This game jaded me against Chris Osgood forever. Seriously. This is one of my faintest, earliest memories of sports, and I never truly forgave Osgood for that loss.
Funny story: I was sent to bed during Game 7. It was a "school night"; didn't matter that it was Game 7 in freaking OT.
About 30 seconds after I laid down in bed, I heard screaming from the living room and ran out in time to see Steve Yzerman vanish beneath a pile of red and white sweaters in the corner. Poor Jon Casey.
The first chapter of an epic tale; the prelude/introduction of course being the Red Wings' firebombing of Roy in Montreal that sent him to Denver that same season. This would've been a run-of-the-mill (albeit crushing) defeat, until Mr. Son of a Bitch decided to scramble Kris Draper's face in Game 6. A level of scumbaggery and villainy even the 2007-2009ish Ducks couldn't match (although they tried). One of my favorite books was written by a Denver columnist about the Red Wings/Avalanche rivalry, that began in the final game of that series.