I need a group hug…

This isn’t healthy, having your happiness eternally linked to the fate of a hockey team, but such is the nature of playoff fandom.  I can’t work.  I can’t eat.  I can’t sleep without waking up every two hours trying to distinguish between reality and future results I’ve conjured up in my nightmares.  I’m turning down sex for crying out loud, unable to gather the requisite passion for coitus fearing that in the middle I’ll recall the ugly that was Wednesday’s blown game and go completely soft.  I’m a half-human, half-robot, sack of emotionless shit waiting in limbo for a group of dudes wearing blue hockey jerseys to decide which side of the bi-polar spectrum my Sunday will mirror.  I’m a nervous wreck right now and it’s not a pretty sight.

But this is the difference between entering Game 7 off a win, as the Rangers did with Ottawa, and the abysmal showing of gutless, undetermined hockey showcased in Washington on Wednesday.  Confidence and dread.  On the one hand, we’ve alternated wins this series so technically we’re due.  On the other, we know how the buzz of a back-against-the-wall win can carry you through to the final frame.  I’m honestly at a loss for how to feel, think and act.  Like do I go to the game and risk subconsciously running into 6th avenue traffic if they lose?  Is the 50/50 shot at a massive party or mass funeral worth the $300 bucks it’ll cost me to sit up in the nosebleeds?  Or is watching at home alone the safer choice for society in general?  Can I stay confident in a team that spent all regular season overachieving, or do I reverse jinx them again and hope like hell I continue being wrong about everything?  This is no way to live, I tell you.  Whatever happens, KFC should start looking for a new hockey blogger because this team is going to kill me one way or another.  Cue the rejoicing commenters… @Osgood_StoolNYC

KFC Editors note: Osgood’s boyfriend must be so pissed he’s not getting fucked