My intentions were good. I purchased eight tickets to Friday's Bulldogs game, one for each of the groomsmen that helped make my wedding a night to remember. I was giving them hockey at the Bell Centre-- something I knew we'd all be missing dearly by the time we hit November.

We started our night at Imadake Izikawa-- an excellent establishment where the beer flows in one-liter mugs and the tapas-style plates would help us avoid the astronomical prices for all the crap you'd normally consume at the Bell Centre. Throw in the sake bombs, and the stress of an intense work week went to bed, while we wrapped up and made our way to our seats.

At 15$/ticket, and after much consumption at Imadake, we did our best to contribute as little as possible to the AHL's HRR.

This was a Bell Centre experience like no other. The house was nearly packed with souls searching desperately for some semblance of the Canadiens. They found none of it on this night.

And it wasn't because the Bulldogs stunk up the joint. They really did. Aside from losing 4-1, and being out-shot by the same margin, they could only muster a single scoring chance-- the one that got by Dustin Tokarski. Not only did Syracuse put the wood to them for a second-straight game, Blake Geoffrion was laid out with a tremendous hit and a skate that clipped him, fracturing his skull.

The highlight of the game was watching Jarred Tinordi fight. Say what you will about his development, but he's a noticeable player on every shift; not only for his imposing size, but in his graceful movement, his skill, and his toughness. Whether his game can immediately translate to NHL hockey is doubtful, but the elements of it are desperately lacking on the Canadiens blue line.

I digress. We were looking for an alternative to the Habs, and we got nothing. It was an experience that would have the most ardent hockey fan wondering if they're disillusioned about how great hockey really is.

It was like stepping into a fringe fan's shoes for a day, and finally understanding why so few of them become consistent followers.

Or maybe it was a reminder of how great NHL hockey really is-- and how far away it's slipped from our grasp.

I've been thinking about the Montrealers who didn't pay bargain-basement prices to watch prospects from the Canadiens get mopped by prospects of the Tampa Bay Lightning. I've been thinking about my friend telling me about his father, who called him up and expressed how little he cares about hockey not being played, after lending more than 40 years of unwavering support to the Canadiens.

And now I'm thinking about fringe fans, or fans in any other market other than Montreal, where their respective hockey teams are not the be-all and end-all, like the Canadiens are here in Montreal.

Hockey's suffering an unmanageable blow. And in some places, it's but a kick away from death.

And that, and that alone is why the boardroom is no longer vacant at whatever secret location the NHL and NHLPA are meeting at. But, is it enough to have them get a deal in place? So far, we have no reason to believe so. And if one isn't in place over the next couple of weeks-- the closing window on a season that can save at least 70-games/team-- then hockey will slip much further from consciousnesses than anyone cares to admit.

Hockey on Friday night was supposed to help fill the void. But the void deepened with that experience.

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