As a fan of the Vancouver Canucks, I have had my heart broken many times. I have watched them come oh so close to winning the Stanley Cup, stood by them through the dark days when for some reason they hired the man who beat us in that game as our coach and General Manager (he promptly dismantled the team and traded my favourite players), defended them during the infamous "Bertuzzi incident" when one of our stars (accidentally) broke another player's neck, and most recently, seen them fall two years in a row to the hated Chicago Blackhawks. In darker moments (like when it's one in the morning and they lose to Minnesota and I have to get up for work in five hours), I question why I bother.
|Kevin "Don't Speak" Bieksa|
Jubilation! Euphoria! Or that's what I would have felt if I had been watching. Unfortunately, my night went like this:
9pm - Turn game on. Watch for nearly 4 hours.
12:51am - Baby starts crying. Husband doesn't stir.
12:56am - Cave to crying. Head upstairs to fetch soother and quiet baby.
12:57am - Canucks score game winner.
12:58am - Return downstairs. Fall to knees in frustration.
But I'm quickly moving past the frustration and getting excited. We're now waiting the outcome of the Eastern final to see if the Canucks will face the Boston Bruins or the Tampa Bay Lightning.
And I've put the baby on notice - if the games go into overtime during the finals, he's on his own 'til his daddy responds.