Don't bother arranging a departure date because you can stay as long as you'd like Golden Knights fans, but I must warn you that here we carry our own emotional baggage and the only type of currency accepted at tables that are more depressing than a ride back to the Las Vegas airport is feelings. Pro tip, the house always wins, but hey - feel free to give the wheel of hypotheticals a spin. Though there's not a single bounce that will make you feel any better about whatever 'if' you happen to land on, it is our most prominent attraction in a pit that brings nothing but misery! To be honest, I didn't really take any umbrage with a team full of castoffs showing not a single growing pain in taking the league by storm during their inaugural season in it. Everyone should love a good, old fashioned tale of comeuppance, and the Vegas Golden Knights probably could've attached a different one to the pregame of every single home playoff game they participated in if they weren't busy portraying Medieval Times On Ice. As unlikely as their immediate success was, that historical run was both well-deserved and incredibly entertaining to witness. Unfortunately, as fans, we like to wrongfully believe that with our annual sobering stays at hockey's heartbreak hotel come some sort of frequent failure points that, in the long run, are redeemable in second-hand championship glory. Washington Capitals fans that probably haven't stopped drinking long enough to take a deep breath through their mouth, never mind have a hangover, might tell you they are currently maxing out that credit as we speak. The truth is that they are appropriately FUBAR'd and no such credit actually exists, but to be overly invested in the athletic performance of others simply because of the colors they wear in the cities they call home you must also believe that a compilation of pain is the most proven route to a payoff. That's why there was a strong contingent of the hockey community that was treating Golden Knights fans like the new neighbor that starts whipping their car through the development and playing their music too loud before even suffering through forced interactions with the jaded jackasses they now call peers. In these parts, you're supposed to pay some sort of "dues" before enjoying yourself by celebrating accomplishments that are completely independent of your existence. Therefore, we should all offer our condolences. It took far longer than expected, but I'd argue the uptick in anguish that results from watching your team come oh-so-close to taking a commanding lead in the Stanley Cup Final only to see them gentlemanly swept off their own home ice by way of a blown third period lead makes up for lost time. The argument can be made that Vegas' insane season should have ended with a heart-wrenching OT loss to really offset their extended euphoria, but I think even the most tortured of fanbase can settle for them taking up a temporary vacancy in something a little less dispiriting than the dark and dingy suite of sorrow.
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