BUFFALO, NY — Coming off a preseason that one local columnist described as "watching a deer try to ice skate," Buffalo Sabres GM Mic Moore strode to the podium Monday in a single gum boot, a poncho liner worn as a cape, and what appeared to be a bib. He had not slept. He had, by his own account, "been hydratin' since Tuesday and prayin' since Sunday."

When a reporter tried to read him the actual preseason record, Moore held up one hand, closed his eyes, and said, "Stop. Don't bring that number in here. Numbers is for men who can't see."

Mic Moore: "Brother, I'm gonna stop you right there 'cause I do not know the record and I do not want to. Somebody asked me this mornin', 'Mic, how many'd we lose?' And I said, 'How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?' 'Cause that's the same question, man. You're askin' me to count somethin' that ain't the point. They threw the three boys in the furnace in the Good Book, right — turned the heat up seven times hotter — and Old King Whatshisface looks in there expectin' three crispy fellas. And he counts four. There's a fourth man in the fire, man. Walkin' around. Cool as a cucumber. That's the number I'm countin'. Not the losses. The fourth man. Gang gang."

Mic Moore: "Concerned? Brother, Daniel wasn't concerned in the lion's den. You think Daniel's down there goin', 'Aw man, the analytics on these lions is not trendin' my way'? Naw. He sat down. He got comfortable. He used a lion for a pillow. That's where we are. We are in the pit. The lions is circlin'. The whole league lookin' down through the grate goin', 'Ooh, poor Buffalo, they finished.' And I'm down here, man, scratchin' a lion behind the ear, eatin' a little frozen gravy, waitin' on the mornin'. 'Cause the pit ain't the end of the story. The pit is just the part before the part where God shuts the lions' mouths and everybody upstairs feels real dumb."

Mic Moore: "They call it a tank 'cause they can't see the angel, brother. They only see the fire. My Uncle Stumpy — bless him, Nam, you know the story — Stumpy told me, 'Mic, any fool can have faith on the mountaintop. The whole trick is havin' faith in the hole.' Anybody can believe in a team that's winnin'. That ain't belief, that's just math. I'm askin' these fans for the hard kind. The kind that looks at a scoreboard tellin' you you're cooked and says, 'I see somethin' in them flames you don't.' That's not a tank, man. That's a vigil. We are holdin' a vigil. With water. And Vietnam Skittles."

Mic Moore: "Same way you keep a man movin' on a ruck when his feet is hamburger — you point at the horizon and you lie to him with love. Naw, I'm playin'. I don't lie. I tell 'em the truth, which is wilder than any lie. I sit the boys down and I say, 'Fellas. Right now we are in the belly of the whale. And I know it's dark and it smells like krill in here. But Jonah didn't die in the whale. The whale was the Uber. The whale took him exactly where he was supposed to go, he just didn't like the ride.' We are in the whale, brother. Stay hydrated. Change your socks. Trust the whale."

Mic Moore: "A man standin' in the fire who don't smell like smoke. That's it. That's the whole thing. I want to come outta this season — outta this pit — and have somebody pat my shoulder lookin' for burn marks and find nothin'. Not a singe. 'Cause we walked through it on purpose, with the fourth man, and we came out the other side holdin' a draft pick the size of a deep freezer. The angels ain't in the standings, man. The angels is in the future. You just gotta have the eyes to see 'em through the flames."

Mic Moore: "Yeah. When that scoreboard lights up wrong — and it's gonna, brother, it's gonna — don't you look at the number. You look past it. You look for the fourth man walkin' in the fire. He's out there. He's wearin' the blue and gold. He's a little hydrated, he's a little medicated, and he is not burnin'. Stay in the pit with me, Buffalo. The lions' mouths is gonna shut. The mornin' is comin'. Praise God. Now somebody find me a Waffle House — even Daniel had to eat. Gang gang."