...if "alive" is code for trudging around, huffing and puffing, and using every ounce of my will power to avoid complete meltdowns.
If you don't already know, my beloved Pittsburgh Penguins were eliminated by their biggest rivals, the Philadelphia Flyers, in Game 6 on Sunday. This is the third consecutive early playoff exit for my team since they won the Stanley Cup in 2009. This year, however, the loss was particularly heart-wrenching. With a completely healthy and stacked lineup for the first time in two years, they were widely favored as the Cup winner.
It's not so much that they lost that kills me. It's how they lost. It evades accurate description. My best explanation includes some combination of special teams disaster, shaky goaltending, humiliating defense, and a failure to adjust the gameplan. Even after fighting back in Games 4 and 5, the uphill battle was just too steep.
This healthy, talented, and motivated team imploded on national television and they took me with them. After their elimination, I went straight to my bed, where I stayed for 21 consecutive hours. No food, no bathroom breaks, no light. Just the horrific images of Malkin slashing his stick on the boards in frustration, Claude Giroux running over Sidney Crosby and scoring a goal in the game's opening minute, and their pained faces, complete with barely-visible playoff beards, during the handshake line. Some images cannot be unseen.
This will haunt me for life. I've been on edge since Sunday. The tiniest things set me off. Ellen didn't record for some reason? Look out. A local ice cream shop didn't have the kind of soft serve I wanted? It quickly became my own personal Vietnam.
So, I apologize for my lack of attention/effort here. I've been trying to channel my
October cannot come soon enough.
I'm sorry about your Penguins!! I really don't know what else to say because I don't know anything about hockey, haha, but I love you! :)
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