Quack

Losing a tough first-round series is not unprecedented -- the Wings did it two years ago to the Los Angeles Kings. But losing four straight to a No. 7 seed when you have a Hall of Fame roster and a gaggle of young talent is not only historic, it's inexplicable.

That riddle will now consume our spring and summer hours, previously set aside for hockey. Instead of going indoors in early May, you can mow the lawn and say, "I can't believe the Wings lost like that." Instead of finding a sports bar in early June, you can hit the beach and say, "I still can't believe the Wings lost that way."

And while you're doing that, you can most likely say good-bye to familiar faces: Luc Robitaille, Igor Larionov, maybe even Fedorov and McCarty, all free agents who seem less essential after a goose egg in the playoffs.

But mostly what we say good-bye to is anticipation, adulation and exultation. They are replaced by frustration now, ours and theirs. For 18 months, Detroit has been a happy place for hockey, a sort of magic Puckville in which the best players played and the best fans watched.

All gone now. The best laid plans of mice and men just got hammered by Ducks. The team got dressed. The plane took off. There is no joy in Puckville; the mighty Red Wings have struck out.

Duck, Duck, Goose.