Who's more the fool, the fool or the fool that follows him?

And there it was. 3:28 into overtime. Barely enough time to settle into the extra session. Had you headed to the arena men's room at the end of regulation you may have still been in the john. Or seen it on a concourse tv monitor as you hustled back to your seat. 3:28 into OT, 1:59 into the killing of a penalty that had to be called, even in playoff OT. Nary half an hour after The Great Eight had seemingly, once again, rescued a season, the Penguins had, somehow, done it again. It was a fluky goal to be sure, but with Pittsburgh fluky is the norm. And, truthfully, whether it was a bad bounce or a sure-eyed laser from the slot, it was a dagger to the heart all the same. A dagger that made the bit of optimism that Ovechkin's goal rekindled seem trivial, silly. A dagger that hushed the crowd and made Monday night win or go home for the Capitals. A dagger that sent me on a cooling off walk up and down my driveway that probably lasted longer than the overtime session.

The goal was so expected that my phone didn't buzz with a single text message from fellow fans after the game. There was no need for communication, we were all thinking the same thing. We are students of history and need no flash cards or pop quizzes to jog our memory. This was just the latest installment in a story of hockey heartbreak. Sure, the driveway walk used to be a ripping of the sweater or the smashing of a remote control. Maybe I'm more mellow, but I'm no less frustrated. Two decades of this frustration leads to a little pessimism, a little paranoia and a whole lot of "Here we go again". I knew this series was over when the Caps took a 2 games to none lead. Pens had 'em right where they wanted them. I knew this series was over when Game 3 went to overtime. I knew the series was over when the shot tipped off Varly's glove and trickled in during Game 4. But see, now I'm not so sure.

I still have an inkling of a sliver of a wisp of hope that the Caps can still pull this off. Make no mistake, hope is all that remains. Common sense, history, statistics, trends and the curse all hopped the midnight shuttle to Pittsburgh. Maybe I'll be made a fool on Monday or Wednesday, but I won't be made a fool until every bit of hope is officially destroyed. Because if there is a chance, then a fan's duty is to believe. This team, over many years, has not reciprocated the love its fans have shown. At least not in terms of playoff success. However, a real fan cheers because they enjoy the team, not solely because the team is good. And I love this team; when on, they play a style that is fun to watch. Maybe these kids, and let's not forget that is what most of them still are, really do need to pushed to the brink to bring out their best. We know they are good enough, now they must show us that they want it bad enough. I'm just dumb enough to think they can, that this year is different. So stow the doom and gloom for at least one more day. Rock The Red. Keep the Faith. Let's Go Caps.