@ New York

Another masterclass in the fine art of the "Loser Point," a specialty we’ve perfected over decades of psychological warfare against our own fan base. Auston Matthews did his best to drag this roster toward respectability, potting two goals in the second period and briefly convincing us that maybe, just maybe, things would be different. It was a classic bait-and-switch. We managed a pathetic 21 shots on goal, because why bother testing the goalie when you can just pass the puck around the perimeter until everyone feels a bit sleepy?

The third period was a chaotic fever dream where Nicholas Robertson actually found the back of the net, giving us that dangerous, flickering spark of hope we’ve been taught to fear. Naturally, the lead lasted about as long as a New Year’s resolution, with Emil Heineman tying it up late to ensure we all suffered through an extra five minutes of anxiety. Matthew Schaefer—a name that sounds like a brand of discounted lawn fertilizer—decided to play the hero, scoring his second of the game in overtime to seal the 4-3 loss.

Falling to New York in a game where we were outshot and outworked is the kind of consistency you can only find in Toronto. We’ll take our single point and tuck it away like a participation trophy, right next to the memories of every other blown lead in franchise history. At least Matthews is still scoring, which is the only thing keeping the city from collectively walking into Lake Ontario. It’s the hope that kills you, but it’s the overtime losses that make you wonder why you didn't just take up knitting instead.