Pundits and prognosticators, including myself, never expected theto be here. The were too fast, the Bruins were too slow, and the depth of Vancouver trumped anything that could reasonably be expected of the Bruins. This is not to say that Boston would roll over and die-- the man between the pipes wearing the black and gold would ensure that of course-- but there wasn't a lot of available ammunition on paper to fully back a revolution against the common ideals.
And yet here we are, game seven, the end of the road for the 2011 Stanley Cup playoffs. A postseason that has given us drama, intrigue, passion, faith, and so much more. It's a nostalgic day indeed, not only because an excellent series will reach its climax and culmination in three hours time, but because it signals the setting of the sun on yet another NHL season. And although the dawn of summer and excellent weather is upon us, there is melancholy here in subtle forms. In many regards it feels like the beginning of winter, when hockey wilts and dies in the arms of us all.
But tonight brings one last hurrah, one final cry before it escapes into the night. There is nothing better than a game seven in any sport, and certainly nothing better than a game seven in the greatest sport in the entire world.