Format the following passage properly, for storytelling purposes. Keep it as written, don't change a single word, but improve grammar where necessary.

A housemate in the nearby living room sings along with the Jardiance commercial playing during what I can only presume is a Lifetime commercial break. "I take once daily Jardiance at each day's start." Pure poetry. It doesn't even feel like something a human being would say in an actual conversation. And yet these bizarre lyrics have become an earworm of sorts, a reminder of one of the more unsung aspects of being autistic: sounds and words work their way into my brain and stay there indefinitely. Sometimes, they go away quickly; in other cases, they can stay for more than a decade, whether that's the goal or not. (I can assure you it seldom ever is, unless it's something so impactful, so special, that I would never want to forget it.) The same housemate openly asks whether today is Saturday; as a matter of fact, we are two days removed from the last Saturday on the calendar. I am sure it was some sort of misinterpretation on my part; I'm by no means a stranger to misreading cues or having lacking comprehension. I am reminded of the idea of being a relic in today's world having become so caught up in "NHL '96" that I missed out on a rule change that came roughly two decades ago: it is no longer a possibility for an NHL game to end in a tie. Don't be deceived when you see a record like 52-24-6 (which is the Panthers' exact record from the 2023-24 regular season). That six on the end does not represent ties. Logically, you would presume it does, since this is how it tends to work in virtually any other sport. But not ice hockey. You see, if there is still no score after the five-minute overtime period, teams play 'shootout' rounds to determine the winner, much like how things work in soccer (or 'football' if you live outside of the United States, and perhaps North America at large). That cute, fun little 'shootout' minigame introduced to the NHL video game series in the seminal "NHL '94" turned out to be a foreshadowing of how the NHL would settle deadlocks starting in 2005. Over a decade after the devs at EA Sports had the idea to have two teams trade shootout rounds until there was a decisive winner, the actual NHL adopted it as a way to prevent ties. Apparently, a lot of fans were grumbling about it over the years, enough so that the suits at the NHL finally listened to them. Sure enough, me being a relatively new convert to the finer points of ice hockey, and perhaps having played too much "NHL '96" lately and become firmly entrenched in the way things used to be, my lack of awareness of the game as it stands today was on full display when I attempted to predict tonight's game between the homebound Canadiens and the visiting Penguins. The initial call was a 2-2 tie, with both Sidney Crosby (a man bound for the Hockey Hall of Fame the moment he becomes eligible; they may grant him an exception with regards to the normal waiting period) and Alex Newhook both scoring two goals apiece. When I went to share this prediction with Phil, a Canadiens fan (and possible former Nordiques fan who may have converted to Montreality following the Nords' Jim Irsay-esque 'midnight ride' to Denver), he responded with two words: "Tie impossible." At first, I thought he meant that there was no chance for the two teams to battle to a draw, because their offenses were capable of getting fast scores with the pressure on. No, as it turns out, that 'six' I mentioned earlier, the 'six' you will find on the end of the Panthers' 2023-24 record, actually represents the number of games that went to overtime. All those games ended with a winner, and you have to examine the record closely to find out the outcome of the game. I can only wonder how many old-school NHL fans were in a state of outrage and how many were welcoming to the 2005 rule change that made ties an impossibility. To me, the beauty of the tie is that it gives equal merit to teams that played their hearts out. If a game must have a winner, then there will always be a loser--a painful dose of reality that can cast a dark shadow on even the most spirited efforts that fall short, such as a player on the losing team achieving a hat trick (rare, but sometimes--and surely more often than I'd presume--a hat trick is not enough to win a game). I am grateful that the Quebecois fan did not make me feel like an idiot for my oversight; I hastily amend my prediction to reflect a 3-2 victory for Montreal, keeping the original two goals apiece for Crosby and Newhook while awarding the game-winner to Cole Caufield. (And why not? He's been consistent ever since he took the #13 to honor the late Johnny Gaudreau.) Hockey, to use an analogy, is like a pure woman surrounded by many prostitutes. There are moments where the other sports feel cheap and tawdry, stained by collective arrogance--from the players to the coaches, to the owners and everyone else in between--and marketing that panders to the lowest common denominator. But hockey has a pureness to it, a special bond between the pros and the fans. There are aspects of it that I do not care for when compared to the way things used to be, but it still captivates my imagination far more than the other three major sports in North America have. Being an American, there are times where I feel like an 'unworthy lover,' the square peg that wants to fit into the round hole. A classic case of "I wanna be down" syndrome, the kind Brandy would make a record about. I am attracted to the culture of Canada, but realize there is so much left for me to learn. I think about dating Canadian women in the future; I have had wild imaginings about someday finding myself in Montreal or Toronto, and slipping into the dating scene like a hand slips into a glove. (God knows the clock is ticking; I'm going to be old much sooner than I would like to think, and I'm less than ten years away from turning 40.) But would the women there go for a guy like me? The ego believes they would, while another part of me deals with imposter syndrome. It whispers to me: "Someday, you'll be found out for who you are." There must be more to life. There just has to be. I have already become comfortable with myself. I feel like I could date again, but there's something rewarding about being alone with your thoughts. I am in a house surrounded by many people, but remain an island unto myself. I reflect again on wanting to continue my bloodline, the desire for another me to follow me. But when I look at the state of the world, I feel like my generation was the last great one. iPads and smartphones have become America's number one babysitter. I look at the state of 'Gen Alpha' and realize my kids wouldn't stand a ghost of a chance. They would be anachronisms in today's society. No, it is up to me to endure this hell, and make a heaven out of it for as long as I'm able. I hug my pillow, controlling my breathing, as I think about a dear friend. The thought of her always calms me down; her birthday will be this Sunday, and I have already created a 'draft' for my message to her. Now I just have to make sure I don't accidentally delete it, or worse yet send it too early. She is an inspiration. I've told her before...and even though I have already given her her roses, I like to provide a fresh bouquet every once in a while. I consider it practice for better loving the people I'm surrounded by every day. Perhaps someday we will meet; and yet, it seems we already have.