from, probably Portugal or something awesome) HITS THREE HOME RUNS. THREE. That's right, Trey bombs, b**ch! He goes kaboom, kaboom, ka-FREAKING-BOOM. That dude wrecked Dallas harder than my mom wrecked the PTA bake sale.

AND JOSE CASTILLO? Oh my God. GRAND SLAM in the first inning. That’s four runs, Kenny! FOUR! I haven’t seen that many Stars explode since I microwaved a bag of Pop Rocks.

Let’s look at the Dallas “pitching,” and I use that word VERY loosely, m’kay? Francisco Cespedes? That guy gave up 7 runs in two-thirds of an inning. That ERA is so high it needs oxygen. Like, dude, maybe try throwing strikes instead of meatballs, okay? Lame.

Oh, and their bullpen? It was like watching a bunch of 4th graders try to put out a grease fire with Capri Sun. They gave up bombs to Golfin, Barbashev, Tiller — EVERYONE. Even the freakin' bat boy was probably warming up to go yard.

Meanwhile, Dallas? Yeah, sure, they hit a couple dingers — Jabiri had a solo shot, Thien hit a 3-run homer. WHO CARES? You scored 7, they scored 16. You got rekt. You got stomped. You got Vegas'd.

Final score: Vegas 16, Dallas 7. Vegas lives to fight another day. And Dallas? You better go home and rethink your life, 'cause you just got PWNED.

Next game’s in Dallas on Friday, and if I were the Stars, I’d be worried. Real worried. ‘Cause Golfin’s coming to town and he’s bringing HELL WITH HIM.

Respect my authoritah.
–Eric Cartman
Playoff Coverage, Tacos & Vengeance Division

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Ehhh... what's up, Wild?
By Bugs Bunny, Ace Reporter and Part-Time Hockey Analyst

So dere we were, doc — Xcel Energy Center, Minnesota. Wind’s blowin’, carrots are crisp, and the Blackhawks show up lookin' to pluck some feathers off the Wild. And lemme tell ya — hoo boy, it was a doozy.

The name’s Connor Bedard, and dis kid? Fuhgeddaboudit. He was hittin’ like Elmer Fudd at a wascally wabbit convention. Goes 2-for-3, hits a BOOM! — long ball over da fence in the 4th — then a double in the 9th to really rub it in. He trots around the bases like he owns the place. And ya know what? He kinda did. Three runs, three RBIs — what a maroon! if you thought he wasn't gonna light up the scoreboard.

Now da Wild? Heh, they got a quick start — J. Rolon hits a solo shot in the 1st, and I thought “Uh oh! Maybe this is da day they actually bite back!” But nope. They just tickled Chicago a little and then went cold faster than Daffy Duck in a snowbank. No runs after the 4th. Nada. Zilch.

And get this, in the top o’ the 9th? Game’s tied 3–3. Tight as a drum, see? Then Armando Gonzalez comes up, hasn't done much all day, one little hit in five tries, and BAM! — slaps a single like he’s swatting a fly. Blackhawks take the lead, and then they unload like Yosemite Sam with both barrels. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM! Six runs in the ninth! That's all, folks!

Minnesota's bullpen? Ehhh... looked more like Swiss cheese, if ya ask me. Berkley and Roelse? Couldn't plug a hole with a cork. And don't even get me started on dat one error — tsk tsk tsk, messy, messy.

Almaraz for the ‘Hawks? Pitched like a pro. Not flashy, but effective — like me in a rabbit suit. And Krueger comes in to mop up with two clean innings. I give ‘im two ears up.

So now Chicago’s up 3-1 in the series, headin’ home for Game 5. One more win, and they’re off to the Conference Finals faster than you can say “Ain’t I a stinker?”

Catch ya in the Windy City, doc. This series might be over soon.

– Bugs “Blackhawk Bunny” Bunny
Carrots in hand, stats in pocket 🥕📊

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“Whoa... That Just Happened!”
By Marty McFly, Time-Traveling Hockey Enthusiast and Totally Blown-Away Fan

Okay, so picture this — we’re not in 1985 anymore, we’re in 2001, Madison Square Garden, and I’ve just seen the most outrageous game in the history of puck and power plays! The Long Island Islanders — who were basically toast down 3-0 in the series — pulled off an 18-11 win that was so crazy, even Doc Brown wouldn't believe it without flux capacitor confirmation.

