I wasn’t ready for the end of Game 7, 2013. Because I was there, and to this day I still cannot believe it. Me and My father were in the dumps going into the third period of that game, and just before the halfway point of the third, we looked at our increasingly thinner population around us and began to see what we thought was the writing on the walls. He turned to me during a TV Timeout and asked in earnest if I actually wanted to stay.
I, too burnt out from anxiety from watching a team play like horseshit for the past 50 minutes, couldn’t even summon the fortitude to say “Screw this, I’m out.