I don't know where I'm going to go with this blog to be honest. In fact, my cursor has been flickering in this spot for about three hours, it's 3 a.m. and I'm still sickened.
Even as I start typing now, my eyes are watering. So maybe that's my answer.
I'm supposed to be a professional, but I'm also human. In my role, you cover players professionally, but you get to know them personally.
Like many of you, I was floored and saddened by tonight's tragic news. But I've thought about this a lot the last few hours, and I want to do my best to not make this a tear jerker.
I want to give you a different perspective to Derek Boogaard from someone who covered him.
For those of you who have been reading this space for years, you know Derek was a big contributor to this blog just by his pure humor. Many of my mornings were spent just going over to his locker-room stall, leaning against the wall and shooting the breeze.
Inevitably, something would happen hilarious enough to cause me to pull the notepad out of my back pocket and begin to write funny quips down, usually barbs between Boogey and Niklas Backstrom or Boogey and Cal Clutterbuck.
"He clicks when he sleeps," Boogaard said. "He's got something in his throat that, like, clicks. It's timed. It's like one of those big clocks."