Here is your philosophical question of the day, the morning after the Los Angeles Kings ended a 45-year drought by winning the Stanley Cup:
Does it count as a drought when nobody's particularly thirsty?
Look, you can call it a drought if it happens in Toronto or Ottawa or Montreal, where the citizenry eats, sleeps, breathes and, yes, drinks hockey. But in L.A.?
No doubt there's a fierce enclave of hockey fans out there on the Left Coast, but I suspect most Angelenos think of hockey as that thing Wayne Gretzky used to do there, and then didn't. And when he headed out of town, he took it with him.
Now the sport's seminal religious artifact belongs to L.A., and who knew? You can almost see all the beautiful people scratching their heads, wondering what to do with it. It's like wondering what to do with that Irving Thalberg award, only you actually know who Irving Thalberg is.
So, enjoy, L.A. Most of you never heard of Lord Stanley or his Cup, but you know it's some sort of status symbol. And status symbols, you know.
Just don't let Charlie Sheen get his mitts on it. I beg of you.