It is August 30, 2026. If you are looking for hockey tonight, you are as delusional as I am after a Game 7 loss. Despite what some glitchy data might suggest about imaginary matchups, the reality is that the NHL is quiet. The Stanley Cup has been hoisted, the parades are long over, and we are firmly entrenched in the dog days of the off-season. As a Maple Leafs fan, this is my natural habitat: a purgatory of hope and skepticism. We have watched the draft come and go, and free agency has likely left us with more questions than answers. Another year, another attempt to tweak the roster while the ghost of 1967 looms larger than ever. We analyze cap hits and defensive pairings like they are holy scripture, praying that this is finally the year the pieces click. It never gets easier, but what other choice do we have? We trade our sanity for the sliver of a chance that next spring will be different. The rink is empty, but the cycle of Leafs fandom never sleeps. It is just another summer of cautious, painful, unwavering hope. Buckle up; October is coming.