Has it sunk in for you yet? I’m still in a daze, but a daze with the broadest of smiles worked into the fabric of my face.

We’re going to the Cup finals.

My whole life I’ve wanted to go meet this team at the airport but I never knew where or when to go and never really had a great reason to since I’ve had a drivers license.

Last night was perfect. The fervor. Watching that overtime with my dad, both of us sitting on the edge of the coffee table the entire frame. Losing my cool every time the Kings almost scored but didn’t. Yelling at Drew Doughty on the TV, pleading with him not to lose his own cool while he flipped out at the refs. Flipping out myself at Dustin Brown’s hit on Rozsival and thinking to myself “this just got real” and a small, vindictive part of me wishing it had been Shane Doan being helped off the off in pain.

Then the goal. The goal that none of us believed actually went in the net. I saw the puck go in, I saw the goal light go on, I saw the referee point. And yet my dad and I just stared at each other for a long moment. Time stood still as the realization crept upon us like a hairline crack in a pane of glass, cascading one thread at a time in every direction until… Explosion. Eruption. Devastation of soul.

We’re going to the Cup finals.

We lost it. I didn’t stop jumping and pacing for 30 minutes. The first time I sat down was in the car to speed down the 405 to Imperial Highway behind LAX.

This is the first time I am truly thankful for twitter. My head was spinning so quickly that I could not latch onto a single thought until I saw the Bailey twitter feed demand “6411 West Imperial Highway – get there now!”

It wasn’t even a question.

I dialed Scribe.

“What are you doing right now?”
“You want to go the airport?”
“Let’s do it”
“See you there”

I’m surprised we needed to exchange that many words.

Then I called Timmy. He was all over it. I called an old friend, Sean, who lives in Redondo Beach, no hesitation.

We’re going to the Cup finals.

We and 4000+ other Kings fans traversed the distance through the police and down the long road to line up and wait.

“The Kings will be here in 45 minutes”

15 minutes later.

“The Kings haven’t left Phoenix yet. They’ll be here in an hour and a half.”

What did it matter how long when time was still stubbornly stuck to its tendrils of the moment I kept reliving in my head from an hour before? We would wait all night.

Then Luc Robitaille drove by. 10 minutes later this happened.

A perfect memory.

To have a moment so personal shared simultaneously with so many is the mark of the truly special.

It was another hour before the LA Kings plane touched down. Another hour of seeing more and more Kings fans line up beyond sight, new faces and old, the same faces I see so often at Staples Center. An hour gleefully spent recounting the night’s events.

Reliving what we can’t see enough times.

Laughing giddily and almost nervously at how we owned that overtime, how Doughty and Carter started out so poorly and rose to such heights all in one game. How Kopitar treated every shift like the most important he’d ever played. How Quick, despite giving up 3 goals made one great save after another when he was most needed. Using our miracle creation phones to read the sweetly sour grapes of Mike Smith and Shane Doan giving reporters fodder for bitter articles, the NHL cause for heavy fines and the hockey world a taste of their true unsportsmanlike character.

But Mike Smith slashing Richards as his final act of what should be remembered as the best season of his career, Shane Doan using hockey’s most hallowed and respected tradition as an opportunity to bark at Brown while disdainfully shaking his head, nothing could taint this night.

We’re going to the Cup finals.

I wanted to record a better video for you rabid fans who could not make the trip to the airport. I know you all wanted to be there. When the Kings drove by my own excitement took precedence and the resulting video is hard to decipher, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. For while faces can’t really be seen, the pure happiness of a hoard of Kings fans can be felt.

It hasn’t truly sunk in for me.

Last night was unbecoming of the barbarism of language. You know what it was.

You also know that the best is yet to come.

We’re going to the Stanley Cup Finals.