It is June 28, 2026, and the ice has long since melted, leaving me here to contemplate why I continue to subject my soul to the Toronto Maple Leafs. Looking at the schedule, there is no hockey—just the deafening silence of another season ending without a parade. While other fanbases are likely celebrating their champions, I am left staring at my vintage jersey, wondering if 1967 is a date or a prison sentence. The off-season is officially upon us, which means it is time for the annual ritual of 'cautious hope.' We are currently in the thick of draft speculation and the inevitable trade rumors that promise to fix everything, yet usually just rearrange the deck chairs on the Titanic. Will management finally address the defensive depth? Will they find a way to keep our core together while somehow magically acquiring a goaltender who doesn’t give me an ulcer? I’ll spend the next few months reading every rumor, analyzing every draft pick, and convincing myself that this—truly, finally—will be the year. It’s a sickness, really. But hey, at least I don’t have to watch us lose a Game 7 tonight. That is the only silver lining I have left.