One could tell if they read my Superbowl post or if they looked at my shoe collection or if they saw me attempting to do the Grouse Grind or if they knew the sequence of “unfortunate events” I spent all of grade nine planning so that I could escape physical education class for my grade ten year of high school that I am not athletically inclined. At all. One bit. Don’t get it. Not my thing. Couldn’t care less, would rather be a blimp, don’t see why both sides can’t win, not into the whole mouth guard thing, can’t stand “team work”. Blech.
But here’s the thing: ever since I fell in love with Devon Sawa as that football player in “Little Giants” and he seemed to fall in love with that chick who pretended to be a boy so that she could play the game… I’ve done a pretty good job at pretending. I like boys that play sports. It’s the whole “I’m passionate enough about something to sweat for it ever single day and cry when I lose” thing. It’s endearing. It’s manly. It’s hot. So I cheer (at least for the cute ones).
No one needs to know that the only part of the hockey game I enjoy watching is the part where the camera goes inside the dressing room. Or when it catches a player with his head in his hands behind the bench. Or even better, catches one yelling “FUCK” as he enters the penalty box. That’s my little secret. As far as anyone needs to know: I THINK SPORTS ARE AWESOME.
So when the Vancouver Canucks won the Presidents trophy this year, I smiled and cheered (after learning what the Presidents trophy was). yayyy. Cute boys making their dreams come true. How adorable! I jumped on the bandwagon, because that’s what all of Vancouver does come this time of year. We believe, for whatever reason (be it the men, the lost dreams of our childhood, the history, our patriotism, the game itself), that we can fucking win it. This is our team. This is our time. This is exactly what Vancouver needs to bring its people together. HOCKEY. CANADA. YEAH!
I’m not getting into the details. I’m not talking about Vancouver’s hockey history. Frankly, from what I’ve heard it’s a little depressing and to be honest, I don’t really know anything about it. What I’m getting into is the fire behind my WOO-ing tonight. It’s game Seven of the first series and I need the Canucks to win. Because they have been cursed as my Voo-Doo doll.
This whole season, they’ve been on fire. Winning games. Doing other stuff that makes teams ‘on fire’. They’ve been working hard. Losing seldom and winning hard. They have a real fan club this year. Not just a bandwagon. They deserve success.
Me too. This whole season (ahem, school year), I have been busting my not-as-tight-as-it-would-be-if-I-played-sports ass to get good grades, make it through the academic system, pay off my gosh darn awful credit cards, lose that ten pounds, wake up at 6am, apply liquid eyeliner so I don’t look like Courtney Love & be the best girlfriend EVER. & you know what? I kind of succeeded. I pulled off mostly A’s, am graduating in a month, payed off all my debt by working a very uninspiring job, lost ten pounds, woke up at 6am every day for 7 months, watched youtube tutorials until my eyelids burned and I was confident enough to spend $50 on YSL liquid eyeliner, and I told my man friend that I couldn’t do it anymore because I couldn’t give it my all.
The Canucks were up with a 3-0 series lead and you know what? They shit the bed, because now it’s game 7 and no body knows what’s going to happen. And as much as I want to put my faith in Kesler’s amazing tight-because-he-does-play-sports ass, we just don’t have a foggy clue who’s coming out on top tonight (and believe me, when Kesler’s involved in the conversation, I’d like to say it’s me). WOAH, sorry. Off topic.
I blew threw this season with the greatest of ease on my fucking trapeze and some time within the past couple weeks, things exploded in my face. Turns out school doesn’t guarantee you a job, and that one I was working? Still working there. Turns out studying for all those A’s means getting drunk off of cheap beer (because all my money went to my credit cards) and gaining back ten pounds. Turns out getting up at 6am every day for seven months means you sleep in until 1pm every day once it’s not an obligation causing you to grow even plumper in your sleep because you can’t get up to go to the gym. Also, $50 eyeliner doesn’t last when you lose the lid in the toilet of the Cambie (I would not go into that toilet even if I dropped a million dollars in it) and because you now have no lid it shrivels up and you use it anyways and then your eyes explode and you look like Rocky for 3 days and while you look like a swollen, beaten bottle rat you run into your ex-boyfriend, drink waaaay too many PBR’s, cry because you have no money to give a homeless man on the street and end up being the most un-perfect ex-girlfriend ever in HISTORY.
So let me just say: I get it. The Canucks have ONE NIGHT to redeem themselves with an ex. ONE NIGHT to lose ten pounds and find the cure for swollen eyelids. ONE NIGHT to find a career. ONE NIGHT to get their internal clock back to 6am time. ONE NIGHT to prove to themselves it was all worth it. ONE NIGHT to forgive themselves for their past blunders and just…WIN.
This is no time for Charlie Sheen jokes, people. My future is at stake here. If we lose the series I can just picture myself going back to macaroni and vodka martini’s alone. The next time I run into an ex I’ll be wearing sneakers and a mouth gaurd. I’ll start waking up at 4 in the afternoon and applying for jobs at McDonalds. They’ll tell me I can’t graduate because in my future they predict I’ll be a failure.
People always say: It’s just a game, It’s just a game. But it’s never just a game, is it? It’s a chance to get together with friends or family and share in the exact same feeling. Scream when they scream. Argue when they argue. Shake when they shake. Cry when they cry. It’s like a simultaneous orgasm. A rare but spectacular occurrence when people just… work really fucking well together.
So Canucks, because I can’t go any more downhill from here. Because I haven’t had a simultaneous orgasm in a long time. Because Ryan Kesler’s ass is the only thing keeping me from fretting over my own. Please, for the love of Luongo, just….win it already.
xo & yw