And who’s the guy making time stand still? Jack. Freakin’. Bauer. Yeah, no, not that Jack Bauer with CTU clearance and a phone glued to his head — this Jack Bauer’s a shortstop, and lemme tell ya, he went Back to the Batting Cage on the Rangers. The dude smashed three home runs, including a grand slam in the top of the ninth! That’s seven RBIs on the day — seven! That’s more than Biff’s SAT score!

I mean, this game was like peaking the flux capacitor at 1.21 gigawatts. Every time you blinked, someone was hittin' a double, stealin’ a base, or lighting up the scoreboard like Hill Valley on prom night.

The Rangers didn’t exactly sit around playing Game Boy, either. I saw three Grubins in the lineup — must’ve been a family reunion — and all of them were smashing balls like they were mad at ‘em. E. Grubin went 4-for-5 with a bomb and four RBIs. M. Grubin? Two hits and a big fly of his own. Even A. Grubin got in on the action with a homer, a double, and two RBIs.

By the end of the sixth? It was 9-6 for the Rangers, and the Garden was buzzin’ like the clock tower before lightning struck. But then Mike Bossy ties it up with a 3-run homer in the top of the 7th, and then the Rangers scratch across 2 in the bottom of the 8th for an 11-9 lead. It looked like it was going to be a clean sweep.

Then came the ninth. Jack Bauer walks up like he’s late for a mission, first pitch curveball, wham! Grand slam. Crowd goes dead silent. Islanders up 13–11 and just kept goin’. They piled on five more runs like it was Saturday night at Lou’s Café and the milkshakes were free.

Total mayhem. The Rangers' bullpen looked like it was assembled by Doc Brown after three espressos and no sleep. Contreras, Cavazos, Garza — all got lit up like the dashboard of the DeLorean.

And the Islanders? Man, they were running bases like they had plutonium in their skates. Stole six bags, turned two double plays, and made just enough mistakes to keep things interesting.

So what’s the verdict? Game 5's headed to UBS Arena, and if Long Island’s still got Bauer in beast mode, we might just see a heavy comeback, doc.

Until next time — I’m Marty McFly, reporting from the past about the future of sports.

Your kids are gonna love this game. ��⚡��

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"GREAT SCOTT! THE CANADIENS ON VERGE OF CONFERENCE FINALS!"
Filed from 2001 by Dr. Emmett L. Brown, Ph.D. in Temporal Dynamics, Quantum Mechanics, and Playoff Hockey Analysis

Marty, my boy! I’ve just returned from a quantum dive into the space-time continuum of the 2001 NHL postseason, and what transpired in Florida last night defies all rational thermodynamic probability!

Let me set the DeLorean for Thursday, September 27th, 2001, precisely 8:05 PM Eastern Time—Amerant Bank Arena, Sunrise, Florida. The Montreal Canadiens, a team teetering on the edge of historical inertia, generated enough kinetic energy to reverse the momentum vector of the Florida Panthers! Final score: 8–2. Yes, Marty — eight to two! The Canadiens now lead the Conference Semifinals 3 games to 1. We’re approaching 88 miles per hour of dominance!

Now listen carefully: the fulcrum of this entire temporal event is none other than Postal Worker Newman. No, not the insufferable neighbor from Seinfeld — this Newman is a catching colossus! He went 2-for-5, but not just any two — a home run and a double, driving in three runs and scoring once. The power emanating from his bat could've powered Hill Valley for a week!

But that’s not all! In the top of the 2nd, with a man on second, another on third, and two outs on the board (the baseball equivalent of a lightning storm over the courthouse), Art Vandelay steps in — and boom! Two-run single to right! The flux of momentum, Marty — it shifted right there! Vandelay would finish 2-for-5 with 2 RBIs, establishing a stable causality loop of offensive output.

And what of the pitchers, you ask? B. Rodriguez — that’s Bob, not Buford “Mad Dog” Tannen — delivered a temporal stabilizer on the mound: 5.2 innings, 2 earned runs, only 1 strikeout, but zero disruptions to the outcome timeline. The bullpen followed like a perfectly programmed hoverboard: no runs over the final 3.1 innings. Simply precise temporal control!

Contrast that, Marty, with the Florida Panthers, who couldn’t seem to generate enough charge to even light a flux capacitor. Their only offensive spark came in the 5th, when E. van de Griendt homered with one on. But after that? Nada. It was like watching a Mr. Fusion with a banana peel jammed in the reactor.

