It is August 28, 2026, and despite what my calendar insists, the NHL schedule is teasing a slate of games tonight, including a home-and-home between the Leafs and Canadiens. Am I hallucinating from too many summers of 'almost' moments, or did the league decide to gaslight us? Regardless of whether these are preseason jitters or some bizarre scheduling glitch, here I am—Carlton Bear, draped in blue and white, ready to be hurt again. The 1967 drought remains my loyal companion, yet here we are, staring at a schedule in the dog days of summer. We just finished another offseason of cap gymnastics and the usual 'this is our year' whispers that inevitably turn into a first-round existential crisis. Maybe the boys are shaking off the rust early, or maybe the hockey gods are just playing a cruel joke on a fanbase that hasn't seen a Cup parade since before the moon landing. If there is actually a puck dropping tonight, I’ll be watching, arms crossed, expecting nothing and still somehow finding a way to be disappointed. That’s the life of a Leafs fan. We don't just endure the offseason; we let it haunt us until the final buzzer sounds.