What did (do) we hate? The stress. My god, the infernal, smothering stress. We hate it, but we love it. You love it, still. Many of you have never known life without it. You've literally lived your entire lives knowing Spring meant Stress. Playoff stress. You hate it. You love it. You dread it. You thrive on it.

And now, you're on the very cusp (an elitist, pharmacist asshole may call it a "precipice") of going without it.

Thanks to Kenny Holland and his "team of advisors", you now hate the last month of the regular season. Because for four consecutive years, that's become our playoffs.

I put "team of advisors" in quotes because Ryan Martin has nothing to do with this. Neither does Kris Draper or Kirk Maltby or whoever you want to throw in the mix. This is all Holland. Every hockey decision is his. He can take or reject feedback. He can solicit input. But every decision belongs to him. So when we analyze this season in two weeks or four, I will not swallow the "team of advisors" bullshit. This. Is. Holland.

Listening to NHL radio this morning, somebody said the Flyers were "pulling on the same rope, in the same direction, at the same angle, at the same exact time, like synchronized swimmers back before synchronized swimming became an Olympic 'sport', dragged down by politics and the spectre of performance enhancing drugs..." Ok, I made up everything past "rope." But they said it.

If the Wings win tonight, bringing us to 89 points, then somehow get 7 or 8 more points, earning us the final WC spot or even 3rd in the division, then the Wings will be the most fractured, sporadic, illegitimate team in the playoffs from either conference.

And that will be Kenny Holland's fault. No one else's. Mike Babcock played the hand Holland dealt him, then left when he saw that there were no more tricks up Kenny's sleeve, no daring plan to do anything but develop, over-ripen, kick tires, miss out on the Jagrs (yup, I went there), the Parises, the Suters then settle for the Greens, the Richards', the Legwands, the Coles.

Holland, not Martin or Draper or Maltby, is the architect of this team. Holland is the molder of an organization that used to be humiliated and angry at the prospect of a first round loss but now seeks for nothing more than a way to extend a streak that does nothing more than prop a number up that means nothing. 25 means nothing when 19-24 have been nothing but early round exits. Nothing.

It's March 29th and the Detroit Red Wings are on the outside, looking in. We have to hope the Flyers lose to the Pens once or twice. We have to pull for Pittsburgh. That's the position we're in, Kenny. We have to rely on others because we have no faith in the team you've built, Kenny.

Yet..despite the pessimism, despite the collective certainty that this blue line is the worst we've seen in--literally--25 years, there's a glimmer. Desite goaltending inconsistency that is rare even for us, there remains the sick hope that "if they get in, anything can happen."

Of course, that's ridiculous. Nothing good can come from a Wings vs. behemoth first rounder. Certainly we cannot grapple with the likes of Braden by god Holtby and his playoff pedigree. Or Tampa. No way could we put a scare into that machine.

Look, I may not be able to analyze acronyms and analytics and then create statistics nobody gives a shit about and then type a blog post with three fingers that no one reads unless I toss a childish barb at another blogger by using his real name as if anyone cares about that in 2016. But I do know we are not a happy lot. Not. Happy.

And I know who is to blame for that. Get in, win a couple. Lose a first rounder. Wring some hands. Kick some tires. Debate the merits of two mediocre goalies. Wonder why a powerplay went from best to worst and back up to below average. Ponder the idiocy of 7 minutes per night from your best (only?) offensive weapon.

I do believe it's time for a change. Yes, I do. The game has passed Tick Tock by and the time has come, as we prepare for a new arena, a new Cup of Joe, to bid farewell to a man who has served us well.

Tinker. Tamper. Pull on heart strings or purse strings. Bring us one of two men: Nill or Yzerman and give them a mandate. Be aggressive. Be daring.

This organ-I-zation has become satisfied with what other teams would consider successful. And that's disgusting. No committee is to blame for that. No team of advisors. No one can be blamed for wasting the final six years of Pavel Datsyuk's career, except for Ken Holland.

And whether they win tonight, or get destroyed--either is a distinct possiblity--whether they get in and lose, whether they somehow squeek into the second round, the time has come for new (but familiar) blood in the front office.

And if you want to defend Ken Holland, then you'd better be willing to at least admit the responsibility for whether this team is built to win or not falls on him because that's his job.

If you defend Ken Holland then you are saying you're satisfied with playoff stress that begins every year in February.

If you defend Ken Holland you are willing to accept more years of mediocrity.

I am not willing to accept that or defend him. It's time to go.