Whisky has been poured. Fantasy team drafted. Grown men are skating around the ice, swatting at a disc of vulcanized rubber with sticks — and starting last night, that swatting counted in the standings.
The NHL season is upon us, and all is well.
Ryan Johansen is finally signed and suited up, every team is somehow under the salary cap, and Gorilla Salad is back in Chicago?
Gods. Damn. It.