What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared
to what lies within Us
Yes, like you, I watched the big game on Sunday. Like the rest of Canada, let me rephrase, I watched the hockey game. Some 16 millions Canadian fans/patriots/anti-Americans/and everyone else in between watched Canada bookend the Vancouver games with a storybook ending. Hockey remains Canada’s game, as the CBC declared.
How could I not watch, right?
I used to play hockey when I was an ankle-biter. I used to circle goalies with puck to stick for about five years, starting when I was five. I was an average player at best, often removed from the rep teams, settling for house league, comfortably. Over the years, I have continued to watch the game – not devotedly, just casually with friends over a beer. Typically this was only reserved for play-off games; when there was more at stake. It has been the same story for me and most sports in the past few years, truth be told. I guess I’m not living up to the stereotypical machismo paradigm. Forgive me. And although I do hold my reservations against the Olympics – a lot of that (ludicrous) money could and should go towards more pressing issues (say, homelessness, cancer research, alleviating that issue called poverty) than a glorified global battle royale – I wasn’t protesting the Olympic torch when it came to town, forcing it to detour off Yonge Street. There are bigger things I can take a stand against and for. This one I put up with. It does build patriotism, bringing all walks of like together under one title: Canadian. I listened in (OK, overheard) a recent immigrant rant to his friend, in broken English, today about how proud he was to be Canadian.
As I watched the game in a typically over-packed bar, circled in a sea of red and well-oiled patrons, I couldn’t help but smile. You felt it too, I’m sure. Of course, the game was too good to be written, perfectly executed in a suspenseful, unblinkling kind of way. But that collective sigh (I mean, relentless cross-country cheer) as soon as Golden Boy Crosby slid that black weapon home, was just something to feel. The incessant honking, cheering, cheers-ing, hugging, laughing, (and in one case that I witnessed) crying was undeniably touching, inexplicable even.
Now, the Olympic money could do a lot for those important, much-needed causes, but it did bring happiness to a huge body of Canadians for at least three hours. Like that timeless Mastercard commercial states: Priceless.
--RYAN BOLTON
