history is serious business

It's the Stanley Cup playoff season, and Canada takes its hockey pretty goddamn seriously. I live in the Vancouver area, so all my coworkers are sporting their Canucks jerseys, letting their beards grow out like ZZTop, tension is brewing, and there's a whole financial goldmine over branded merchandise.

i know people that would buy these.

A friend of mine has been doing his best to get me really into hockey, and unfortunately for the both of us, his loyalties lie with the San Jose Sharks. I watched them fight their way up to the final four, and despite being knocked out in the Western Conference Finals, I have decided that yes, the Sharks are indeed sufficiently bad ass enough to have my support. However, they're not very well liked in these parts. I've already had people scream at me and been thoroughly mocked at both places of employment since I began showing interest in the Sharks. Once, I was followed around the mall by a gas station employee who kept yelling at me.

Was it a reference to the Detroit Red Wings, or to his shrivelled up penis? I did not bother to stop and ask.

It only got worse when the Sharks clipped those Red Wings and moved on to face the Vancouver Canucks. It's dangerous not supporting the local teams, apparently; to some, it's all in fun and games, but others take it REALLY seriously.

It only got worse by Game 5, as the Sharks had done very poorly the first two games, and had really embarrassed themselves in Game 2. Game 5 seemed like a sure win, and then with 13.2 seconds left in the third period, some little bitch named Kesler went and got a goal, forcing the game to overtime. It was un-fucking-believable, and probably something I could've appreciated for being an amazing goal had it not being the EXACT OPPOSITE OF WHAT I WANTED.

And then the game went into a SECOND overtime period. The Sharks fought back hard. Their playoff lives were at stake here! It was do or die! Their captain was playing with a broken finger and a separated shoulder, one guy played with a broken nose, and I'm pretty sure at least two more had minor concussions. My hockey friend, that total jerkstore, was basically going into a hysteric fit, which he often does during Sharks games, upsetting my neighbours, landlord, and roommates.

Both of us were on the verge of our seats.

And then this total FUCKER scored the OT Game winning goal, knocking the Sharks down and eliminating them from the playoffs. I was pretty devastated, having falling in love with the team; the brave Joe Thornton, the gallant Logan Couture, the cunning Patrick Marleau, the fierce Devin Setoguchi... What would I do without them? I had suddenly been engulfed in a love for hockey that I had not known despite growing up in CANADA.

My friend, of course, being the super die-hard fan, was a puddle of misery and despair. He had lost all dignity, and I had to buy a new couch. He could barely speak, and when he did, it was incoherent profanities. I didn't know "Bieksa" was a swear word.

But it didn't end there.

That night, I mopingly dragged myself up the stairs to my room to pass out. The game had gone on for HOURS. I had to be up long before the sun to make it to work. And my soul was broken. I managed to pass out and sleep for a while.

Then I woke up.

13.2 seconds.

I didn't understand at first.

13.2 fucking seconds.

Then I remembered. Everything came flooding back.

I became angrier and angrier. It was unbelievable. 13.2 seconds, a bad bounce of the puck, a BS icing call, and some pretty severe injuries endured by god damn HEROES had led to the downfall of my beloved Sharks that I didn't even know existed this time last year.

And now I couldn't sleep, and it was making me furious.

And then, I thought about my friend, who had dragged me into this frozen world kicking and screaming! I was happier without hockey! I had no idea what caring about sports felt like! This was his fault!



That little ginger shit! I wanted to eat his face off his skull.

History is a fucking bitch.

I experienced more sports related heckling in the week to follow. My coworkers from the grocery store asked me if I wanted their recipes for shark-sashimi or shark fin soup. This fellow who has come in a few times with a Roberto Luongo jersey thought they fired me for supporting the Sharks, which was funny because he missed the day I came to work wearing a Dany Heatley jersey.

And it doesn't help that EVERY. FUCKING. CAR IN THE CITY is sporting a Canucks flag, our store is selling tattoos, and the grocery store is having a draw for some jerseys and hats that I keep entering for, with the intent to burn if I win.

History makes us bitter.

History makes us very, very bitter.


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Happy Apple said...
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