When last we checked in with Devin Cooley, he was serving as the backup goaltender for one of the worst teams in the league—I mean, downright putrid, couldn't-pay-me-to-watch bad. Not a lot has changed about the Calgary Flames in 11 months. They have two wins so far, second-fewest in the NHL. They have allowed 37 goals, second-most in the league. They're sporting a goal differential of minus-20 in just eight games played, which means that if you attend a Flames game, you should expect to see them lose by multiple goals. In practice they have lost multiple games by four, and multiple games by five.

It takes a type to thrive in that environment, and Cooley might be that type. All goalies are strange—they are under constant, ego-deforming pressure, and must spend an unhelpful amount of time alone in their own minds—but Cooley is rare in being able to describe his specific flavor of strange. In that interview last year, he displayed a mindset that while nihilist on its face, is probably pretty healthy in its ability to compartmentalize each save, each game, and wall it off from the saves and games he has yet to face. "Nothing matters," he said, "nobody cares, we're all going to die."

So, what would the Flames' poor 2026 start do for Cooley's mood? Well, ah, at least his bunny Tito seems in good spirits. Good for Tito. He's the only living being who can attend a Flames game and not suffer psychic damage.

But! The Flames won last night, their second in three games (break them up!). And Cooley picked up his first victory of the year, stopping 34 of 36 shots by the defending-champ Hurricanes, who had won seven straight—until they ran into a goalie who mentally berates himself to keep him from enjoying his job, and thus getting worse at it. Cooley explains:

"The problem with me is that I have a lot of fun playing, but when I start having too much fun, it makes me from an unconscious goalie into a conscious goalie, and my conscious brain is really bad at playing goalie.

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"Then I can't react in time, I'm slow, I'm behind the play, and I give up seven goals."

(That is not a hypothetical; he gave up seven goals to the Avalanche his last time out.) Regardless, it's an instructive monologue from the man who might be the NHL's best interview. Some goalies may manifest their desire for control over the universe as a series of superstitions; most of them cannot or will not verbalize their mental processes, for fear that taking apart the bird to see how it sings will break it forever. They are possibly not wrong to hold that fear. But Cooley is unreservedly self-analytical, and charming and smiley about it.

That first interview was done right after he hopped off the ice at the end of the game. Emotions were running high. After showering and changing, was Cooley any less introspective? He was not.

He's the best talker in the sport, low bar it may be. In this scrum, Cooley was told for the first time that his teammates race back to the locker room to turn on the TV whenever he's tapped to give a postgame interview. "Whatever comes out comes out," he said, "and we'll deal with it tomorrow if I say something stupid."