I don’t know who scored, and I don’t care who scored. All that matters is he was wearing a red sweater, it was overtime, and my New York Rangers have been eliminated from the Stanley Cup tournament. The finals are next for some folks, but not me; the NHL season is over. My Rangers are out.
After a long, hard-knock season that began in Europe and ended in the swamps of the Garden State; after winning the Winter Classic and featuring on HBO’s 24/7; after my brother and I went to dozen of home games at MSG and sang the goal song in the balmy humidity of Indian summer and the frigid depths of a cold, virtually snowless winter; after all that, it’s all over.