We Scored

My personal interest in hockey has been fleeting, I’ll admit.

My earliest memory of the game is lying on the couch at my grandparents’ house, eating cinnamon toast and eggnog, and watching Hockey Night in Canada with Grandma after the Tommy Hunter Show. It was a weekly tradition for us, while Grandpa was at the card game. She rooted for the Montreal Canadiens, but I only knew to go for “the red shirts”.

In elementary school, the girls in my class became fans of the Calgary Flames; not because we really liked the team or knew anything about hockey, but because Craig Boudreau was a fan and what Craig Boudreau liked, you could pretty much count on the girls liking, too. I remember tuning into the evening news one night, specifically to see a massive Calgary brawl from the night before. I paid special attention to detail so I would be able to informatively discuss the fight at recess the next day.

While in university, I took a job at the Halifax Metro Center, where I became friends with several players from the Halifax Mooseheads. Because I was working for all their home games, I soon became a fan of Major Junior hockey. When one player, Alex Tanguay, got drafted to the Colorado Avalanche, I took to watching their games and I was hooked. Now that was hockey, when the Sakic-Forseberg-Tanguay line was on the ice.

When my favorite team all but dissolved after the glory days of Colorado’s Northwestern Conference titles and Stanley Cup victories, I didn’t really pay attention to the NHL anymore, or any hockey, period. There have been a few tournaments whose hype had me looking over my shoulder and considering a return to fandom, but never enough to follow through.

Then, the 2010 Vancouver Olympics.

I hadn’t planned to watch any Olympic events, to tell you the truth. I was put off by the technical glitch that made the climactic moment of the opening ceremonies an awkward spectacle, and after the first few days of less-than-expected success by the Canadian athletes, I was more embarrassed for Canada than eager to tune in to the hoopla.

Still, I was curious. Everyone was so excited for the men’s hockey competition – “Canada is bringing home the gold!” people claimed – that I couldn’t resist. I took over remote control duties and decided we’d watch the Canada vs. USA game. The hockey was less than stellar, but what got me was the crowd. The chanting and screaming, the sea of flag-waving red – it was like no other hockey game I had watched before.

I hadn’t put enough stock in these Olympics on Canadian turf. In the preceding weeks, it brought to mind an overplayed theme song and seemingly never-ending torch relay coverage on the nightly news. But, when push came to shove, I think it ended up meaning more to us than we could have anticipated.

The majority of Canada anxiously watched the gold medal game on Sunday. It was the ultimate match-up: our home-grown athletes, good ol’ boys proudly representing small-town Canada, up against Team USA, who had already beat us the first time around and who stood practically unchallenged in the overall medal standings. This was it, for the broccoli bouquets (not to digress but, um…what was up with those?), the gold, and the glory.

A gold medal game couldn’t have been written more perfectly. Last minute tie, overtime period winner-takes-all, every element was present for the most memorable Olympic hockey final of our lifetime.

And they did it. They could easily have choked and been made to stand with the same heartbroken faces the Americans were sporting with their silver. It could so easily have gone the other way.

But it didn’t. And what a moment it was.

I doubt those boys realize the depth of what they accomplished in Vancouver. I’m sure they’re happy with their medals and proud of their accomplishments, but it was more than that.

That game was not about medal count or perfect play execution, or even about sport, when you really think about it. It was about providing an opportunity for all Canadians to express our national pride. To stand up and wave our flag (while calling ‘nanny-nanny-poo-poo’ at the Americans if we felt like it), without being overly polite or apologizing for our free health care. It was very liberating to give a damn, to be proud of where we live, not just discreetly this time, but with the entire world watching.

I probably won’t start watching hockey again, but I don’t have to. Everything I could have asked for from a hockey experience was fulfilled Sunday night, and it’s a moment I’m thankful for.