The season is never a straight line. It is weather: momentum, doubt, impossible speed and one city leaning toward the same sheet of ice.
The voyage begins with the obvious: there is no replacing a generational captain. But a contender is more than its flag. It is the lines that hold, the depth that survives ugly nights, and the crew that keeps rowing when the water turns.
Edmonton has learned the difficult routes. That matters. Every spring has left a mark, and every mark has become part of the map. So we sail again—not because the sea is calm, but because this ship was built for weather.
The case for believing is not complicated. Keep the compass pointed at 97, trust the crew to remember what the last voyage taught them, and leave room for hockey to become theatre again.
“NO SOURCES. NO PRESS PASS. JUST A COMPASS POINTING NORTH.”
Checking the ship's mail…