We'll scratch out a run or two off some kid's third pitch and our bullpen will hold because that's literally all we can afford to do, so sure, why not

These gutless fancy-skaters couldn't intimidate a peewee team, so they'll probably find a way to lose to Columbus anyway.

The Nets are coming to the Garden to watch us practice, and Tatum's gonna treat this like a redemption arc montage set to aggressive violin music.

We're heading into the United Center where the hockey gods still owe us one after all those years of Quick magic, so why not tonight.

I've learned not to trust my heart with this team, but if they're playing at home I guess I'm about to get hurt again in the best possible way.

If Sorokin stands on his head and we remember how to play defense like it's 1983, we steal one in Nashville tonight.

The Stars can light up the scoreboard all they want in Dallas, but we didn't win three Cups by letting pretty hockey beat us in enemy barns.

I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop because this whole thing still feels like a fever dream and Winnipeg's about to wake me up.

Carolina can skate pretty circles all they want down there, but the Bruins didn't win Cups by letting teams play hockey—they win by making them earn every inch in the trenches.

I'd say we take the Pistons tonight, but I've learned that hope is just pain wearing a fancy suit so I'm checking the final score twice.

We're walking into the Spurs' house on a Wednesday night and if Fox and Sabonis don't show up I'm gonna need a new couch because this one's getting launched through the window.

We've been here five minutes and already the hockey gods are testing whether our arena's new-car smell can survive contact with Minnesota's competence.

We've been hurt before by teams we should've demolished, so I'm waiting for Ottawa to pull some voodoo magic before I let myself believe we're walking out of T-Mobile with two points.

Look, we got the magic back tonight, the Honda Center is gonna be rocking like it's 2007 all over again, and Vancouver's gonna find out what happens when they skate into the house that Selänne built.

The Sharks will skate hard for two periods, the Sabres will skate harder for three, and I'll sit in the Tank wondering if Thornton's still got a better backhand than anyone wearing teal right now.

The Blazers are coming to a house with seventeen championship banners on the walls and a front office that hasn't forgotten how to use a checkbook, so unless Portland brought their own ladder, this ends the only way it can.