(USA Today Sports)
Well, in all honesty, I am. I feel there is a potential two points to be earned every time the boys take the ice. But my Irish Catholic upbringing has done a job on my psyche over my 70 years of life. Everything that can go right has gone right so far. With the exception of Brooks Orpik, injuries have been basically nonexistent. But we’re just one hard check or trip away from losing any number of vital cogs in the wheel. With a goalie who is playing otherworldly, we’re only one mental glitch away from his losing the supreme discipline and confidence he has exhibited all season. Why do these potential negatives keep creeping into my head like monsters under the bed?
I guess it’s due to the fact that since I went all in on this Washington hockey team at its birth in 1974, I have held the hope that “this is the year.” The Stanley Cup will reside in DC and respect, at long last, will be ours. And then comes the crash…an inexplicable scoring drought, a series of devastating Game 7s, an ear-splitting coughing sound some describe as choking. You name it; it’s happened. And still the Stanley Cup cupboard is bare, and my hopes and dreams are dashed once again.
But still I persist, and this season seems somehow different. There’s a real team out there, a group of young athletes who truly like each other and revel in bringing out the best in each other. There’s a coaching staff who gets it, who knows its players’ talents and knows its players as people.
And so, once again, my heart is all in, my head is all in, and my screams of encouragement are louder than ever. It’s like love—you have to make yourself truly vulnerable to totally reap the benefits it can bestow. I’m willing to take the chance yet again. They say it’s not the destination, it’s the journey. I’m convinced it’s both—and I’m with them all the way.
By Carole O’Brien Cook