8.
It's hard to explain, but I'm going to give it a shot. And it actually goes back to what I wrote in No. 6.
There's something about the buy-in, the belief, and the overall mentality of this group that just feels different. Not just different from last season, but different from the years I've spent covering this team.
I'm now into my 10th season with the Devils. Over that time, I've walked into that locker room after hundreds of games, both wins and losses. I've seen the highs, the lows, the frustration, the excitement, the disappointment, and just about everything in between.
And after all those games, you start to develop a pretty good sense of the room. You can feel when something is off, when frustration is lingering, when confidence is wavering, or when a group genuinely believes in what it's doing. It's almost a sixth sense that comes from spending so much time around the same team, year after year.
Which brings me to Colorado.
There was something about the energy in the Devils' locker room after that loss that I genuinely don't think I've felt before.
And I know how strange that sounds, especially coming after a loss. But I mean it in the most positive way possible.
There was disappointment, of course. Nobody was happy about losing. But what stood out to me was what wasn't there. There wasn't a sense of lingering frustration, or a feeling that the group had been rattled by the result.
Instead, there was this almost unmistakable sense of perspective. An understanding that it was a tough night, that there were things to clean up, and that none of it needed to become anything bigger than what it was.
We've all heard players say the right things after losses. Turn the page. On to the next one. Learn from it and move forward. It's practically part of the hockey vocabulary, and I've certainly heard those words hundreds of times over the years.
But there's a difference between saying those things and genuinely feeling them.
And in Colorado, I felt like I could actually sense that distinction.
It wasn't indifference. It wasn't a lack of accountability. If anything, it felt like the opposite. It was a group that understood exactly what had happened, wasn't making excuses for it, but also wasn't allowing one result to shake its belief in the bigger picture.
And I think that's where the difference lies.
There's a confidence that comes with knowing what you're trying to build, trusting the people around you, and believing that the process you're following is going to get you where you want to go. That doesn't mean there won't be bad nights. It means those nights don't have to derail everything else.
Maybe that's what I was picking up on.
I wish I could articulate it better, because it's not something you can necessarily point to in a stat sheet, pull from a quote, or even capture on camera. It's just something you feel when you're standing in that room.
I can tell you this: I walked out of a losing locker room in Colorado with a stronger sense of this group's belief than I can remember feeling after plenty of wins.
And that, to me, says something.