Move over, Daniel Day Lewis.
Because it's only a month into the NHL post-season and the Oscar buzz is palpable.
Of course, much of the box-office draw these days is focused on The Assassination of Chris Osgood by the Coward Mike Ribeiro.
My, now THERE was a performance.
"Gripping!" proclaimed the Detroit Free Press.
"Best comedy of the year," raved the Dallas Morning News.
And this just in from the Winnipeg Free Press: "If you're only going to see one over-the-top melodrama in a sporting event all year, this is the one to see!!"
Our hats off to Osgood, though. The cherub-faced Detroit Red Wings goalie was a study in innocence Saturday night, moments after writhing in apparent pain in his crease, the result of taking a mild whack on his chest pad from the stick of Mike Ribeiro.
Interviewed by the CBC's Scott Oake right after the game, Osgood claimed he was "just watching" Ribeiro behind the net and didn't have so much as an inkling as to why the Stars forward would swing a stick into his chest.
Golly gee whiz, poor Chris was flummoxed that such an unprovoked atrocity would occur in modern-day civilization. And this after dropping to the crease -- as though the whack on his chest protector was instead a .22-calibre bullet -- and flopping about like a pickerel in the boat.
QUICK, SOMEBODY GET THE TRAINER OUT HERE!! HANG ON, CHRIS! STAY AWAY FROM THE LIGHT! And Osgood is all like: "Tell my wife I... "
But wouldn't you know that on further review, it was Osgood who slyly attempted to jam the butt end of his goalie stick into Ribeiro's eyeball only moments before. Go figure, Ribeiro was a little ticked.
Yet why should we be surprised? After all, the NHL playoffs have long been a literal stage for some performances that would make Garfield: The Movie look like Casablanca.
Is it just me, though, or is it getting even more emotive in here? Really, they shouldn't throw out an octopus before a Wings game. They should throw out a ham.
Did you see Wings human curtain Tomas Holmstrom drop like a sack of wet potatoes after Stars netminder Marty Turco tapped him in the back of the knee? Holmstrom, remember, makes a living as a stationary object in front of the opposition net. He gets two-handers in the back, slashes to the ankles and doesn't so much as blink, much less give an inch.
But one jab from Turco's stick and Holmstrom does a back-flop, arms flailing, as though he was about to fall through the ice. In fact, I kept waiting for either Osgood or Holmstrom to eventually jump up, in the spirit of Jon Lovitz's old Master Thespian character of SNL, and yell, "ACTING!"
But it's not just the Wings. Far from it. Pittsburgh Penguins resident pest Jarkko Ruutu took a glove in the face from Philadelphia Flyers netminder Martin Biron and you'd think -- judging by throwing back his head and flopping -- that Ruutu just had all the vowels punched out of him.
Goalies, too, have been bitten by the acting bug, spinning their arms like helicopter blades at so much as a bump from a crease-crasher.
Which brings us to perhaps the most underrated form of role-playing in hockey: bowling for goalies.
Does anyone notice how all of these players -- who are stronger on their skates than anyone on the planet -- somehow transform into ankle-benders when the prospect of mowing down an opposition netminder presents itself? Watch carefully when a player loses his balance when headed for the end boards. Miraculously, they somehow manage to regain their feet, on a dime.
Yet, somehow, when those boards are replaced with an opposing goalie the ability to regain footing, much less reduce speed, fails them completely. No matter, they must reason, this masked Michelin Man should slow me down.
And, voila, another star is born.
Look, we're not saying these guys are getting a little overdramatic. But just the other day when Wings captain Nik Lidstrom accepted the Presidents' Trophy on behalf of the team he said, "You love me! You really love me!!"
One thing is clear, though. These guys are lousy thespians. And not just bad, either. We're talking Mr. T-lousy.
But here's a thought: Time to get back to acting like hockey players and leave the make-believe to Hollywood.
The idea here is to roll the lines, boys, not to read them.
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