But don't expect anything nice about Emery out of me.

I can't do it. I said I would, for the sake of my Western Conference pride and a certain goalie but I can't.

I look at Chris Pronger and I see him raising the Cup and grinning with that stupid gap tooth and I see him stealing his pants back from Lauren for one last night of joyriding in Edmonton and I see him dancing with the Cup on Smytty's doorstep chanting "Personal reasons, personal reasons," like a broken stupid record and I know perfectly well my imagination is overactive and it's more than likely he'll sit in his bedroom while Lauren lectures him on how he didn't make enough teams despise the very core of him this year and how pretty soon she's going to take more than just the pants if he doesn't start producing, and the Cup's in the closet because she won't let him touch it because he doesn't deserve it so long as there's so much as ONE fan like me who couldn't realize the hate until it was too late, but I see it, in my brain, on repeat, a little grainy like some old horror film. And I see the little worn out D kids in Edmonton sitting dejected in the locker room while the phrase "(we need a) puck moving defenseman" plays over and over on the PA and the giant shadow of Pronger complete with a happy little bright spot (and folks, Toby Petersen is standing right there) where the gap should happen looms over them all and Christy Chorley reports for us all that he's going to the finals yet again.

So I can't do it. Ilya, I can't do it. I'm sorry.

Go (puke) Sens.

I was going to say all that. Except then Chapel let me know that if Anaheim takes this I win his pool and for the second year in a row squeeze free things out of him - I'm not sure I can express in writing how happy this would make me, given the circumstances surrounding last year's success. Now I'm torn again. Fuck.

(Meanwhile, Christy wrote everything else I wanted to say about the game right here including but not limited to what happens when you play like ass for fifty minutes of a game and how ten minute comebacks against the Ducks only work if you're the Columbus Blue Jackets and the Hockey Gods are looking down at you with pity in their eyes and thinking "Wow do they ever need a reason to keep living." It was too little too late, guys, but thanks for those few minutes of anticipating glory and at least ending the season flying high.)