As for the defense — Montreal played cleaner than the DeLorean after a new wax job. Zero errors, a double play turned (Peterman to Miyamoto to Ruiz), and excellent baserunning from Vandelay (1 stolen base, 1 caught stealing — the classic time-risk tradeoff).

And now — we head to Game 5, at the Bell Centre in Montreal. Marty, if this velocity continues, the Canadiens will breach the temporal barrier of the Conference Finals before the Panthers can say “Where we’re going, we don’t need… a Game 6!”

Remember: time waits for no man — but playoff hockey? That waits for no missed opportunity.

88 miles per hour, Marty — and GO HABS GO! 🏒⚡⌛

– Doc Brown, from the penalty box of the 4th dimension

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MIKE FRANCESA RECAP – VEGAS AT DALLAS, SEPTEMBER 28, 2001

“Lemme tell ya somethin’—this game, this game right here? This wasn’t baseball. This was chaos. You wanna see a football score on a diamond? Here ya go: 18–14. Eighteen. To fourteen. What are we doin’?”

Folks, we’re talkin’ about an absolutely insane Game 5 here between the Golden Knights and the Stars. Vegas—yeah, the same Vegas that was down 3-0 in the series—just walks into Dallas and drops an 18-spot on ‘em. They keep this up, we might be goin’ seven, and lemme tell ya: if you’re Dallas? You better find some pitching, and you better find it fast.

Now—let’s get to the headline: Melvin Montez. The guy was unbelievable. Two homers, eight RBI. Eight. You know how hard that is to do in a playoff game? I mean that’s like Ruth in '27, Mantle in '61—pick your legend. This kid did everything but sell popcorn between innings. He almost brought Dallas all the way back in the eighth with a grand slam! A grand slam, folks!

But guess what? Not enough. Because Vegas? Vegas came out swingin’. Five runs in the first. Four more in the second. They didn’t just take the lead, they left the building with it. You blinked, it was 11-3. Done.

You gotta give a tip o’ the cap to Ivan Barbashev. Two hits, four ribbies—including a bomb in the second that just broke it open. And this kid Squillino? Don’t even get me started. Four hits. Five RBI. No, that’s not a typo. FIVE.

Now, the pitching—hoo boy. You want me to talk about the pitching? I don’t even want to, but I have to. It was a disaster on both sides. I’ve seen more control in a Wild West saloon brawl. We had fourteen pitchers—FOURTEEN—between the two teams. You know how long this game was? Four hours and eighteen minutes. I could’ve watched a doubleheader and still had time for dinner.

Dallas’s Hyogo Gushiken? He goes one inning, gives up six runs. Not great, Bob. And that bullpen? It was like a revolving door with a gas can. Vegas? They weren't much better, but they had the lead, and they held onto it. Barely.

And by the way, Ross Grubin? For Dallas? The kid was perfect. Three-for-three, hit for the cycle minus the single. He scores four runs, drives in three, walks twice—everything. And still, not enough.

So now we’re headin’ back to Vegas for Game 6, and lemme tell ya: the pressure? It’s all on Dallas. You don’t close out a team that you were up 3–0 on? You don’t wanna be in that Game 7. You just don’t. Momentum’s a real thing, folks. Vegas has it. Dallas? Not so much.

Final thought: If you like pitching, skip this one. If you like fireworks? This was the Fourth of July, New Year’s Eve, and the grand finale at Shea—all rolled into one.

Game 6. Sunday. Buckle up. You might see a 20–17 final.

I'm Mike Francesa. Back after this.

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CHICAGO TRIBUNE
Saturday, September 29, 2001
Blackhawks Clinch Semifinal Series in Rout of Wild
Chicago surges into Western Conference Finals for third time in four seasons

By Michael Ashford
Tribune Sports Staff

UNITED CENTER — The calendar may still say September, but playoff fever has fully gripped the West Side.

On Friday night, in front of a raucous crowd of 41,324, the Chicago Blackhawks overwhelmed the Minnesota Wild 9–2 to close out their Conference Semifinal series, advancing to the Western Conference Finals for the fourth time in franchise history — and the third time in the last four years.

It was a wire-to-wire statement by Chicago, who led 2–0 after one inning, 7–0 after two, and never looked back. The decisive blow came in the second inning, when center fielder Connor Bedard, the 22-year-old phenom and now-confirmed series MVP, launched a grand slam into the right-field bleachers.

