The Habs showed up with maple syrup; the Caps brought a blowtorch.
It was playoff night in Montreal, and the Canadiens were ready to defend the honor of poutine, snow, and bilingual commentary. Unfortunately, the Capitals had other plans—and those plans involved lighting up the scoreboard like it was the Fourth of July.
Washington came in fast, furious, and fully caffeinated. Alex Ovechkin looked like a man who mistook the puck for a grudge. His goal in the first period was so loud, it probably registered on Canadian seismographs.
The Canadiens, bless them, tried. They really did. But every offensive effort felt like trying to charge a phone with a piece of spaghetti. Their lone goal was nice—like a polite apology in traffic—but that was about all the fight they could muster.
Meanwhile, the Capitals were skating with the kind of energy that says, “We’re not here to visit, we’re here to win.” Back-to-back goals in the second turned the Bell Centre crowd into a quiet library with hockey jerseys.
The third period? Icing on the sadness cake. Washington netted another one for good measure, just in case Montreal forgot what a puck looked like behind their own goalie.
The Habs are now heading into elimination territory, and the Caps are eyeing the next round like it’s a buffet and they skipped lunch.
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