So That Was Game Seven

You know it's game seven when the local alternative station is playing the Dropkick Murphys' Time To Go an hour before the puck drops (the Murphys are kind of punk, I guess, but that song's closer to The Hockey Song than it is to what 'FNX usually plays). When people who have to remind themselves that it's the third period, not the third quarter, are anxious about the game. When the pre-game show, usually thirty minutes, is an hour. And, I suppose, when I have a headache starting before the game begins. Can you say, stress?

And they lost. It's a sick sort of feeling here. A that didn't just happen, did it? feeling. Really? That's it?

I honestly didn't expect them to lose. It's not that I thought they couldn't, but I thought for sure they'd bring their A game, their best, that they'd burn for it, take charge, never look back.

Not so much.

It's not hyperbole to say that it was the closest series ever. Seven games decided by one goal is a record that can't be broken. And I think it shows that the Bruins just didn't get their game going, for whatever reason. Holtby was good, but they made him look better. They scored more goals in two regular-season games* than they did in seven here.
*December 23rd, 8-0, and January 5th, 9-0. Just for example.

Once tonight's games are done, I'll know who I'm rooting for in the next round. (Hint: it's whoever plays Washington.) But it won't be the same.

Still, wah, you know? But, but, but ... I wanted them to win!

Well. Maybe I won't get that ulcer after all. No changing other plans to watch a game. And no more hockey-stress-induced headaches for a while.

Shall we look at cute cat pictures instead of going on? Yes, let's!

Here are the cats on Tuesday, keeping me company in the office while I was on the computer:

Here is Tuesday afternoon, when they're attempting a straight-line yin-yang:

And the little bug-eyed I AM relaxed girl after Himself jumped down:

Then here they are this morning, almost live. First one:

And then two:

She's purring to beat the band.

Even cuter was yesterday, though, on the bed. Someone is world-class at relaxing. Guess who.

Whut?

I'm not doing anything special. Oh, that?

It's comfy.

He stayed that way until I took the pictures, then rolled on his side. An hour or so later, here we are again.

That's my boy. Sleeping.