“I felt like a kid again,” Bedard said postgame, grinning ear-to-ear. “You work all year for moments like this — it’s pure joy.”

Bedard’s postseason brilliance continued Friday as he went 3-for-5 with two doubles, a home run, and five RBIs. His final numbers for the series are the stuff of legend: 13 hits in 20 at-bats (.650), five homers, 14 RBIs, and 10 runs scored. The Wild simply had no answer.

They weren’t alone. Minnesota starter T. Wahl lasted just 1⅓ innings, tagged for six runs on six hits and a pair of walks. His night unraveled quickly — a Bedard double in the first, a solo shot from J. Kim early in the second, and then Bedard’s grand slam moments later turned the contest into a rout before the Wild could settle in.

Chicago’s offensive onslaught was supported by a complete-game performance from veteran right-hander Daniel Perez, who scattered eight hits across nine innings. Perez struck out eight without issuing a walk, keeping the Wild at bay throughout.

“He gave us exactly what we needed,” manager Joe Quinlan said. “We knew if we put up runs, he’d handle the rest. That’s who he is.”

The Wild showed brief life in the fifth, breaking up the shutout with a double from L. Summers and an RBI single by T. Tokunaga. A solo homer from T. Gack in the ninth added a late flourish, but by then, United Center had long since started celebrating.

Despite a solid season and flashes of talent from players like A. Sijtsma (.450 average for the series), Minnesota was outclassed over five games. Chicago outscored the Wild 40–22 across the series and never trailed in the finale.

With the win, the Blackhawks now await the winner of the Vegas–Dallas series, which Dallas leads 3–2. If Vegas forces Game 7, Chicago will get a few extra days’ rest — a luxury Bedard says they’ll gladly take.

“We’ll be watching that one like everyone else,” he said. “But whoever it is, we’ll be ready.”

Box Score Highlights

Bedard: 3-for-5, HR, 2 2B, 5 RBI
E. Trevino: 2-for-4, HR, 3 RBI
Perez: CG, 8 H, 2 ER, 8 K
Chicago Defense: 2 double plays turned, no errors
Up Next
Conference Finals schedule TBD. Blackhawks will host Game 1 whether Vegas or Dallas wins that series.

© 2001 Chicago Tribune. All rights reserved.

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Minnesota vs. Chicago

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GRUBIN’S RANGERS ROCK ISLES, PUNCH TICKET TO EAST FINALS
Blueshirts burn Long Island 5–1, advance to 18th Conference Finals since ’81
By Buster Bronstein | NY Post

UBS ARENA — They came, they saw, they silenced the Island — again.

The New York Rangers strutted into enemy territory on Saturday and stomped out the Long Island Islanders’ season with a commanding 5–1 win in Game 5 of the Conference Semifinals. The Blueshirts took the series 4–1, advancing to their 18th Eastern Conference Finals since 1981 and reminding everyone in the metro area exactly who runs hockey in New York.

Eli Grubin was once again the guy, hammering home the MVP hardware after a scorching series that saw him hit .579 with five home runs and 13 RBIs. On Saturday, he added a 2-run double that blew the game open in the sixth inning and never looked back.

“We weren’t going to let the season end here,” Grubin said, cracking a grin that’s been haunting the Islanders for five games straight. “We said we’re winning this series no matter what — and we meant it.”

It was cold, efficient, and devastating — everything the Rangers have built their identity around this postseason.

Rookie sensation Seong Gi-Hun was untouchable, going 7⅓ innings of shutout ball before handing the baton off to Tomas Vera, who coughed up a meaningless solo homer to Mike Bossy Jr. in the ninth. By then, half the Isles fans had already stormed for the exits in full sulk mode.

The defining moment? That sixth inning dagger from Grubin — a two-run gapper that scored Kosmo Kramer and put the Rangers up 4–0. You could hear a pin drop in UBS. Then again, you could probably hear Let's Go Rangers echoing all the way down Hempstead Turnpike.

The Islanders, who had leaned on a red-hot Jake Bauer and some early fireworks in the series, fizzled fast. Bauer doubled in the seventh, but it went nowhere. Bossy’s homer? Window dressing.

Meanwhile, T. Nance took the loss for Long Island after giving up five runs (four earned) over 7⅔ innings. He hit two batters and got little help from the offense. Not exactly how you want to go out in front of your home fans.

