(Ed. Note: As the Stanley Cup Playoffs continue, we're bound to lose some friends along the journey. We've asked for these losers, gone but not forgotten, to be eulogized by the people who knew the teams best: The bloggers and fans who hate them the most. Here is Blackhawks fan Eliza Eaton-Stern of The Other Half, remembering the 2014-15 St. Louis Blues. Again, this was not written by us. Also: This is a roast and you will be offended by it, so don't take it so seriously.)

By Eliza Eaton-Stern

I’m not gonna lie, friends. I thought long and hard about doing a sarcastic eulogy, a sort of reverse we-come-to-bury-Caesar-not-to-praise-him Marc Antony thing.

(For you Blues fans, that’s a reference to William Shakespeare’s play Julius Caesar.)

(Again, for you Blues fans, William Shakespeare was a man from England who wrote plays in the late 1500s and early 1600s.)

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England is a country in Europe.

In the end, though, why be sarcastic? Why be anything but straightforward?

There’s no need to damn this year’s iteration of the St. Louis Blues with faint praise. I don’t have to pretend to laud their front office’s keen scouting eye for picking up a scrappy young ‘un by the name of Martin Brodeur on the off chance he might make it one day in the NHL.

Friends, Romans, Canadians, we are here to eulogize the 2014-15 St. Louis Blues.

First, let’s just take a moment and rewatch the hype video the Blues put out when they signed Martin Brodeur and have a chuckle. I’ll wait.

The noble hockey pundits have told you again and again throughout the 82 games of the regular season that the Blues were ambitious. If it were so, they sure as shit failed to live up to that ambition, and they’ve answered it pretty goddamn grievously. They had the ambition to do what Gretzky could not: To bring the Blues their first Stanley Cup since entering the league in ’67.

Instead, they pulled their yearly disappearing act under the onslaught of the incredibly underrated - but still far below them in the standings - Minnesota Wild.

Ambition, my friends, should be made of sterner stuff.

This was to be their year. This was the year that Jake Allen finally matured into the Great Goalie Savior the fine people of St. Louis always dreamed he would be, the year that Tarasenko finally got a center worthy of his frankly pants-wettingly terrifying skills in Jori Lehterä, the year that St. Louis finally got out from under the shadows of the Los Angeles Kings and the Chicago Blackhawks and shed the albatross of their past failures.

They had all the pieces in place.

Except, no. No, they did not.

They never got the chance to test their might against either the Kings or the Hawks in the postseason. The only cup they will lift is filled with the watery St. Louis-brewed horse piss people drink in Missouri to drown their sorrows as they attempt to convince themselves that the only sport they really care about is baseball.

The only crown the Blues will wear this season is the mantle of Regular Season Central Division Champions, one which Blues fans apparently wear with enough pride that some will shell out $25.95 for a T-shirt, still available at the NHL’s finest online retail establishments.

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