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I, like every other fan of the Toronto Maple Leafs, live a life of misery. I foolishly devote myself to a franchise that goes to great lengths to crush the spirits of its loyal fanbase purely for sport (4 decades and counting!). Indeed, it often seems as though the Leafs invest their league-leading revenues in finding new ways to disappoint (take, for example, Saturday`s unprecedented loss of a 3-goal lead in the 3rd period…). I feel like Krusty the Clown betting on the Generals - they’re due! 

 Of course, recent years have been easier than most due to the distinct absence of what the French like to call “le hope”. For the most part, the Leafs’ ranks have been staffed with functionally retarded school children who have difficulty skating backwards. But now the franchise seems bound and determined to even suck at losing… Over the weekend, Messrs. Dion Phaneuf and Jean-Sebastien Giguere became the newest members of the Leafs organization. Some would think this would be good news. After all, they are good players. Very good players. But there`s the rub. For a Leafs fan, hope is a horrible, horrible thing…

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Dion Phaneuf at the Leafs’ New Training Facility

So what does the future hold for our beloved Leafs? Well, if history has taught us anything, the answer is fairly simple:

  • Phaneuf and Giguere will arrive in Toronto with all the pomp and circumstance of a stripper returning to the stage for an “encore”;
  • The Leafs will win a few games, and the franchise will prematurely declare the team “Stanley Cup contenders”;
  • Immediately following this proclamation, the team will death spiral in an agonizing frenzy of pointless losses;
  • Unable to take the pressure of the Big Smoke, Phaneuf will retire from the NHL to take up ice dancing. Giguere will move to Northern Quebec to make cheeses;
  • In an effort to stop the bleeding, the Leafs will spend their remaining cap space on Brett Lindros and Brent Gretzky;
  • I will die a little more inside as the team misses the Playoffs for yet another year…

Prove me wrong, kids. Prove me wrong.