With the series in the bag, the Rangers will now await the winner of Montreal vs. Florida, with the Canadiens holding a 3–1 edge. The Eastern Conference Finals schedule will be released once that series wraps.

One thing’s clear: this team’s not done. Not even close.

“We’re confident, we’re ready,” Grubin said. “And we’re not satisfied.”

POSTGAME BITS
MVP Watch: Eli Grubin’s final line: 5 HR, 13 RBI, .579 AVG. File that under absurd.
Pitching Ace: Seong Gi-Hun is 2–0 this postseason with a 1.15 ERA. That's nasty.
Next Up: Conference Finals. Opponent TBD. Expect fireworks, regardless.
STATS THAT POPPED
Ruben Torres’ Bomb: A solo homer in the 5th gave NY the lead they’d never lose.
6 Hits, 5 Runs: Rangers made the most of their chances.
Rangers Bullpen: 1 run allowed in the final 1⅔. That’s lockdown stuff.
FINAL SCORE
RANGERS 5 — ISLANDERS 1
Series: Rangers win 4–1

— NY Post will have full Conference Finals coverage coming up. Stay tuned, New York.

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Rangers vs. Islanders

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THE EMPIRE ADVANCES. MONTREAL ASCENDS.

Date: 09.29.2001
Location: Bell Centre, Montreal
By Lord Vader

The darkness grows. The Montreal Canadiens have eliminated the Florida Panthers. The weak have been cast aside. The strong remain.

A 5–4 victory. Narrow, but decisive. It is not mercy—it is power restrained. Montreal conquers the series 4–1. They now return to the Eastern Conference Final for the seventh time since the rise of the modern era… and the first time since they last hoisted the Cup in 1997.

The Force is strong in this team.

The MVP? Newman. Postal Worker Newman.
He has delivered destruction, not letters. Five home runs. Seven runs driven in. A batting average of .550. He does not swing a bat—he wields a weapon.

“When we play our best,” Newman said, “we are as good as anybody.”

Your confidence... it is not misplaced.

The Panthers clawed. They bled. But it was futile. Their fate was sealed when they allowed four first-inning runs. Goalie O. Gomez was obliterated, surrendering four earned runs while recording just two outs. He did not know the power of the Canadiens' offense. Now he does.

Alderaan never stood a chance either.

And then came Vandelay. Calm. Precise. Cold. His solo shot in the seventh broke the 4–4 tie and shattered any illusions of hope the Panthers may have had. One swing. One blast. One dagger.

The final blow.

Florida’s power was dispersed—12 hits, four runs, but no cohesion. Like rebels without a leader, their efforts were scattered. Their defeat, inevitable.

Montreal’s pitching? Ruthless. Alfredo Sanchez, seven innings, 124 pitches. Two home runs allowed, yes—but resolve unbroken. The bullpen, efficient. Fiori and D. Hernandez closed the door. Silence. Stillness. Victory.

Now the Canadiens turn their gaze eastward. Their next adversary: the New York Rangers.

A battle of ancient powers awaits. The Canadiens seek a return to glory. The Rangers, dominance. The schedule shall be revealed soon.

Two titans shall clash. One shall rise. The other will kneel.

I will be watching.

FINAL TRANSMISSION:
Montreal 5, Florida 4
Series: Canadiens win 4–1
Next opponent: New York Rangers
MVP: P. Newman (The Chosen One)
Attendance: 48,474 witnesses to destiny
Prepare yourselves. The Eastern Conference Final approaches.
The rebellion is over.

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Florida vs. Montreal

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“The Force is with them… always.”
Dallas Stars Reach 11th Conference Final
By Master Obi-Wan Kenobi
Location: T-Mobile Arena, Las Vegas – September 30, 2001

A great disturbance has echoed across the galaxy, as though a thousand Golden Knights cried out and were suddenly silenced.

The Dallas Stars, defenders of the Stanley Cup, have triumphed in the Western Conference Semifinals. In a contest of explosive firepower and unwavering resolve, they have defeated the Vegas Golden Knights 14–12, securing a 4-2 series victory. It is their 11th journey to the Conference Finals since the time before the dark times… before the salary cap.

In the end, it was not luck. It was not chance. It was discipline, unity… and the will of the Force.

“Victory in battle is not the end,” spoke Amenzu Jabiri, the Jedi among men, and the series’ Most Valuable Player. “But it is the path we must walk if we are to reach destiny.”

He speaks true.

