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General manager Kyle Dubas of the Toronto Maple Leafs looks on from the draft floor prior to Round Two of the 2022 Upper Deck NHL Draft at Bell Centre in Montreal on July 8. BRUCE BENNETT/Getty Images

At this point, you sort of feel sorry for Kyle Dubas every time he talks.

What’s he going to say that will change anybody’s mind? And given that impossibility, why does he have to keep saying it?

But the Toronto Maple Leafs general manager keeps getting pushed out on stage at the end of a sword. Once there, he keeps saying the same silly things. He was out there again this week as training camp started, doing this semester’s first lecture of Intro to Tragedy 101.

“Nobody wants to hear us talking about it,” Dubas said. “They want to see us do.”

Fair enough. Under the circumstances, not bad.

Then, not one minute later: “Our goal is not to win one round. It’s to win four.”

There you go talking about it. How about you win one round and then start lipping off about how you’ve got the big one right there in your sights.

At this point, you sound like a guy who’s just booked his flight to Kathmandu, looks off in the general direction of Everest and says, “Just a few more steps.” Maybe get to base camp before you start setting your intentions in front of the class.

This is the conundrum of modern sports communications. You don’t want to say nothing, because people will fill the void for you. But anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of media law.

Nobody’s good at explaining losing, but right now no one is as bad at it as the Leafs. Their answer to everything is that meme of a cartoon dog drinking coffee in the midst of a house fire saying, “This is fine.”

Has that dog been copyrighted? Because he should be the new Leafs mascot. Then they can send him out to do the talking.

To varying degrees, everyone on this team is trapped in a conversational loop from four years ago.

“We’ve obviously been right there,” captain John Tavares said.

To whom is that obvious, exactly? And how are you defining “right there?”

“We’ve established ourselves as an elite team in this league,” head coach Sheldon Keefe said.

I’ve just realized the perfect thing to get the Leafs for their birthday – a dictionary.

First thing you do, look up the words ‘established,’ ‘elite’ and, just for kicks, ‘team.’

Everybody’s bad at it, but the weight falls on Dubas. He’s the boss, plus he wears glasses. So he must know what’s going on.

Once one of the more forthcoming, three-dimensional GMs in hockey, Dubas’s public persona has been beaten flat by years of failure. He still sounds excited, but excited about talking so fast, for so long, that there is the slim possibility he may avoid facing more questions.

When he gets one he doesn’t have a great answer to (ie. a lot of them), he retreats into hockey boilerplate.

Why do you like this team, someone asked (an inside-out way of asking the more interesting question – why don’t you dislike this team?).

“Everything they are doing now is about winning,” Dubas said.

What were they doing before when, you know, they were losing? Was that about winning, too? When I’m in my car, is everything I’m doing about driving, even when I’m wrapping it around a phone pole?

‘Leafs disease’ – that’s what they used to call losing on the steady with no hint of an intention to change. The virus has mutated. Leafs disease is now a condition whereby rampant verbosity replaces results.

The miserable teams of Leafs yore knew enough to hang their heads when things were going sideways. This team believes the answer to every disaster is to schedule a TED Talk called Losing Your Way to Victory.

The sentences are a problem, but the presentation may be worse.

Has there ever been a more mirthless pro sports organization? When it gets dark for other teams in other sports, a few of them are able to triangulate the ridiculousness of treating who wins this or that game like a real-world problem.

Not the Leafs.

No jokes. No little asides. Absolutely zero capacity to laugh at themselves, from any member of the organization.

To be fair, this isn’t just a Toronto problem – it’s a hockey problem. But it’s still a shame. Canadians are supposed to be funny and hockey is meant to be a retreat from real life. A little gallows humour might put this team’s situation into perspective. It might even win you some credit for having your priorities straight.

Instead, the Leafs have confused solemnity for seriousness. That doesn’t leave them any room to say, “Listen, I didn’t blow that play. I was trying to wave at my mom in the crowd as the puck drifted between my skates” when things go wrong.

They have figured out one thing – that no one is going to believe this team is for real until the second after it proves it is.

That moment cannot arrive until the third or fourth week of April (though it can certainly be disproven before then).

That leaves the Leafs with seven months of sound bites to fill. When you lose three in a row, “four rounds,” “proved we are elite” and “been right there” is not going to work. You’ve set yourself a standard both so high and so hard to credit that you have no rhetorical wiggle room. All you can do is repeat the same affirmations while your audience turns into 20,000 hecklers. That’s a lot of pressure.

So forget about the playoffs. If the Leafs can make it to December without at least one of them cracking it’ll be a Christmas miracle.

The obvious solution – from here until April, don’t say anything. If you feel you must, hire Rick Mercer or Ali Hassan as your next assistant GM. I’m not sure how big they are on hockey, but they will vastly improve the entertainment value of your excuses.