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The smart take is patience. The smart attitude is to understand one January game in the context of an eighty-two game campaign, exhale slowly, and place both Wednesday’s loss and tonight’s affair in perspective. This isn’t the Premier League. What matters is making it to the post-season and winning sixteen games. It doesn’t matter if you win sixteen in a row, start as a wild card, or win in some ungodly L.A.-sanctioned combination.

Who cares. I spend my days apart from my wife and son, churning through business, rushing to be back in their arms, worrying about status and accomplishments and money and things, wanting only to bask in their love without a care, all against a barely contained roaring dread that at the end I will know with certainty that I could have made a greater mark on the world if only I had actually studied for the fucking SAT. To get through life with any semblance of happiness, I exercise the smart take. I am patient. I don’t expect perfection.

From my hockey team? Fuck perspective. I don’t want fifty-five solid minutes squandered in the final engagement, a good job good effort handshakes for everyone. I don’t want enough wins.

I want all the wins.

And I feel this need more keenly tonight. Some say we should bask in this golden age of Blackhawk hockey. Cups are now a real possibility every year, rather than a dream aching in the chest. But I do not want to bask.

I can glimpse the twilight in the offing. All is temporary. And just as I clutch my son tightly at night in the knowledge that one day too soon he will spurn my embrace and one day more, but not enough, distant I will be unable to hold him, I cannot simply enjoy this moment. In the near future the glory will lapse. The Hawks will be nothing more than a decent hockey team.

So I want more than a win tonight. I want vengeance. I want to scrub the coppery taste of loss from my mouth. I want Toews to take a moment this evening, look out at the executives and middle managers clinging tightly to a sepia-tinted fiction of Blue Collar America while they CHEER THE ANTHEM and toss a one-liner to Hossa. Then unleash hell.

After all, Ducks are disgusting creatures: http://www.nature.com/news/2009/091223/full/news.2009.1159.html