The only thing I feel like doing right now is absolutely nothing. And that’s good, because that’s all I’ve done today. My only hobby of finding new and more pathetic lucky items, lucky orders and lucky methods has been taken away from me with too much ease by a team of orange dirtbags and goons and new aged Bobby Clarks. The year of absolute sports catastrophes continues. But the positives must be cherished, and the good times must be remembered. I saw some things I have never before and shared in the absolute euphoria of thousands and thousands of fans. It was a good run.

Now, if we are all lucky, I’ll talk/think/write about more than hockey, get a job with no fear of missing games, and rise from this deplorable state of self-loathing and rise to the place of only slight family embarrassment and casual burning hunger. Maybe my brain will start, and my posts will be more than just extended updates about the food I eat, the sports depression I suffer from and the haircuts I get. I think I might be smarter than this. Might be.

Lucky Socks.

Camping with Tony the Tiger

River coffees.

Fires.