No. Fucking. Way.

Fair warning: foul language is abound. Sorry, Grandma.

I'm completely drenched in sweat from all the stress, I'm beyond insane with anger and disappointment and every crappy emotion in the world and I have to get up for work tomorrow morning.

No. Fucking. Way.

How could they lose this game?! How could they not capitalize on two power plays in the third period?! How the hell can Hossa claim he wants a Cup and play like THAT?! I cannot fathom a game seven. I just can't.

I was dying when the Red Wings played the Ducks in game seven, and I didn't even watch that one. There is nothing in the world that could make me miss a second of this Friday's game seven, but I'm not excited to watch it at all. It will be all of this stress times infinity. Yep, infinity. That mythical number from elementary school has become real and it represents how much my stress will be amplified. If the Red Wings don't win, consider me suicidal. I cannot imagine the depression I would go through if they lost a game seven at home against that whiny little bitch Sidney Crosby, who was, again, a non-factor in tonight's game. I can't deal with it. I should honestly just save myself the possibility of that much pain and just swear off hockey before the week is over. I will definitely do so if they lose Friday.

Then again, I was this pessimistic and pissed and everything after game four last Thursday, only to see the Wings absolutely dominate in game five. I don't see a similar game to that beating unfolding on Friday, but I certainly wouldn't mind. I can only pray that the home team prevails again and the Wings end my ridiculously high blood pressure by hoisting that Cup.

God. DAMN IT.

Zetterberg's post. Cleary not scoring on that breakaway. Franzen getting stoned by Scuderi multiple times in the crease with virtually no time left. Osgood played great, but the Red Wings didn't give him even a decent offensive effort. They played well for about 10 minutes out of the 60, and that's unacceptable. They'll need alllll 60 minutes come Friday.

And two days left until that game takes place. How the hell am I supposed to write any coherent articles in the next two days with this on my mind? No. Fucking. Way.

I can't write anymore. The only thing I can do right now is get up and start pacing around the room. And believe me, that's exactly what I'm going to do when this post ends. See you Friday. Go Wings.