The Stanley Cup Playoffs are a exhilarating, merciless, relentless bitch. There is nothing in sports more emotionally draining. An important game almost every other day for almost two months. One day, you're on top of the world; the next, the depths of despair. And the longer it goes, the more intense it gets. Don't get me wrong...it's light-years better than the alternative. But it will take it outta ya.
The last 72 hours have been a rollercoaster. I've hit that bottom, and managed to climb out. Seriously, Saturday night might as well have been last season, it feels like it happened so long ago. That's why my spirits are up and my sense is that we're headed for a Game Seven.
The unthinkable is close...too close for comfort, really. You have to know it's a possibility. It's a vomit-inducing, nightmare scenario...I honestly can't imagine anything worse. And it's staring all of us right in the face.
But, what the fuck...I've come this far, and I've believed all season...there's no reason to pack it in now. That the Pens are even in this situation is so unlikely, so infeasible, lends power to that belief. If you could have faith in this team back in February when the dirt was raining down, you can have faith now.