That is all.
Update: No it isn't. I haven't said anything about this yet because I'm still fuming, and I recognize that fuming unstoppably about the outcome of any sporting event--even a 7-month season that should've been an 8-month season--is not the mark of a great mind, although it's probably the mark of the level of sophistication you've come to expect of this blog. I even uncharacteristically allowed myself to be diverted for a few days by some sad but good news. So I'll keep it brief3, because there are only a couple of key conclusions here.
1. Someone isn't qualified to discuss this, and I am grateful to him for thus far shutting the fuck up about it. I'll give you two clues; he knows who he is, and he isn't Tony Fucking Kornheiser (although to Kornheiser's limited credit, there is something to be said for tradition).
2. I really hate to say this, a lot, but a few days of brain-chewing hasn't changed my conclusion: Fire Boudreau. I hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it. He seems, by all evidence, a great guy, and he seems to be a good hockey teacher. And I can't even articulate the mechanics of how he's a shitty playoff coach. But he is. Math don't lie. And a 4-0 waffle-stomping in a playoff series, by a team from fucking Florida, coached by the youngest coach in the league and manned by some of the oldest, Frenchest, douchebaggiest shitbirds in the fucking league (and truly, I could easily have gone on linking for a dozen more adjectives, adverbs, and nouns, had I only the energy)1, is powerful math. Fire Boudreau. This is absolutely not forgivable. It is not acceptable. It is slow, miserable choking canine death, it is an abomination, it is a travesty of a mockery of a sham. Fire Boudreau.
1 Let me be clear about this, because I don't think you've quite got the picture. I hate hockey teams from south of our own with the blazing, blinding passion of a thousand million white-hot exploding suns, and the hockey team from the south that I hate most of all is the motherfucking, cocksucking, douchetard frogface wetfart motherfucking Tampa Bay motherfucking Lightning, especially those two ass-pirate Frognucks Vinnie LeCavalier and Martin St. Pierre. This was so before this year's playoffs, and it will remain so when the sun has risen and fallen its last, presumably completing a cycle of millions of years of setting upon Stanley Cups won by Hurricanes, Panthers, and Thrashers (but not, I emphasize, by Capitals, because the thing I fear most, yes, the little kernel of fucking fascist fear at the core of my tiny little being, is that I will live another fucking 60 years and not see a fucking Stanley Cup in this fucking city, and do you know what that will make me? Do you know? THAT WILL MAKE ME A MOTHERFUCKING RED SOX FAN2, or even worse, a fucking Cubs fan, the Red Sox fans of the new millennium, so just fucking kill me now. Jeebus.).
2 And I cannot suggest strongly enough, at this point, that certain of my closest friends refrain from math right now. Yes, you know who you are, too.
3 I lied. Get over it.