Back when the world was normal and the Red Wings were in the playoffs, you know, for like 25 straight years? Back then the most honest thing I'd say in the months of April (the last four years), May (most years before Ken Holland destroyed this team) and June (those years when baby Jesus made sound decisions about hockey), was, "I hate the gosh darn playoffs (edited)."
I did. There was no stress like playoff stress. Nothing hurt more than a playoff loss, especially an OT loss.
Rocking. Thumb sucking. Muttering. Avoidance. Anticipation. Hope. Pessimism. Despair. Joy followed by blackness.