Game 7

I didn't watch the game. Instead, I turned off my phone, set my PVR, and went golfing in the rain. Shot +6, chipped in for birdie on the 3rd. I was the only person on the golf course, and it actually only rained for about 20 minutes of the 2 hour round. It's the 4th time this season that I've been out there completely alone. Literally, not another person on the entire grounds, including pro shop, or in this case the nice old guy who collects the 6-buck twilight fee. He closes up around 7:30, but today he pulled out early for the game, so I was right on time. When he leaves, it's just a big beautiful park, with 18 empty par-3 holes, waiting, in mediocre yet masters condition. And tonight, aside from 1 short blast of distant honking, it was completely silent, and oblivious to any outside interference, especially that of a home team's Game 7, after losing 3 in a row to the hated Hawks of Black Chicago.

Early today, as the crush of work fell upon me, I realized that my current at-work stress was nothing compared to the game-watching-stress that lay ahead. The pacing, the yelling, the avoidance cooking, etc. It doubled my at-work stress just thinking about it. What if they blow it? What if they blow it? WHAT IF THEY BLOW IT? I compare being a Canucks fan to riding the Coaster at the PNE. Some days it's golden, some days it's old and broken. Some days you get the front seat, some days you get the puke seat. No matter what, we all keep on riding, and screaming, and riding again. Remember way back then? When we were winning this series? Way way back like 1 or 5 weeks ago?…Well, I was still a huge mess back then too, from the un-nerving clickity-clackity, as we scraped our way towards a 3-0 lead. Even after game 3, I was still highly agitated. The Gold Medal was supposed to fix these symptoms, but alas, I remain un-cured.

"the decision to flee came suddenly." -HST

Game 7 day arrived, and I woke up with maximum sweaty-stress-rage. My feet were trembling at the thought of the laminate pacing that lie ahead. Circling my condo wearing a Bibby Grizzlies jersey, bouncing feverishly, upping, downing, drinking, and letting a game of hockey attack my emotional balance right off the kilt. At some point, a window opened, and a peaceful breeze blew a calming idea into my grilled current conscience, and instead of watching Game 7, I decided to play golf in the slight rain, for free. And did I mention, chipped in on hole 3?

"You are a failure of a fan, bud." -DA

"But that's impossible, they couldn't of heard me…" -Bastian

Got off the course at about 8:36pm. My phone was still off, and I had Dan Mangan in the car CD player, on purpose. My ride home was calm and concentrated. I thought about golf instead of hockey, yet my eyes still glanced towards the AM nod with the constant lure of a child near a Christmas tree. Although this time, the button could mean the dreaded coal, so I avoided it with fearful hesitation. When I got home, I pee'd and fed Theo before turning it on. It was 1-0 Nucks, late in the 3rd. I immediately turned the TV back off, and went outside on the patio. The stress came back like an ignored final bill, and I knew it was far from over. I wished I brought my 9-iron upstairs, and could flop a few shots to the buildings below, pin high. Instead, I went back inside, and started writing this here story.

10:03 pm

Just heard the scream. In this concrete building, I never hear my neighbors. Well, my whole building just exploded. I'm not gonna turn on the TV. I opened the sliding door and people are screaming outside. I can hear muffled announcer excitement coming from The Met, and more screaming. I'm shaking like Meg. But refusing to turn on the TV. Just listening. Just listening. Listening and smiling. Listening and smiling and spazzing. We fuckin won. More screaming. Horns on Columbia. I wonder who scored? Hope it's Kess. More honking, more screaming, more more more.

This is no victory march. I'm one of those dicks who fakes an injury until the battle's over. Tonight my Canucks won Game 7, and my friend of over 20 years: Brilliant Brent Elliott performed stand-up comedy for the first time in his life…and I missed both. What kind of fan/friend is that? An un-slim one for sure. I feel like a traitor, but even traitors hold day-passes to certain events. Today, I chickened out, from stress that I deserved, and hid on green pastures of soiled tomorrows. At least I shot a good round, and wrote a good story.

Now I hate Nashville, forever.