When It’s Over

On Wednesday, the Detroit Red Wings won the Stanley Cup in Game 6 against Pittsburgh. While this sentence might seem redundant to those of you who read my blog from within the border of the Great Lakes state, many of my readers abroad might be saying “Oh…really?” or perhaps “Oh…who really cares?” And while it may be obvious that those Detroiters and Michiganders who have devoted many a long season to loving the Wings are elated, it can also be said that all lovers of hockey are now experiencing the crash that befalls them after the high of a heated playoff battle. In other words, Dave is obsessed with hockey. And so far, I have only met one Canadian that didn’t share that passion. Even if their team of choice doesn’t end up in running for the cup, there seems be some kind of plan of succession so that their new favorite immediately falls into place once the original is defeated. Something like how the Vice President steps in if the President dies, the Secretary of State for the Vice President, and so on. Since Dave’s beloved Jets left Winnipeg years ago, he now defers to preferring any Canadian team unless, ironically, it’s the Montreal Canadiens. In that case he cheers for the other guy.

And now, it’s over. After four rounds, 2 months, innumerable broken teeth/noses/egos and 21 final periods of hockey, the winner has been decided. And the added bonus of my home-state taking the cake, I’m also simply thrilled with the fact that I don’t have to watch any more hockey. Until September. At least. No matter how culturally ingrained hockey is into the soul of a girl from Northern Michigan, a lady has her limits. A lady’s limit, in fact, was reached in about…February. Because not only did I spend one night a week sitting, as I know I’ve mentioned, essentially outdoors watching David’s games, it also so happened that the ‘North American Sports Network’ was one of our only English channels. And hockey, as it would turn out, is a North American sport. Between the Bundesliga, the NHL and that one random game I watched in the Netherlands, it’s enough. I’m done. And I won’t miss it.

So when the people of Detroit wake up in a champagne induced stupor tomorrow…or the next day…they’ll find me ready and waiting. For baseball.

One thought on “When It’s Over

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