But you and I? I don't know how many of these prison washroom violations we've had to endure the last twenty years but I do know what happened in '09. I know what happened against San Jose when the Wings finally decided Game 4 would be a nice night to start playing hockey. I know about Anaheim this year and I'm fully aware of the obscenity of this evening.

There were more. Chicago, Toronto, St. Louis and Denver. Now that's a pleasant memory, that one in '02. But only after the fact. Leading up to these things?

I'm not lying to you when I say I'm tempted to just skip it. It's too hard. The dread. Nothing inside me looks forward to this. Nothing. I sit here and I try to imagine the way I'll feel when the Wings win, the sense of relief. But it's like Kathy Ireland on the cover of SI in like '82. I was 14 and my feeble, innocent mind could imagine it...but those images were ruined when I somehow thought clearly enough to realize it was an impossible fantasy.

Is victory tonite like that? Impossible? Absolutely not. 50/50, I think. But, we're not talking reality or pharmacy. We're talking the mind of an infirm man, the emotions of a child. That's what I am on Game 7 days. I try to look ahead to 2230 EST and all I see is blackness and dead animals.

Game 7s should not be advertised as the shiny object that will lure in the casual observer. The casual observer has no concept of what you're going through today. None at all.

I have no energy to provide the what-ifs. I can't tell you I believe the Wings will win "if Zetterberg scores" or "if Howard is better than Crawford". My views on that mean nothing and I can't even form a coherent thought.

Some of you will say you're actually looking forward to tonite. I don't understand that. I don't understand you. I'm not judging. I'm not a judger. I just can't comprehend anyone actually relishing this evolution.

Have a great day.