Hope Stings Eternal in the B-lo.
So much for having ants in the pants.
After the Sabres browned their overalls in Toronto, the ants have left us, and have been replaced with a far more tortured feeling. 3 games left to make the playoffs or bust. In sticking with the insect theme, our new feeling is akin to having a belly full of spiders.
It’s been a hell of a ride, though.
For those of you who were lucky enough to ride the Comet at Crystal Beach (before the grand old thing was retired and moved to Six Flags NY), you’ve felt this before, plenty of times. The slow, laborious climb to the peak, and the sudden free fall – heart and stomach (full of spiders) suddenly in your mouth. Oh yea, and for those of you who screamed on the way down, well, you also know what a mouthful of sand flies feels like.
Belly full of spiders.
Mouthfuls of sand flies.
That’s some real freakshow stuff, but it’s fitting. This Sabres season has been a hockey carnival.
But that’s not such a bad thing.
We could instead be treated to the woeful dose of loss and monotony that folks in Montreal have had to learn to swallow.
We could have an heroically emerging legend like Stamkos, only to slowly realize that the rest of the roster is just as equally and tragically flawed.
We could live not too far up the QEW, where Leafs fans are suffering yet another playoff blighted season. It’s been a long time for those fans, stuck on the hockey carousel. A ride with no beginning and no end. Just a cycle of the same failure, spring after spring after spring. You gotta’ feel for them. No one wants to get off this ride this early in spring.
Of course, it’s spring here too. Our results, at least this season, aren’t looking much better- but we still have hope.
That terrible taste in your mouth today? That’s hope. It’s not spiders, or ants, or sandflies. It’s hope – one of the most tormenting yet one of the most thrilling flavors that we are lucky enough to taste in this sports region.
We’re stuck with hope, but that’s OK. Be it the Bills or the Sabres, we have a shot at the Big Game every season, more or less. At least that is what we believe. And as fans, belief is everything.
In Buffalo, hope stings eternal.
I’m screaming as we plummet today, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
next post: Rick Jeanneret: One More Year