This is how I know it's the playoffs.

It's the time of year where we all need hugs.

Excuse me while I get my Jeff Foxworthy on.

If you've decorated your house as if the playoffs are a real holiday... it might be the playoffs.

If, in the last week, you've seen your hockey friends more often than the people you live with... it might be the playoffs.

If you laugh at jokes about opponents and their fans, no matter what language they're in or how fluent you are in it... it might be the playoffs.

If you figured out your playoff superstitions, then threw them out the window after Michael Ryder killed Game 4... it might be the playoffs.

If you're suddenly on a first-name basis with bar waitresses... it might be the playoffs.

If, no matter what, your hair constantly smells like pub fries... it might be the playoffs.

If you planned on partying all night after Game 4, then just pouted, sulked, and went home after the Habs lost... it might be the playoffs.

If you were referred to as a "diehard fan" of your backup team... it might be the playoffs.

If you really, really, want to start making Janet Jackson jokes to Andrew Ference because he blamed his middle finger on what was basically a wardrobe malfunction... it might be the playoffs.

If you painted your face and engaged in slightly loud and uncharacteristic behaviour outside the Bell Centre... it might be the playoffs.

If there's a bruise on your thigh because you watched a game sitting next to a friend who really should have been squeezing a stress ball... it might be the playoffs.

If listening to "Don't Stop Believing" even just once makes you feel a little calmer... it might be the playoffs.

Which reminds me... I have some Journey to listen to.