Jabiri’s lightsaber was his bat. He struck .680 in the series. He reached base at a rate only the wise could foresee—.742. His attacks yielded three home runs, eight runs batted in, and thirteen runs scored. He did not simply play. He channeled the Force.

But even the strongest knight cannot stand alone.
M. Montez brought the wisdom of Yoda and the might of Skywalker, gathering eight total bases and launching one of four Dallas home runs.
B. Thien, with the power of a Wookiee, smashed a towering blast in the second.
R. Grubin—yes, there is another—struck a devastating blow in the sixth.
And S. Park, quiet and steady as a Jedi Sentinel, delivered the dagger in the eighth.

From top to bottom, Dallas brought balance to their lineup. Patience. Purpose. Power. Sixteen hits. Ten walks. A dozen runs batted in. No fear.

Yet darkness did not surrender easily.

The Golden Knights countered with chaos. Barbashev struck like Darth Maul—twice. Golfin, their own chosen one, hammered two home runs and drove in three. In their final gasps, they poured their energy into a furious comeback.

But in the end, they were not the masters of their fate. The Dallas bullpen—fragile though it seemed—stood its ground. Cashmann, Quezada, and Sanchez did not blink. They did not fall. They endured.

And now, destiny calls once more.

The Stars shall face the Chicago Blackhawks, victors over the Wild. It is an ancient rivalry, born in fire, raised on ice. Only one shall survive.

The schedule remains shrouded. But make no mistake—soon, sabers will clash again.

Final Words, from the Jedi Archives:

Stars 14, Golden Knights 12
Series: Dallas wins 4–2
MVP: Amenzu Jabiri – “The Force flows through him.”
Next opponent: The Chicago Blackhawks
Attendance: 43,509 witnesses to the Way
Remember, younglings: this is but the path to the Cup. The battle is not over. It has only just begun.

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Vegas vs. Dallas

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2001 NHL Conference Finals

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Western Conference Finals

Howard Hamlin Reporting — Clear, Candid, and Courtroom-Ready.
October 1, 2001 — United Center, Chicago

Stars Light Up Chicago Courtroom in Game 1 Beatdown
Let me be clear: this was not a contest. This was a deposition… and the Dallas Stars were extremely well-prepared counsel. Game 1 of the Conference Finals wasn’t just a win — it was an opening statement, forceful and irrefutable. Final score: Dallas 14, Chicago 4. The Stars now lead the series 1-0.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, allow me to introduce George Costanza — yes, that Costanza. Tonight, he wasn’t coming from Vandelay Industries. He was filing legal damage at United Center, submitting two home runs as Exhibits A and B, including a grand slam that would have been inadmissible in most jurisdictions due to excessive cruelty. Three hits, seven RBIs, three runs scored. Case closed.

“He’s not a marine biologist — he’s a shortstop with teeth,” I said to no one in particular in the firm’s skybox.
Of course, this wasn’t a solo act. The Stars came into this courtroom with a full team of litigators:

R. Grubin: Three hits, two RBIs, and a home run that objected—sustained.
A. Jabiri: Walked into the building and owned the record. Three runs, two RBIs, and another long ball for his ledger.
L. Rodriguez and B. Thien: Exhibits of consistency and control.
Naoki Kunisada on the mound? Eight and a third of deliberate, measured justice.
Compare that to Chicago’s defense? Well…
K. Song, the starter for the Blackhawks, surrendered eight earned runs in one and a third innings. I've seen friendlier opening statements from opposing counsel in a murder trial.

Now don’t get me wrong, Connor Bedard continues to shine — a home run and a triple — but even he couldn’t turn this circus into a courtroom. He was litigating solo while the rest of his firm floundered.

Chicago manager Bob Valdivia tried to play it cool:

“We’ll rinse this one off and get ready for the next game.”
Sure, Bob. And I’ll just rinse off an SEC investigation.
The Stars now hold home-ice advantage and momentum. Chicago? They’ll need a complete rewrite of their closing argument by puck drop tomorrow night.

GAME BRIEFS

Player of the Game: George Costanza — because when he’s locked in, it’s not “shrinkage,” it’s a seven-RBI night.
Pitching Gem: N. Kunisada — over 100 pitches, barely a blink. That’s a closer’s mindset in a starter’s body.
Ballpark: United Center — 41,509 in attendance, and at least 20,000 of them are rethinking their Game 2 plans.
We’ll be back in court tomorrow night. Until then: stay sharp, stay clean, and if you’re Chicago... find a new defense strategy.

