It's over.

Another year gone. This one doesn't hurt like last year, but knowing that three of the remaining four teams will, or probably will, be the Sharks, Hawks and Pens is truly disturbing. I don't really want to talk about it. If you care about the Wings, you know it all anyway. See you in October.

Blame me. Wings lose again.

I turn on the Wings game with 13:33 left in the third. Thornton scored with 13:18 left. Then some stupid rookie got his first goal ever when Jimmy was caught cheating and more bullshit ensued in overtime. Blame it all on me. I started recapping on the blog right when this round started and so far I'm battin' a thousand for Wings games to end with a 4-3 loss to the Sharks. Tonight was especially suspicious because the Wings looked to have the game in hand when I turned it on, then all of sudden it was over and the Winged Wheels are deflating rapidly. Our season can't end this way.

I don't really know what to say. I watched very little of the game but felt quite unsatisfied with what I saw. The Wings didn't play well with the lead and the officials took away two minutes of crucial kick-ass time at the end by calling a stupid penalty on Holmstrom. In overtime, I was too anxious and worried and freaking the fuck out to even notice how the Wings played. Then the Sharks scored and now I'm here typing out my feelings of frustration to whatever audience is left of the blog.

I can't stand a sweep. I really can't. Not to the Sharks. Not to these Sharks. The Colorado fucking Avalanche won two games against these Sharks just weeks ago. I really really really don't want to see it end this way on Thursday. Let's go Wings. Win Thursday. Win game four. Then we'll think about game five. No need to think ahead; no need to worry about four straight right now. It's one at a time. We can take these Sharks one at a time.

It's not over yet. Must. Keep. Telling. Myself. That. Pray to God for a Red Sox 2004. No fetal positions yet, no swearing off all things hockey. Not yet. Not yet not yet not yet. I'm not ready for the Wings to go home for the summer. Step it up Wings. If there's any team that could choke away four straight in the playoffs, it's these Sharks. Let's do this. Go Wings.

Hockey: Postponed.

I'm not over it. I'll never be over it. That was the most painful sporting event experience I've had in my lifetime. No doubt about it. I could feel doubt creeping in at 1-0, and I was fully pessimistic when it was 2-0. Girl's Name Talbot had beaten us again. But Ericsson gave us life, and I stupidly clung to that, thinking we would have our own 34.7. Nope. No Cup, no joy, no more hockey. Just like that. And then, this.

It truly amazes me how accurate that scene is to my reaction. All you have to do is replace the van with my house and make it night time, and that's exactly what happened about 30 seconds after the final horn sounded. I turned off the TV, ripped off my Datsyuk jersey, ran outside without any shoes and screamed my lungs out. Then I fell to the ground and cried hysterically for about 10 full minutes. I'm not proud of it, but that's the truth. I almost threw up, I felt so sick to my stomach.

I've perused my favorite Wings blogs over the past few days, looking to gauge the different reactions. Heartbreak was abound, but I'm sorry to say I'm not nearly as classy as A2Y or anyone else who sent words of kudos to the Penguins and their fans. I'll never do that.

I'm not going to congratulate them for winning the Cup. I'm not going to be gracious in defeat and think about how the Penguins' fanbase is just like ours and they deserve to celebrate a Cup as much as we do. The better team lost, as it happens in sports sometimes. I'll never forget this loss, and I'll never forgive the city of Pittsburgh or Sidney Crosby. I just won't. Call me a sore loser, but that's what I do. I'm not going to give Ohio State credit when they beat Michigan, and I'm sure as hell not going to give anybody in a Penguins uniform credit for somehow upsetting the Wings in seven unholy games.

This loss was so gut-wrenching, such a train wreck of emotions that for a couple days, I thought about giving up everything I owned that was associated with the Red Wings. I swore I'd never watch hockey again. But a weekend with family in town allowed me to collect my thoughts, store this horror deep down inside me and move on, temporarily. I will follow my Wings through thick and thin, but I don't plan on writing about them this summer.

So, this post serves mostly as a notice for my occasional readers. Hockey will not come up again until October, when the Wings start their season in Stockholm against the St. Louis Blues. I don't care who they sign in the offseason, I don't care what they do about Hossa; I'll root for whoever is wearing that winged wheel in October. I'll be following in the shadows, of course, but I'll find other things to write about in the meantime. I just don't want to think about hockey again for a while. This was just too much.

If you read my stuff for any reason (you're obligated to love me as a part of the family, you stumbled upon the site when you were searching for the quote from Ferris Bueller or you genuinely have nothing better to do) I appreciate it. But for the next couple months, this will just be another part of the pointless blogosphere that has no rhyme or reason. It's just writing. I hope you stick around, but I won't feel slighted if you decide to skip it on your usual blog rounds.

I need sleep. It seems to be the only place, other than home, where I'm finding peace right now. Work is a zoo and my apartment is quiet and empty. Sleeping is a comfort.

It's not okay.

If you say, "It's just a game," you don't understand.