As seems to happen each year, the Secret Professor and High Priest's different approaches to grief (of which there is much after the Game 1 loss to the Kings) threaten to tear our hockey marriage asunder. 

We struggle to find common ground, like drowning sailors clutching at the deathly, deceiving grasps of the twisted sirens of old, wondering what fruit our mortal hopes might truly bear. 

The next 48 is gonna be brutal, lovelies.