Add it to the long list of narratives. It's about the least interesting and most idiotic angle you could possibly focus on while watching the series finale to what's been an oddly unstable show, but it's an angle nonetheless. Gerard Gallant is allegedly classless for talking a little shit to the occasional opposing player, and Peter DeBoer is allegedly classless for exaggerating the proverbial size of Gerard Gallant's mouth to the media. Personally, you can spare me all of the class when it comes to the neighborhood dog fight that is a winner-take-all battle between overly familiar opponents. The louder, the brasher, the...more clownish(?) the better, as far as I am concerned. However, I can certainly understand frustrations arising while doing the thankless task of trying to comprehend what the hell is going on in this series. Even just trying to figure out whether it's Martin Jones the zero or Martin Jones the hero in net on a nightly basis must have anxiety levels at all-time high behind both benches. When you consider that the Golden Knights looked to be ones ferociously feeding after having smelled blood in the water late in Game 4, Peter DeBoer is probably about as tired of his team being on the ropes as Gerard Gallant is of trying to make sense of how his team also found their backs located there. Mix in the Joe Thornton suspension, his unforgiving response to it, the psychically and verbally expressed hatred between Evander Kane and Ryan Reaves, and you end up with the type of mercilessly merciful Game 7 where everyone involved is at their wit's end. Of course, that should only manifest itself in more entertainment for the viewing audience, but it has clearly manifested itself in overly sensitive irritability amongst those that have had to answer to the up's and down's of a two-week duel between divisional rivals that despised each other about as quickly as they grew acquainted with one another.
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