— Howard Hamlin, Esq.
Managing Partner, Hamlin, Hamlin & McGill (Hockey Division)

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Eastern Conference Finals

CHARLES L. McGILL, ESQ.
Senior Partner Emeritus, HHM
Memo to the Public Record
October 2, 2001 – Bell Centre, Montreal

A Matter of Law, a Matter of Precision: Rangers Win Game 1
What transpired tonight in Montreal was not luck. It was not “grit,” as so often bandied about in the oversimplified vernacular of post-game chatter. No — what unfolded was a precise, orchestrated exertion of order in a system frequently beset by chaos. The New York Rangers, in a display of cold, professional execution, extracted a 6-5 victory from the hands of a Montreal team that — though inspired — lacked the discipline to close.

It bears stating plainly: Postal Worker Newman, a man whose name suggests humble utility, delivered a performance that belonged not in a mailroom, but in the annals of postseason greatness. Four hits in four at-bats. A triple. A home run. Two runs scored. Nine total bases. He was, in every quantifiable and qualitative sense, the best player on the field.

And yet... the Canadiens lost.

Why? Because professional sport, like the law, punishes imprecision. It punishes lapses — and Montreal reliever A. Fiori’s eighth-inning lapse was glaring. Entrusted with a fragile lead, he surrendered a thunderous, three-run blast to Eli Grubin, a catcher whose average has defied regression, and whose timing was immaculate. One pitch. One error in judgment. One game lost.

“The bar for us is not a particular opponent, it’s ourselves,” said New York manager Manuel Santiago.
A banal platitude, yes — but not incorrect.
The Rangers were measured. Their double-play execution was clinical. They struck out nine Montreal batters and allowed not a single walk after the sixth. These are the marks of a system operating without static — a system unencumbered by distractions.

Contrast that with Montreal’s approach — three double plays grounded into, a critical runner thrown out at home by A. Grubin in the fifth, and no production whatsoever from the bottom third of their lineup. These are not anomalies; they are symptoms.

Key Exhibits
Eli Grubin: 1 hit, 3 RBIs. A single contribution, yes — but as in court, one persuasive argument can win the case.
M. Grubin: Two doubles. One timely RBI. No mistakes.
R. Torres: Another home run, another walk. As consistent as a properly filed motion.
On the Matter of Pitching
Let the record reflect that O. Menendez (NYR) did not impress — his ERA remains a concern — but his defense bailed him out. He is, at best, a competent associate counsel. T. Vera, however, sealed the decision with two innings of command and restraint.

Montreal’s F. Gonzalez pitched adequately — six strikeouts over seven innings — but the burden of a bullpen collapse tarnished his efforts.

Closing Argument
This was a trial of margin. A game decided not by raw talent — though there was plenty on display — but by the thin, precise line between almost and absolute. And in this first proceeding of the Eastern Conference Finals, the Rangers were absolute.

We reconvene tomorrow. The docket is full. Montreal is on notice.

—

Charles L. McGill
Senior Counsel, Retired
Hamlin, Hamlin & McGill
"Law, Like Hockey, Requires Balance, Clarity... and Proper Footing"

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GAME 2, WESTERN CONFERENCE FINALS
Chicago 11, Dallas 4
Diagnosis: Embarrassing Collapse. Prognosis: Unclear.

Let’s cut through the nonsense.

Dallas didn’t lose Game 2. Losing implies struggle, grit, a heroic but failed effort. No, Dallas got steamrolled. Anesthesia-free. Quick and brutal, like a kidney punch from a patient who just learned they’ve got six months to live. And the one holding the stethoscope? Chicago shortstop Ron Hextall, who spent the afternoon diagnosing the Stars' pitching staff with a terminal case of mediocrity.

Symptoms:
F. Cespedes, Dallas starter, served up more meatballs than an Olive Garden buffet. Eight earned runs in under three innings? That’s not pitching, it’s arson.
Jong-yong Kim — four-time Great Glove winner and, apparently, part-time executioner — dropped a grand slam on Cespedes like he was deleting junk mail.
Hextall himself? Hit by a pitch, homered, scored three times, drove in three. His OBP wasn’t just high — it was smug.
The Stars' response? A solo shot from R. Grubin, a solo shot from L. Rodriguez, and yet another solo shot from I. Alekanekelo — which is adorable, in the same way that putting a Band-Aid on a severed limb is adorable.

