I need professional help

Saturday night's game against the Bruins is a perfect illustration of why I feel like I am in an abusive relationship.

As is glaringly obvious from my last post, the Leafs were becoming difficult for me to watch. I had begun to spend an inordinate amount of time moodily brooding over what went wrong, and what NFL team I could start following as some sort of sad respite from TML-induced pain. My leafs-related depression was getting so predictable and annoying that I had to start lying to people who asked me why I looked like someone just kicked my dog. The sympathetic looks that I used to get have been replaced with wagging fingers and "told you so" looks, or worse, the scoff of impatient indifference characteristic of someone who has heard me bitch about the same thing for too long when, really, I do it to myself.

As a result, I have been trying to move on. And just when my bags are packed and I'm about to move in with Mark Sanchez and the New York Jets, the Leafs give me the sports equivalent of the "I'll do better, I can CHANGE" talk - They win a game they had no business winning. On paper, the Leafs are worse than the Bruins in pretty much every single way. On top of that, the Bruins provide a painful glimpse into what the Leafs might have looked like (Rask, Knight, Seguin ....), making losses all the more difficult to stomach. So naturally, I anticipated a defeat of the soul-crushing variety. And then ... and then my special little guys show me a pulse.

How they didn't pack their bags in demoralized defeat after Tim Thomas made the following save, I will never know:




You win Leafs. You always do.