At this point tomorrow night, we will know whether the improbable quest of the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim to win the Stanley Cup has succeeded. Last night's thorough trouncing of New Jersey in Game 6 has raised expectations in Southern California that this might be the year we capture our first hockey crown, an event utterly unforeseeable as recently as two months ago (even more unforeseeable is the fact that I would be referring to a Ducks' accomplishment in the first person plural, as I could name only a handful of their players when the playoffs began, and had seen probably less than two dozen of their games not involving the Kings since the franchise came into existence). Local baseball fans had a good feeling about the Angels as they entered the playoffs; if not expecting them to win it all, we knew going into the Yankees series last October that they were one of the best teams in baseball. No such expectation accompanied the Ducks first round series with Detroit, of which the local consensus was that they would be lucky not to be swept.

I saw Game 6 at the soon-to-be-shuttered Sherman Oaks Lounge, in the company of bartendress/singer/guitarist Annette Summersett, and noted character actress Shannon Ainsworth. It was Annette's last night behind the bar (she goes back to the U.P. for a sister's wedding, and won't return until the bar has its last call next Sunday). I followed the honorable course of action: I gave her a hug and a nice tip, allowed her to beat me in pool, and then let her have it for rooting against the Ducks the entire playoffs. I also vowed that if the Ducks won Game 7, I would quit smoking....