On Wednesday afternoon I opened my mailbox to find a familiar sight, one that I've come to expect every spring for the last six years. But never has it left me more incredulous.
"An invoice for Sabres playoff tickets? What kind of sick joke is this?"
My favorite part was this excerpt from the letter that accompanied the invoice: “With the NHL Playoffs just over a month away, we need to be prepared so that tickets are available when the Sabres clinch a Playoff spot.”
Yeah, they wrote “when”. Not if, “when”. Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.
At the time the letter was written, the Sabres were seven points out of a playoff spot with a million teams to leapfrog. Certainly this meant that the author the letter was either insanely optimistic or frighteningly delusional, or perhaps under the influence of various substances. (There remains an outside chance that I just didn’t pick up on the sarcasm.)
After all, common wisdom holds that the Sabres are destined for a lotte...