Ah, October! Pumpkin spice everything is in stores, you can’t go five feet without getting smacked in the face with a skeleton, and hockey is back. Here’s your preview of each NHL team for the 2015-16 season:

The Anaheim Ducks are that kid, the one that used to be cute and sweet and wore cat sweaters but one day suddenly got huge and beefy and now likes to show off his biceps to anyone who’ll look.

The Arizona Coyotes are the really tan retired guy at the golf course who spends more time in the clubhouse than on the actual course. “Not sure how much longer I’m going to stick around here,” he says over gin and tonic. He’s lived here for fifteen years.

The Boston Bruins are Mickey Rourke’s character in the Wrestler. He used to be big, bad, and awe-inspiring. Now he’s just kinda old and you feel sorry for him.

The Buffalo Sabres are Dwight Schrute from The Office: ornery, strange, and smelling faintly of beets.

The Calgary Flames are Johnny Gaudreau: you look at him and think “what the hell, this kid weighs fifty pounds and I could throw him like a football” and then he’s scoring on you and you’re still confused.

The Carolina Hurricanes are that good old boy who plays on your high school’s football team and looks like he should be helping them win every game except sometimes he gets drunk beforehand and has a total meltdown. Tim Riggins. The Hurricanes are Tim Riggins.

The Chicago Blackhawks are the really successful business man you see on the train every morning, the one who looks a little like George Clooney. Can you trust him? Should you trust him? How are his suits so nice every day?

The Colorado Avalanche are that guy at the gym who is always showing off how much he can power clean but when he tries to run a mile he’s doubled over by the halfway mark and gasping for air.

The Columbus Blue Jackets are the drunk girl at that party, the one who held you close and told you how pretty your make-up was and decided you were best friends, and now she gives you a hug whenever you pass in the halls so even though you don’t know her that well you’re like “yeah, that girl’s great.”

The Dallas Stars are the frat boy from down the street who is super good at beer pong and throws banging parties that always get busted by the cops.

The Detroit Red Wings are the dignified divorcee in your office, the one who comes to work every day with perfect hair and bright red lipstick and always has a gorgeous boyfriend. She’s absolutely irreplaceable at your job, and everyone is scared of the day she retires because no one else knows how to file the media rights contracts.

The Edmonton Oilers are Charlie Brown, and the hockey season is Lucy holding the football. Good grief!

The Florida Panthers are your retired grandma who moved down south to have some fun and not have to pay income tax. She can kill a rat at a hundred paces with her shotgun. Your grandma has secrets.

The Los Angeles Kings are the skater bro who just did a 360 flip into your window. “Sick!” he says, getting to his feet. He’s covered in glass. “I want to do that again.” “Are you going to pay for my window?” you yell after him as he skates out of your house. “Later, brah!” he yells back.

The Minnesota Wild are the loner in the woods that sometimes you see through the window of his cabin. He has an impressive beard. You’re pretty sure there are mice hiding in there.

The Montreal Canadiens are the guy at your office who never shuts up about the good old days. He hates social media and every time you go into the break room he’s there, talking about how kids these days don’t have any respect for the written word. “We used to read in my day,” he tells you. When you ask the last book he read, he coughs loudly and pretends his phone is ringing.

The Nashville Predators are the guy who owns the big ranch on the outskirts of town. He doesn’t actually keep any animals on his ranch, but he does wear cowboy boots and a ten gallon hat. No one knows what he does for a living.

The New Jersey Devils are that old dude you work with who has a lot of “back in my day stories.” He just got Facebook and is always posting pictures from Crossfit.

The New York Islanders are that girl from undergrad who moved to Brooklyn to “find herself” and keeps insisting that she’s living the “real life” while sipping $7.00 lattes and trying to hide her Long Island accent.

The New York Rangers are the model at fashion week who sits down next to you at Magnolia Bakery. She’s stunning and impeccably dressed, and you keep trying not to look at her while she has a whispered conversation in Swedish. You think you’re in love. She catches you looking and smiles. You’re pretty sure you spontaneously became pregnant.

The Philadelphia Flyers are the girl who always wants to fight people. Always. She doesn’t care. Who are you? The pope? The president? She’ll fucking fight you. See these boots? They are the boots of someone who does not fuck around.

The Pittsburgh Penguins are the Type A girl in your class who’s on track for valedictorian but every. damn. year she has a meltdown during finals. It’s senior year, and she’s applied to, like, fifteen colleges and keeps asking you if you think she’ll get in everywhere. “I only have a 4.2,” she says fretfully. “That’s, like, community college level.”

The Ottawa Senators are the mountie you met while crossing the border to get drunk in Quebec. He was tall and said, “Take care of yourself, eh?” when he sent you on your way. You still think about him whenever you pour maple syrup on your pancakes.

The San Jose Sharks are the beach babe who plays volleyball and neatly spikes the ball into your face. “I’m so sorry,” she says, smiling brightly. She has a tattoo of a flaming skull on her bicep. “I didn’t see you there.” “It’s okay,” you say, dazed, and she saunters off to hit someone else in the face.

The St. Louis Blues are the bearded hipster you see at the animal shelter each week. He’s usually sporting a black eye. Once you asked him where he got it from and he smiled mysteriously. “We don’t talk about fight club,” he said, petting the puppy in his lap. His knuckles were bloody. You decided you didn’t want to know.

The Tampa Bay Lightning are kid who skipped like three grades and is mad hyper in class. Every time the professor asks a question, his hand is up in the air. You kind of want to beat him up, but also he helps you with your homework so you let it slide.

The Toronto Maple Leafs are the nerdy kid who was always trying to pick fights with people who came back from the summer with a new wardrobe and a better attitude, but still can’t quite make it happen for himself.

The Vancouver Canucks are that kid that literally everyone hates and no one can remember why.

The Washington Capitals are the hyped up congressional intern who downs like five red eyes a day and can be spotted sprinting down J street yelling, “WE GOT THIS!”

The Winnipeg Jets are the kid who moved back to town senior year of high school. You vaguely remember her from kindergarten as the girl who climbed the tree and ended up having the fire department called because she wouldn’t get down. There’s a rumor she once ate a live duck. She’s pretty chill now.

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