Speaking of Gil's usual partner when it comes to semen seminars, here's Sara, back at the Labitrail and gazing upon a tableau of hockey equipment that looks as though it were styled by the good people at ESPN SportsCentury. Liam swoons into her personal space and asks if there's any blood. Sara replies, "Testing for blood on a hockey jersey is like handing out jaywalking tickets at a marathon." Liam decides to let that slide and focus on the task at hand: making with the sensitive-guy talk in this week's installment of Exercise in Futility: the Courting Sara Sidle Story. His opening lines, "On a meta-level, isn't it obvious? The overbearing patriarchal structure of modern organized sports represents a socially palatable sublimation of what Jung refers to as 'the shadows of the unconscious.'" Sara fails to melt in the presence of Liam's attempt to channel Gil-like esoterica in casual conversation. She asks, "Sucked at team sports, huh?" Liam counters that he was the captain of his high school chess squad. Oh, good. Perhaps he can play at the White House some time. Sara continues to suck the wind out of Liam's sails by saying, "I think sports are physical by definition." Liam moves in with, "Sex is physical. Is that a sport?" Sara misses the chance to blow Liam out of the water with, "Only if you do it right," opting instead to be all humorless and, "Not for me." Liam recovers by looking at the array of hockey blades Sara is currently spraying with luminol. She exposits -- more for his benefit than for ours -- that she's betting the one that skated through the blood splatter was the one that did the damage. Liam's looking at the blades intently; he tells Sara that his freshman-year roommate, a hockey wonder from Edmonton who went on to play for the Swedish Elite League (at Stanford? They're a Division II club team. The only explanation is that Edmonton Guy was so bad, he had to play for them until he could earn the sobriquet "Canadian hockey player." Clearly, I'm overanalyzing this), used to make Liam sharpen his blades, and Edmonton preferred the blades at half an inch. The ones that likely sliced open River's carotid are set at the narrowest possible width -- a quarter inch. Liam notes, "It's a tough blade to skate on; we're talking Wayne Gretzky style." Sara adds, "And deadly in a fight." Hey, what do you know? They're Jane's blades. If you thought the conversation between Catherine and Jane was amusing, the one between Sara and Jane should be a laugh riot.