No Silver Lining

I have to apologize, Canada. It seems I cost our country a gold medal at the World Junior Hockey Championship tonight.

You see, I, like many other people who have ever played sports in this country, am extremely superstitious. I’m a creature of habit, and when something is going right, I refuse to break from my ritual for fear that I will be the one to cause the apocalyptic downfall. This is usually in reference to sports. Mostly when I play, but also when I watch. And in this particular instance, it begins and ends with hockey, and the Russians.

Let’s rewind. It’s February 2010. The Canadian Olympic team has been very disappointing in the men’s hockey tournament up to this point. They face a Russian squad full of confidence in the quarterfinals. The victor gets one step closer to Olympic gold, and immortality. My roommates and I settle in to watch the game, and witness what eventually will become one of the most memorable hockey games of our lives. Canada defeats the Russians 7-3, the first time they’d defeated that nation in Olympic play in 50 years. This borders on a hockey miracle.

During the final moments of this game, my roommate, Gabe, and I decide that we’re going to go out the next morning and purchase Team Canada jerseys. It seems like the right thing to do. We’re off to the semifinals, one game away from a winner-take-all match for gold. We’re on home ice. This is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. It’s the right thing to do.

The next night, we parade our jerseys around the house proudly. They look good. They look crisp. The red and white is pure patriotism, baby. This night also happens to be the evening of the gold medal game on the women’s side, a tough test against the Americans. Gabe and I are wearing our jerseys prior to puck drop, ready to cheer our ladies on. Shortly before the game begins, for one reason or another, Gabe and I both abandon our shirts. They get draped over the couch, but we’re still watching the game. Canada wins 2-0. Olympic champions.

Hmm, we think. Maybe the jerseys aren’t the key to success after all.

The next night is men’s semi-final night. We’re up against Slovakia. Because we’re Canadian, and superstitious like that, we drape the jerseys over the couch in the exact same spots. We all sit in the same seats as we were for the Russia game. We win again.

It has to be us, we think.

Two days later, it’s the Gold Medal Game. The big cheese. The one we’ve been waiting for. This one has even more meaning behind it, since the Yanks beat us exactly a week earlier. Another loss here, and we might as well become the 53rd state.

Naturally, the jerseys never touch our body. They’re thrown over the couch again. We’re all in the same seats. And we win.

What a glorious evening. Nothing in my 21-year existence has yet to rival that moment, when Sidney Crosby beat Ryan Miller in overtime to give Canada “a once in a lifetime Olympic gold.” Surely, it was us.

Let’s fastforward 11 months. It’s Monday January 3, 2011. Team Canada is facing off against Team USA in the semi-final of the World Junior Hockey Championship in Buffalo, NY. Their barn. They want revenge.

It’s the first game after Christmas break that the whole crew is together again. So we stick to tradition. Gabe and I throw our jerseys over the couch. We sit in the same seats. And Canada wins. The only thing that stands in the way of us and our gold medal, is Russia.

On the eve of the gold medal game, our roommate, Dom, proposes something different. Instead of just hanging out at home to watch the game like we always do, maybe we should go out. It could be fun. Being with hundreds of fans cheering on the same team is magical. Gabe and I entertain the idea. We’ll think about it, we say. Let’s play it by ear.

The next morning, another friend, Tyler, sends a text. “What are your plans for the game tonight?”

“Probably just hanging at home with the guys,” I respond. What else would we do?

“I’m going to be at school all day, so I’ll probably watch at Ollies,” Tyler retorts, in reference to Olivers, the campus pub at Carleton University.

Not wanting to have anybody left out from our group, I come back with: “Well we were thinking about maybe going out. I’ll see what the other guys say.”

The other guys are down with Ollies. So we go to Ollies. We break the tradition.

Instead of wearing a simple white t-shirt with out jerseys hung behind us, Gabe and I embark to school, sweaters on our backs. I have to admit, the thought of breaking supersition crossed my mind. I shrugged it off. You’re just being paranoid, I said to myself.

It was a wild environment. People dressed in red and white, all cheering our boys on. It was magical.

Canada goes up 1-0. Then 2-0, then 3-0. 40 minutes in the books. We’re coasting.

But then, it hits us like a car accident.

Two minutes in, the Russians score. We’re upset we lost the shutout.

A minute later, they score again. Now it’s a game. Some in the bar are happy. At least it’ll be an exciting finish, they say.

Less than 10 minutes later, the game is tied. Now we’re all worried.

Then, the unthinkable. With four and a half minutes to play, the Russians take the lead. We’re panicking now. Is this really happening? I didn’t utter a single syllable for the next five minutes.

We’re putting on the pressure, but we can’t score. A Russian forward breaks free and scores. 5-3 bad guys. Game over. Not even Jordan Eberle can save us now.

But then, I experience one of the most Canadian minutes of my entire lifetime.

It’s tradition to sing your national anthem after you win an international hockey game. I almost cried when we sang after the Olympic gold win. But with 10 seconds left and our team staring defeat in the face, every single person in Oliver’s Pub stood, removed their hats, tooques and caps, and belted out “O, Canada”. I’m not sure I’ve ever been more proud to be Canadian.

The sun will come up tomorrow morning. I will immediately remember the night before, and how our country suffered one of the most magnificent collapses in the history of our game. But I’ll get up, go to class, and other than discussing it with a few people who I didn’t see the night before, I’ll forget it happened. 11 months from now when the tournament starts up again, I’ll use this night as motivation to cheer on our boys even harder than ever before.

It’s our game. It belongs to us. And when it starts on Boxing Day in Alberta in December 2011, we’ll be hungry to take it back.

P.S. (blogs don’t normally have a P.S.) Please don’t update your Facebook or Twitter with “what choke” or “I’m disgusted” because for as bad as we feel as fans, as upset as we are as spectators, those teenagers who put everything on the line to win for us, feel a million times worse. Please think of them first.