Vulgar Statistics: Living in Denial
I still want to believe that, despite mounting evidence to the contrary, that the Sabres are still a good team and capable of making the playoffs. The Sabres are 3-7-2 for a total of eight points with seventy games remaining in the season. To grab last years eighth seed, they’d have to basically go 40-30-0 or achieve 57% of their points from here on out. Just how doable is that?
I think the best way to figure that out is to look at every playoff team in the eastern conference last year and see how many teams accomplished that feat.
So basically, in order to make the playoffs, the Sabres are going to have to do something that most playoff teams do anyways. They don’t have to put forth a Herculean effort through the final seventy games, they just need to be a good hockey team. Easier said than done.
Halloween Story Time:
I awoke early that morning at the odd hour of seven AM. Odd because it conflicted so heavily with my regular rest period of around seven to three PM. I had been trading long stretches of being awake and a lack of sleep with the opposite for the past few days and it had finally resulted in me growing weary around one AM the previous night and my sleep schedule finally finding a sense of normalcy.
I could tell my body was a bit confused to be awake at such an hour because things seemed to be in a bit of a fog. Trying to shake off the mental sirens calling me back to bed, I stumbled upstairs to make breakfast. Upon wandering through the living room I was startled to see that the clock on the cable box read 6:13. I assumed it must have been some sort of daylight savings mishap and continued on into the kitchen. I wasn’t crazy about being awake at seven, and even less so about being awake at six. The microwave clock read 7:13 and seemed to confirm my suspicions as I continued about my morning business.
I had to grit my teeth as my attempts to quietly pull an appropriately sized pan from the bottom of the cupboard were wildly unsuccessful. It seemed that this particular pan had not seen use in some time as there was a thin layer of dust covering some of the parts in which I intended to place my food. Unperturbed, I turned towards the sink to rinse it off. In doing so, my eye caught the clock hanging on the wall. The clock whose hands unmistakably read about 6:40.
Imagine my distress. I had awoken, somewhat wearily, at an hour in which I was not used to being awake, and stumbled upstairs to find three different clocks telling me three different times. This morning’s date did little to calm my nerves. Even more puzzling was the absence of my mother, a woman whose internal clock is rigidly set to have her rising at five AM. Retrieving the eggs from the fridge and setting them aside, I curiously stumbled through the dining room and foyer and towards the bedrooms.
The light was on and the door cracked and I could see her clutching a book inside, but I thought I heard a noise that seemed out of place. Trying to avoid eliciting protests from the floor, I crept towards her room and slowly opened the door. There she was, hunkered under the covers while a dark and somewhat agitated beast lay on the floor. The guilty open window seemed to be taunting us as my mother surveyed the scene from her bunker with a mingling of interest and concern. A rusty growl escaped its lips, mirroring the age evident in the creature’s milky cataracts. It was clear that my presence was distressing to the animal so I moved forward with caution. The growling intensified with each step I took until I was only standing a few feet away. Gingerly I reached towards it, praying that my hand would remain securely attached to my arm. The creature sniffed at me gingerly…for a moment unsure how to react.
After a few seconds of silence, my dog wagged her tail, her old age and canine alzheimers seemly sated and lazily returned her head to the ground to enjoy sleeping through another birthday.
Happy Samhain, and Happy Halloween!