WE CREATE these games knowing full well that we cannot defeat them. That they will grind us down, suffocate our souls. A sheet of ice, a circular piece of rubber and, 10 moving bodies, two pipes: the variables are endless. When you find yourself on the wrong side of their odds the way R.J. Umberger had - shift after shift, night after night - you sometimes feel as if they will destroy you.
Relief. Validation. Maybe a big middle finger to lady luck. That's what you saw Thursday night as Umberger glided into the corner and raised his arms and basked in a catharsis 50 games in the making, the puck sliding to a stop behind the crease, the horn blaring, his teammates swarming.