Leave Peter Forsberg in Philly.
Or better yet, let him go back to Colorado.
Either way, I don't care how much Forsberg does or doesn't have left in the tank, let him burn out somewhere other than Detroit.
My interest in the Red Wings lately is mild at best, and then classically picks up during the postseason. Just like with baseball, playoff hockey is about 100 times more entertaining than regular season games, and I don't have to make anything more than about a month-long commitment to paying close attention to what is going on.
As I look back at the pinnacle of my hockey-watching career, the games and the moments that stick out the most all had to do with the Red Wings and Avalanche. No one was a bigger hero to my friends and I than Darren McCarty, the toothless wonder who handed out D-town justice to the ultimate Motown nemesis, Claude Lemuix, for his dirty hit on Kris Draper. There was no better moment than when Vernon and Roy left their creases to throw down in the Battle Royale at the Joe, and then Osgood stepping up to fight Roy later on.
No team was more hated than the Avalanche, and during the height of the rivalry, no game was better played or had more energy. I actually wanted to watch regular season hockey, because any Red Wing-Avalanche game was sure to deliver. Those games mattered, and in my opinion it was the last great rivalry before the NHL started to sputter and finally fell on its face after the lockout.
But while the memories may have faded, they are not forgotten, and neither is the image of Peter Forsberg, who was always the second-most hated member of the Avalanche behind Lemuix. He was always the most talented and feared player on the squad, a deadly offensive threat who couldn't be pushed around and always had that icy Swedish stare that pissed you off and scared the crap outta you at the same time.
The Detroit-Colorado rivalry is the most poignant and vivid of my hockey memories, and Forsberg is partially responsible. Without my hate for him and the other members of that era of Avalanche hockey, the games wouldn't have mattered as much, and my love for the Wings would never have reached its all-time high. So thank you, Peter Forsberg, for it was my hate for you that helped spawn my love for Wings hockey.
So Ken Holland, forget about Forsberg. Forget about all that talent that we used to fear. It has faded. And while you may think that Red Wings fan's scorn for Peter has faded as well, it has not. The mere thought of him soiling the Detroit jersey makes me pissed off all over again. Stupid Peter Forsberg.
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