So What Happened, Doctor?
Simple: Chicago adjusted. Dallas didn’t. The Blackhawks turned every two-out situation into an offensive therapy session, exorcising the trauma of Game 1 with surgical precision. Meanwhile, Dallas brought the same plan they had two days ago and expected the same result — which is, as we all know, insanity. Or at least, grounds for medical review.

Cespedes’s ERA is now forty-point-five. That’s not a stat — that’s a fever dream.

O. Ramirez, brought in to stop the bleeding, managed to contain the damage to just one run over three innings, which is like bragging you only crashed one car on the way to the ER.

Chicago’s Pitching?
Not great. C. Kim gave up three solo homers, walked three, and still walked out with the win because Dallas was even worse. Sometimes you don’t need to be a good doctor — just the only one left in the hospital not actively making things worse.

Patient Outlook:
The series is tied 1-1. The Stars head back to Dallas, which may give them home-ice advantage, but unless they find a way to treat whatever’s causing their bullpen to hemorrhage runs, they’re not just in trouble — they’re terminal.

See you Thursday. Bring gauze. And morphine.

—

Dr. Gregory House, M.D.
Diagnosing dysfunction, one collapse at a time.

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“An Allegro in Nine Innings: Rangers Conduct a Victory Symphony in Montreal”
By Leonard Bernstein (if he traded the baton for the box score)

In the grand concert hall of sport, where the stakes are written not in sharps or flats but in runs and innings, Wednesday night’s Game 2 of the Eastern Conference Finals was a performance of dynamic contrast, harmonic tension, and one mighty crescendo. And at the center of it all — as if channeling Mahler’s fifth through a Louisville Slugger — was Eli Grubin.

Now there’s your soloist.

At 36 years old — an age by which most musical prodigies have either aged out or turned to teaching — Grubin didn’t just rise to the occasion. He exploded onto the stage. Two home runs, one in the second, another in the eighth — the latter a dramatic, two-out, two-run opus off D. Hernandez that swelled through the Bell Centre rafters like a brass fanfare in full fortissimo.

The Rangers, like a well-rehearsed orchestra under the crisp baton of Manuel Santiago, were measured in their early movements. A lone run in the second here, silence through the middle movements, and then, in the eighth and ninth, the timpani rolled. A double by Mark Grubin, a walk, and then — a crescendo: a walk from Mark to drive in a run, and Grubin’s second home run of the night, a blast as exact and artful as a Bartók motif.

This wasn’t just a win. It was an architectural performance. The Rangers understood the symphonic structure of a nine-inning narrative — they allowed the dissonance of Montreal’s early soloists (Peterman and Vizcarra each gave a brief but poignant aria with solo homers off H. Macias) — and then retook the motif. With conviction. With harmony. With grace.

Conductors and Cadences
H. Macias, after some early nerves (or perhaps just warming up the reed section), settled in to deliver seven innings of two-hit ball, striking out seven. Not perfection — but neither was Beethoven’s Fifth without friction. What mattered was the transformation: from tentative to triumphant.

T. Vera came in for the final movement — two innings of closing chords, no runs, and a save that was more ballet than brute force.

On the Montreal podium, J. Salgado gave a noble performance — seven innings, only one earned run — but the bullpen faltered. The modulation got lost in the eighth. The baton slipped. And the Rangers took the downbeat and ran with it.

Themes and Variations
K. Kramer contributed a lyrical two-run double — a piccolo part that danced delicately through the eighth-inning swell.
Mark Grubin, that old virtuoso of the gap double, laid down a note-perfect piece of patient, veteran hitting with a ninth-inning RBI walk.
Even H. Kim, normally buried in the brass section, emerged with a two-hit night and a fifth-inning double, setting up tension like a well-placed fermata.

The Coda
This wasn’t just Game 2. This was the second movement in a larger work — a best-of-seven suite where rhythm and pacing matter more than pyrotechnics. And now, the series shifts to Madison Square Garden, that cathedral of spectacle, where the Rangers will return home with a 2-0 lead and a score to settle.

One gets the sense that Eli Grubin has more notes to play. And if Game 2 was his Adagio for Solo Bat and Silence, then Game 3 promises a full orchestral reprise.

Play on, Maestro. Play on.

—
Leonard Bernstein
(ghostwritten from the press box, where every double is a downbeat, and every home run, a hallelujah)