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Waxing poetic due to hallucinations without hockey.
Day 23. I think it's been three weeks. The days all blur together, so it's hard to say. Could be Day 2 or Day 377, for all I know.
I'm delirious in this long, dry hockey desert. I see sand shimmers of ice rinks and hear the echoes of roaring crowds on the wind. Or, maybe that's just the hockey game I've got on TV. Either way, the memories...how they torment me.
That sweet elixir of life called hockey. How we thirst for it. Our poor desiccated lives wilt and wither without the cold dry air of a rink, the cracking of the ice against the metal blade of a skate, the ping of a wrist shot as it hits the metal crossbar, the groan of the boards during a body check.
The end is nigh, though - the Syracuse Crunch open their season on Friday. While it may not be NHL hockey, it's still hockey. Just a nip of it, and all will be well once again.