My last hockey post of the season (I swear!)
I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the events that took place in Vancouver last night. To be honest, I think that it’s going to take several more days for me to actually be able to sort all of these emotions out, and I apologize ahead of time if that very fact causes this entry to be all over the place.
For the latter half of the NHL season, I held a firm conviction in my heart that my Canucks would be winning the Stanley Cup. I knew that such a conviction could very easily come back and bite me in the ass in the worst way (and, yeah, it did), and I would try to think about how I’d feel if they *didn’t* actually get their hands on Lord Stanley. But the thing was…I just couldn’t. I couldn’t even imagine how I’d feel if they didn’t win. I couldn’t imagine *not* seeing my most beloved players hoisting that huge silver Cup.
Is that foolish? Probably. Is my blind adoration for a bunch of athletes that I’ve never met and most likely never will kinda dumb? Most likely.
Do I care? Not one bit.
It was only a little over two years ago that I watched my first hockey game. It was the Canucks against the St. Louis Blues in round one of the Playoffs at the end of the 2008-2009 season. Ryan had turned the game on and I had absolutely no intention of watching it, content to read a magazine instead.
But then I started paying attention. I saw Roberto Luongo stand on his head to make some just fantastic saves. I saw the team win the game, and eventually win the series. I asked Ryan questions about the game, and I think he was more than a little surprised (but definitely excited) that I actually seemed to care. And that was it…it literally took one game of Canucks playoffs hockey for me to become absolutely, totally, and completely hooked on the sport.
Prior to this years’ Playoffs, I *liked* a bunch of teams. The San Jose Sharks, the Pittsburgh Penguins, the New York Rangers, the Montreal Canadiens…even, yes, the Boston Bruins. But, the more I watched, the more I came to really see that I only have one real team, that there’s only one team that really gets to me emotionally. That, of course, is my Vancouver Canucks.
If you’re not a sports fan, I know that you won’t understand. Prior to two years ago, I sure as hell didn’t. But if you are…well, then you’ll know how you can just absolutely fall in love with a team and all (or at least most of) its players. How watching them win can bring you to the highest, most jubilant place…and seeing them lose is akin to watching someone kick your puppy. Not to mention the ridiculous amounts of stress that comes from watching a game, especially an important game like one during the Playoffs! Basically, enough stress to simultaneously give you an ulcer and a heart attack!
This Playoff series brought me to tears, both tears of happiness when they (finally) defeated the Chicago Blackhawks and exorcised that demon, and also tears of just absolute disbelief when I watched them lose the Cup to the Boston Bruins.
Never, in my mind, was that supposed to happen. Even though I rationally knew that it could, I couldn’t convince myself that it would.
The hardest part about watching game 7, however, was the fact that it felt as though the Canucks never really even showed up. After that first goal was scored in the first period, they seemed to just be asleep on their feet. Also, for the first time *ever*, I found myself being ashamed of Roberto Luongo. My favorite player, the one who had actually been responsible for my addiction to this sport…had failed me. The first goal and the third goal that the Bruins made never should’ve been allowed to happen.
As a Canucks fan, I suppose I should get used to this feeling. At least, I’m sure that that’s what more seasoned Canucks fans would tell me. However, I didn’t stop believing in them until about halfway through the third period. Until then, I was still certain that they would pull it off somehow. Because, quite frankly, they were *supposed* to! After the amazing season that they had had, that Cup coming home to Vancouver would’ve been just the perfect icing on the cake.
I suppose I could sit here and point fingers and play the blame game (okay, I realize that I kinda already did blame Luongo, but I don’t by any stretch of the imagination mean to say that it was *all* his fault, because it totally wasn’t!). But what’s the point? The game’s over, the season’s over, and history was made. Would it have been a more perfect history had the Canucks won? Well, yes, of course, in my opinion.
One thing that really came out of this season, however, if that fact that I don’t like the Boston Bruins at all any more. Not just because they won the Cup instead of the Canucks, but because of all the events that transpired between the two teams during the Finals. I’m ecstatic that Mason Raymond was able to be at game 7, even if he had to wear a full upper-body back brace. In my vision of a perfect world though, Johnny Boychuk never would’ve slammed him into the boards to begin with, and MayRay instead would’ve gone on to score the winning goal of game 7.
And Lu…Lu wouldn’t have let whatever demons were in his head that night get the best of him. He may have disappointed me, but I still love him. He’s still my goalie, and I know he’ll stand on his head for me again next year. Because that’s what a fan does, in my opinion. They pick up the broken pieces of the team that they love and they say “You know what? You had a fantastic season. You brought me so much happiness. And there’s always next year.”
Because, there is. There’s always next year. And next year I will be just as much of an obnoxious Vancouver Canucks fan as I’ve been for the past two years. Because this team is in my blood now, even more so than they were before. In a way, this team really is what I live for, and I’m already looking forward to next year.
