Oh, Canada, I thought I would be devastated if/when you knocked off the U.S. in the men’s hockey gold medal game in the final event of the 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver.
I wasn’t. In reality, I was a bit stunned at the lightning-quick shot by Sidney Crosby that ended one of the best hockey games I’ve ever seen in overtime. But as I sat there and watched the medal ceremony immediately after, I couldn’t help but realize how fitting it was.
Sid the Kid, The Next One, scoring the winning goal in overtime against the U.S. to end the only Olympics in a generation in the Great White North? It will go in the annals of your folklore next to Gretzky, Bigfoot, Ogopogo and the 1972 Summit Series against the Russians.
As the delirious crowd (too much maple syrple, perhaps) at Canada Hockey Place sang as one during your beautiful national anthem, one couldn’t help but feel a little happy for your embattled folk. After all, if their heroes had lost, one could almost envision a host of sorrowful, vengeful, inebriated Canadians streaming over the border in an impromptu, stumbling invasion of the Lower 48. And what could we have done, other than try to divert them with two-fours, sautéed fiddleheads and butter tarts? After which, we would have said “Go to your home.” And, of course, they would have said “Sorry, eh.”
Seriously, if you’re from Canada (no offense), prior to this past week, you didn’t have a lot to be happy about recently other than the not-so-recent hockey gold in Salt Lake City in 2002, Jim Carrey, Timbits (mmmm, Tim Hortons’ mini-donuts), Shania Twain, Labatt Blue, Hockey Night in Canada and the prolonged absence of Celine Dion. Really, that’s not much, that is until your Vancouver scooped up these Games.
And what an Olympics, eh? Fourteen golds for the home team, breaking the all-time winter record, including the top spot in both men’s and women’s hockey (I guess you really did invent the game) and in men’s curling, arguably the only two things to do in up there for six-to-eight months out of the year, other than perhaps dog-sledding and moose-tipping, and the last hoser to try the latter didn’t make out so well.
And how about providing the most poignant moment of what was a very memorable two-plus weeks? One had to be made of stone if your heart did not go out to Joannie Rochette, the 24-year-old Montreal native, whose mom died unexpectedly just two days before the short program in women’s figure skating. Rochette choked back tears and performed valiantly and beautifully to earn a bronze medal that was as good as gold in my book. Her courageous, emotion-filled performance is one I’ll never forget.
Yes, Canada, you should be proud, even though you don’t pronounce the ‘g’ at the end of your ‘ing’s. Oh wait, I have trouble with that, too. I must be too near your border. I’m infected. Help, eh!
But I digress.
Oh, Canada, I wasn’t devastated by the loss to you in the gold medal game because A) nobody expected the U.S. to be there; B) Ryan Miller played like the and was named the best player in the tournament; 1B) his last name is Miller…Coincidence? I think not; C) with his equalizer with 24 seconds left to force overtime, Minnesota’s own Zach Parise gave the 1-percent of Americans who were watching thrills and chills and 1-percent of the 99-percent of your citizens who were watching - the other 1-percent were in a coma - coronaries (oh wait, maybe it was the over-consumption of maple-glazed Canadian bacon and poutine); D) it wasn’t like this would have been another Miracle on Ice - every player in that game plays in the NHL - it wasn’t a bunch of amateur kids against a bunch of grown, professional men during the midst of the Cold War, so no need for so much gloatin’, eh; and E) Teemu Selanne and Finland won the bronze medal the night before. (Have I mentioned I’m Finnish?)
Would I have been happier if the U.S. won that game? Of course. But that joy could have quickly turned to abject terror seeing a flannel-clad Canuck on snowshoes weaving through my yard with a rusty 1946 Carl Gustaf recoilless rifle strapped on his back, growling “I’m huntin’ Yankees.” Oh, and your children of the Maple Leaf would be coming, for sure, especially if I heard correctly that the bet if the U.S. won was that you would have had to take Celine back. Along with every copy ever made of the movie “Titanic”, just because of that song.
Oh, Canada, I am happy for you. Now could you do us all a favor and do something about that Priceline Negotiator guy? And it won’t hurt me if you take out Keanu while you’re at it, too. Thanks, eh.
Until next time…
