No guesses from us

Now's about the last chance any of us have to make our finals predictions. Maybe you were waiting for ours.

You're not getting any. At our house, you don't even say the word "prediction" out loud. Just typing it in the same blog post twice is getting me sideways glances from Lindsay. We have hung the phone up on our own father before because he sounded like he might have been just about to tell us what he thought the final score was going to be.

Besides, all my internet predictions this season have ended disasterously. There's enough for us to worry about right now without me dooming the team. Injuries. Malkin not having the flu again. Scheduling that makes it look like Gary's not taking any chances this year.

Seriously, the man has to be wetting himself over the chance to do last year over again, with his ending.

But even with all that potential pukeyness hanging in the air, it's been like Christmas in our household over the last few days thanks to a wonderful and mysterious benefactor named Karen.

We don't know what she looks like, so here's an artist's rendition:

If you can take your eyes off the legs, you'll notice the halo. We don't break out Paint Shop Pro for just anyone, people.