So then there was the part where Detroit lost to Pittsburgh in triple overtime after holding a lead until 30 seconds before the end of regulation.

It was a nail-biting, edge-of-your-seat game. Okay, it’s gonna happen – it’s gonna happen — IT’S GONNA HAPPEN — and then nothing happens. I now appreciate how guys feel when they wind up with a case of blue balls after a date.

I felt bad, especially, for Sam. He watched the entire game with me, beginning with the second period, rooting for Detroit. Why? Because I had promised him it would be raining octopus if Detroit won. I think he was more disappointed with the Pittsburgh victory than I was. Sorry, honey, I told him. It’s all over. There won’t be any octopus. (I’ve decided the word “octopi” really fucking annoys me.)

So the series goes back to Pittsburgh for game six, and now we face the Octopus Conundrum. There won’t be too many Detroit fans in the building, and the ones who are there are going to have a tough time smuggling in an octopus to throw. In fact, according to a Pittsburgh blogger, there is a local fish merchant who refuses to sell octopus to people with Midwestern accents or wearing any apparel suspected of being Red Wings-related. If Detroit wins game 6 and takes the Stanley Cup, it will be cool, but it won’t happen in Hockeytown, and that would be a shame.

I don’t really want to go to seven games, but I would like to see Detroit win the Cup on their home ice. Because of the octopus.