A Quiet Girl winds back the clock. So does Wade Redden. Hard to believe it was only four years ago.
On the Simmons Scale of losing, I'd put that Game 7 at about a Level III: Guillotine (the Stomach Punch is reserved for Patrick Lalime circa April 2004). All I really remember after the game was passing out on the couch in my beer-soiled Sens practice jersey (I had "choker" stenciled on the back from years past, but duct-taped over it in the spirit of the day), going down hard to the mat clutching a replica of Lord Stanley's mug that had been tacked together from assorted pots and pans. I'm sure somebody out there still has the pictures.
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