On Saturday at around 8pm, I pondered the meaning of life. In the grand scheme of things, does anything truly matter? If everything is predetermined, has Toronto been cursed with ineluctable basketball-related misery? Why must the team I hold so dearly to my heart insist on losing so many game ones? Perhaps my allegiance to the Raptors is dependent on believing in something that, despite major roster changes and regular season success, can never be achieved.
Nearly 48 hours later, I’ve managed to calm down. (Inside tip: deep breaths, meditation, and copious amounts of Smashing Pumpkins can cure even the most severe ailments.