It’s (Still) Your Game

Here is how living in Canada affects an outsider: During the third period of Sunday afternoon’s game, I found myself jumping out of my chair and screaming like a lunatic, “Backcheck! Backcheck for cryin’ out loud!” as Patrick Kane raced after breakaway Sid. (Ok. Maybe I’m embellishing my knowledge of hockey just a bit. I probably yelled, “Get him. Get him!”)

A minute later the announcer reminded his audience that the Canadian team had won the gold medal by beating the Americans in Salt Lake City 8 years earlier. And then it hit me: In 2002 I wasn’t even AWARE of the US vs. Canada game. I know I didn’t watch. And if the announcer hadn’t mentioned it, I would not have known who had won or lost. What’s worse: I might not have cared.

How could an event that at one time did not even register on my radar now become something over which I’d burst a blood vessel? I heard an echo of this change a day later when my grade 11 son, in a brief moment of melancholy – at a time when I thought he might make a wistful comment about his having just one more year of living at home with good old dad – said instead, “After losing today to Mowbrays, I realize I have just one more season of house hockey.” He bit his lip.

It’s your game. But it sure is catchy.


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