Looking at the stats, that was a remarkably close game with very few real momentum shifts in regulation. Shots, blocked shots, hits, special teams, goals -- a deaf, colorblind man wouldn't be able to tell you which team was which. John and Troy said on the radio that it was a good sign, this balance. And it is, for the most part. It's the reason why my heart doesn't automatically stop when this team goes down a goal. It's remarkable, how well this team deals with mortality -- not as a matter of life or death, but in the sense that time is everyone's enemy. The game must extend until a certain time, and until the end comes, you try your best.

Overtime fucks everything up. It's like a vial of acid poised above the skin, ready to break at any given moment, or a lit match lying millimeters away from a gasoline-soaked rag. One mistake in the second period (Seabrook's giveaway leading to Cleary's goal) doesn't have to matter if you've got the resources and the time to come back from it, but one mistake in overtime (Campbell's giveaway leading to the three-on-one) almost always proves vital.

Life's a bitch. So are the playoffs.