Chuck is inconsolable today about having the face Game 7 tomorrow night in Boston. Baby, this is the story of my life. Try to remember that drama is what the playoffs are about. It’s why we love them. That sick-to-your-stomach feeling that ends in leaping around the living room or lying face down on the rug. This is what hockey is all about.
Meanwhile, what is this about?
Squish, are you doing some modern art negative-space beard installation? Does a full mustache interfere with sniffing your gear for relative freshness this late in the season?
Chuck loves you and hates you and love-hates you and wishes you played for the Bruins. All 5’8″ of you.
And Steven. You have reached the tipping point in your first ever playoffs. This beard – who even knew you could grow a beard? Who expected it to be so burly? You can’t fight the lumberjack in these Canadian boys.
Watch the postgame presser here [video] – he keeps touching his face like he can’t believe it either.
So Game Seven it is. Gator and I tested the functionality of our life plan: leave work in DC at 3 PM, fly to Boston ($375 -ish but I have miles!), buy tickets ($200), crash on Chuck’s floor. If she’d let Gator in the door with I LOVE YOU STEVEN written on her face in blue marker. Sadly this plan will not work. But at the rate we change our life plans around here, we may have another by Friday night.