<3
For the latter half of the NHL season, I held a firm conviction in my heart that my Canucks would be winning the Stanley Cup. I knew that such a conviction could very easily come back and bite me in the ass in the worst way (and, yeah, it did), and I would try to think about how I’d feel if they *didn’t* actually get their hands on Lord Stanley. But the thing was…I just couldn’t. I couldn’t even imagine how I’d feel if they didn’t win. I couldn’t imagine *not* seeing my most beloved players hoisting that huge silver Cup.
Is that foolish? Probably. Is my blind adoration for a bunch of athletes that I’ve never met and most likely never will kinda dumb? Most likely.
Do I care? Not one bit.
It was only a little over two years ago that I watched my first hockey game. It was the Canucks against the St. Louis Blues in round one of the Playoffs at the end of the 2008-2009 season. Ryan had turned the game on and I had absolutely no intention of watching it, content to read a magazine instead.
But then I started paying attention. I saw Roberto Luongo stand on his head to make some just fantastic saves. I saw the team win the game, and eventually win the series. I asked Ryan questions about the game, and I think he was more than a little surprised (but definitely excited) that I actually seemed to care. And that was it…it literally took one game of Canucks playoffs hockey for me to become absolutely, totally, and completely hooked on the sport.
Prior to this years’ Playoffs, I *liked* a bunch of teams. The San Jose Sharks, the Pittsburgh Penguins, the New York Rangers, the Montreal Canadiens…even, yes, the Boston Bruins. But, the more I watched, the more I came to really see that I only have one real team, that there’s only one team that really gets to me emotionally. That, of course, is my Vancouver Canucks.
If you’re not a sports fan, I know that you won’t understand. Prior to two years ago, I sure as hell didn’t. But if you are…well, then you’ll know how you can just absolutely fall in love with a team and all (or at least most of) its players. How watching them win can bring you to the highest, most jubilant place…and seeing them lose is akin to watching someone kick your puppy. Not to mention the ridiculous amounts of stress that comes from watching a game, especially an important game like one during the Playoffs! Basically, enough stress to simultaneously give you an ulcer and a heart attack!
This Playoff series brought me to tears, both tears of happiness when they (finally) defeated the Chicago Blackhawks and exorcised that demon, and also tears of just absolute disbelief when I watched them lose the Cup to the Boston Bruins.
Never, in my mind, was that supposed to happen. Even though I rationally knew that it could, I couldn’t convince myself that it would.
The hardest part about watching game 7, however, was the fact that it felt as though the Canucks never really even showed up. After that first goal was scored in the first period, they seemed to just be asleep on their feet. Also, for the first time *ever*, I found myself being ashamed of Roberto Luongo. My favorite player, the one who had actually been responsible for my addiction to this sport…had failed me. The first goal and the third goal that the Bruins made never should’ve been allowed to happen.
As a Canucks fan, I suppose I should get used to this feeling. At least, I’m sure that that’s what more seasoned Canucks fans would tell me. However, I didn’t stop believing in them until about halfway through the third period. Until then, I was still certain that they would pull it off somehow. Because, quite frankly, they were *supposed* to! After the amazing season that they had had, that Cup coming home to Vancouver would’ve been just the perfect icing on the cake.
I suppose I could sit here and point fingers and play the blame game (okay, I realize that I kinda already did blame Luongo, but I don’t by any stretch of the imagination mean to say that it was *all* his fault, because it totally wasn’t!). But what’s the point? The game’s over, the season’s over, and history was made. Would it have been a more perfect history had the Canucks won? Well, yes, of course, in my opinion.
One thing that really came out of this season, however, if that fact that I don’t like the Boston Bruins at all any more. Not just because they won the Cup instead of the Canucks, but because of all the events that transpired between the two teams during the Finals. I’m ecstatic that Mason Raymond was able to be at game 7, even if he had to wear a full upper-body back brace. In my vision of a perfect world though, Johnny Boychuk never would’ve slammed him into the boards to begin with, and MayRay instead would’ve gone on to score the winning goal of game 7.
And Lu…Lu wouldn’t have let whatever demons were in his head that night get the best of him. He may have disappointed me, but I still love him. He’s still my goalie, and I know he’ll stand on his head for me again next year. Because that’s what a fan does, in my opinion. They pick up the broken pieces of the team that they love and they say “You know what? You had a fantastic season. You brought me so much happiness. And there’s always next year.”
Because, there is. There’s always next year. And next year I will be just as much of an obnoxious Vancouver Canucks fan as I’ve been for the past two years. Because this team is in my blood now, even more so than they were before. In a way, this team really is what I live for, and I’m already looking forward to next year.
<3