Friend and poet Mike Spry offers the despair that comes from life, love and Canadian hockey teams:
But, as hockey and love have taught me, all good things end in horrible, crushing, debilitating disappointment sometime in June. The Habs lost to the Flyers, and someone else won the Cup, and Halak was traded, and the girl left because I was afraid she might not, and summer arrived with condolence beers and late nights on terrasses and waiting for next year. Always next year. My mum didn’t say anything, but I could see her deleting imaginary grandchildren in her mind, and transferring familial hope to my sister and her young family.
He’s a talent. I highly suggest you read the whole thing.