SPITTING BLOOD

I have no idea what happened for most of two periods of this game because I was eating a sandwich and yelling about things. I'm sorry that this happened and I understand that my allegiance to my team might be called into question. But: I consider my weekly interaction with Other Human Beings for reasons other than school, work, or necessity to be imperative to my mental health, and therefore a step on the way to me being a total big deal individual who has a super important job/a pile of money and can afford season tickets. Living the dream?
OH YOUR BANK ACCOUNT BARELY HAS ENOUGH TO COVER RENT?

NO WORRIES, ZOË, I GOT THIS.


YEAH ZOË YOUR SOUL'S HEALTH IS ENSURED BY OUR BATTLE LEVEL


WE MAKE A LIVING DOING WHAT WE LOVE EVERY DAY.
YOU CAN ALSO DO THIS, YOU KNOW.

I MEAN YOU MIGHT NOT BE A FUCKING MAN-GOD OLYMPIAN WITH A BODY OF STEEL WHO CAN KICK ASS ON ICE SKATES BUT YOU ARE PROBABLY FUCKING GOOD AT SOMETHING, RIGHT?

 
So.
Be not afraid.
All chances are chances.

These playoffs are going to be emotionally tumultuous in a very different way than they have been in the past.
It's not 2009 or anything, but this is indeed some next-level shit.
If you find yourself in legitimate tears because of a Brent Johnson win in March, you know that something crazy is about to happen.

Stop crying.
Eat sandwiches.
Pens win 5-3.
See you Sunday in Philly with a torch in hand, ripped clothing, and a thirst for flesh.
GO PENS.