The Morning After The Night Before.
I'm still upset about last night--that was just...it was like the aliens that lived in Richard Trottier's helmet in 99-00 came and brought back the 2002-2003 Hurricanes. I don't even want to watch the DVR, not even to see Erik Cole back on the ice, though I might go back and watch it tomorrow if I'm 1) intoxicated enough and/or 2) the game has a happier ending (for me).
Da Chief has his Punch in the Face. Last night was my Humiliating Kick in the Crotch. Just...ugh. It felt worse than 2002...and those of you who knew me back then know that that's saying a lot right there. If the 'Canes lose tomorrow--and especially if they lose in such embarrassing fashion as they lost last night--I am liable to light myself on fire and fling myself off the top of the RBC Center, because it'll be like total confirmation that the Universe just flat hates my guts. Perhaps I'll feel better in the morning. Perhaps I'm just too wrapped up in all of this. Who knows?
I still believe.