Back in the summer of 1968, my favorite song was The Worst That Could Happen. Sung to perfection by Johnny Maestro and The Brooklyn Bridge, it’s a soulful, remorseful lament about a man whose girl decides to marry another.
I was thinking about our Penguins this morning when the song popped into my head.
Was our 8-2-3 stretch run, while heartening and inspiring, in reality the worst that could happen for the black and gold?
While I hate to say it was all for naught…the team finally came together after a season of stumbling in the dark…the bottom line is, we missed the playoffs for the second year in a row.