@ 7:30 PM PST
7-4-6, 20 points		13-4-2, 28 points
8th in Western Conference		1st in Western Conference

Oh, Dallas. I keep sitting here trying to think of things to say. The hate, the hurt, the pain.

It's tough to cut open my heart, let it pour out, allow those rivers of emotion to cascade through the hollowed tunnels of an unforgotten past. Sure, I've tried before, and it felt good for a fleeting moment-- a brief reprieve from the demons of old, a clove of garlic, a nazar stone.

And yet these therapeutic measures grow weary as the days toil onward. The warm blanket I wrap myself in? A figment of the imagination. It does not exist. What of the ill-timed Turconian turnovers during the final stage of bygone battles-- surely they must soothe the soul, comfort it, make it whole again? The sun swelters as the cheshire cat grins; the memories grow ashen and are carried off with the wind. A figment of the imagination. If only they had found the right to exist.

And so today I wake, forever asleep. These eyes they blind me, these words I weave forsake me, this tongue I trust constricts me. The road traveled is barren with neverending sagebrush and stone. To the left a scorpion inches his way towards it's prey, stinger poised to inject venom tasted thrice before. He is content. He knows nothing of fear, cool confidence clashing with the draining desert heat. The pace quickens. Blood this heart pumps begins to course through these veins at an expeditious pace. A quick glance to the right reveals another of his sinister brethren. Straight ahead now, forge ahead now, there will be rest for the weary. There must be. And yet like lightning they explode and multiply. The ground breathes. Swarming, they reveal themselves, detonating upwards through the cracks in the Earth. One final push is all that remains, one final gasp of air before all is lost. A seam appears amongst the rising tide, this unrelenting wave, this malicious onslaught.

Grey skies open up into a piercing blue. A horizon stretches on into the distance, mahogany and gold. A path beckons and is taken, winding through a lush forest filled with exotic birds and sunbathing baboons. It is here that peace was born, here that love found her wings. The trees part slowly, revealing an ancient engraving set in stone. Cascading down from the heavens are three beams of light, softly forming a halo around the ancient text.

And it reads:

Tonight you enter Our Home. An oasis of hope where Faith and Passion reign supreme. These are not idealistic, nor are they illusory. These are Our Laws. Nineteen men have sworn their lives to protect Our Law, to protect Our Home. Nations tremble before them. Mountains crumble below them. The Earth gravitates towards them. And these stalwart spirits will blot out The Sun, The Sky, The Moon, And The Stars.

Also, Go Sharks. Big fan of that whole ice hockey thing. Could do without the shootout though.

Prediction: Sharks win 4-2. Goals by Marleau (x2), Heatley, and McGinn.

Go Sharks.