The Ballad of Two Game 7s

Having lived in Colorado almost my entire life, I never really understood the benefits of living in Mountain Standard Time in terms of what it did for my hockey addiction. In good ole' MST, East Coast games typically start at 5, so even though you may miss the first period, the game is in full swing by the time you get home from work. Throw down your stuff, crack open a beer (I don't really love beer, so usually, it's 'crack open a bottle of Propel'), and unwind to the glorious sounds of sports. And later on, the West Coast's games start, a bedtime story for sportsaholics.

MST was a sports-addict's heaven. Perfection in a schedule. Things were good...

...until now, when I find myself living in Washington DC, three solid time zones away from Pacific where games typically start at 10 PM and go as late as 1 AM. Because I'm in grad school, late games don't really bother me (grad students don't sleep...), but they do set me vastly apart from almost everyone else I know here. "Did you see that Chicago Vancouver game?!" "No...I was in bed by 9:30". Blah.

Additionally, as I get older, I gain an acute sense of just where being a sports fan slots you into the world. Unless they are sports fans themselves, women typically don't 'get' you and unless you're outrageously hot, men typically think you're strange.

Since there's no changing being a sports addict (I'm fairly certain this characteristic is inserted into DNA, either at conception or through some intricate viral process, like AIDS...only not like AIDS), I have no other choice but to embrace it. This, however, creates some unique problems/situations/happenstances. Like when the Vancouver Canucks ruin your life at 1:04 AM and there's no one else around to commiserate with (except for everyone on iChat. Thank you Turnbull, Jeremy, Aaron, and Chad...)

It went something like this...

7:00 PM - Came home after a long day of studying with some friends from school practically bubbling over with excitement over the notion of not one but TWO Game Sevens in one night. I attempt to bestow this fantastic tidbit of information on my roommate, Katy, but after a minute of politely enduring my ridiculous hockey love, she starts to look at me as though I'm speaking Chinese.

7:05 PM: Taking the hint, I head upstairs and turn on the B's/Habs Game 6, simply bidding my time until the Flyers/Sabres Game 7.

7:22 PM: Um, yeah, Thomas did not have that puck covered.


7:40 PM: Drop the damn puck in Philly already...

8:39 PM: Lucic absolutely demolishes Spacek. In other news, grass is green.

8:40 PM: Yeah, the Flyers/Sabres game is over. As in 'clearly the Sabres have quit' over. As in 'Are you kidding me? This is Game 7?" over. Over. Poor Sabres. At least some nice billionaire owner will "drill another well" to put talent on the ice in Buffalo. Lucky bastards.

8:41 PM: Why is my billionaire owner a basketball-loving jerk who won't spend above cap basement on his hockey team, even if means sacrificing fans, respect, first round draft picks, etc.? Not like the dude has standards or anything. He co-owns the Rams for Christ's sake...

9:30 PM: Okay seriously...just start the Nucks/Hawks game

10:15 PM: No delaying that start, eh? Versus switches to the game in Vancouver just in time for viewers to have missed the opening goal. Meh.  No big, there's sure to be more where that came from...

10:45 PM: Right?

11:30 PM: Um...right?!

11:35 PM: Apparently the Nucks of Games 1-3 decided to show up tonight.

12:00 AM: Crawford is the only reason it's not 5-0 right now.

12:12 AM: All night I've been trying to find a reason why Brian Campbell is not supremely overrated. I can't.

12:26 AM: Me and a few other people with whom I'm chatting attempt to jinx Roberto Luongo with words like "shut out" and "amazing" and "who's the headcase now, bitch?". Not working.

12:30 AM: Still not working. God damnit.

12:33 AM: Dear God, why do you hate hockey so much that you would allow the Canucks to advance to Round 2? It doesn't seem right or very just to me. Not cool, God. Not cool.  -Shaela

12:34 AM: I become keenly aware the rest of the house is sleeping...which deems the cursing out of Chicago for their game-ruining penalty with three minutes left inappropriate and unkind. Fuck you, Chicago. Why would you continue to allow me to be subjected to any more "Luo!"s this playoff season? Every mundane, textbook save does not deserve a "Luo!" and you're completely fuc...

12:36 AM: OH MY GOD!!!!! TOEWS SCORES!!!
YES YES YES YES YES YES YES! I can't yell but I can TYPE IN CAPITAL LETTERS AND USE EXCESSIVE EXCLAMATION POINTS TO GET MY POINT ACROSS!!!! IF I COULD I WOULD MARRY THAT GOAL!!

Still 12:36 AM: I can't yell but I can THROW MY HANDS UP IN THE AIR IN CELEBRATION AND KEEP A RIDICULOUS SMILE ON MY FACE!!!

12:40 AM: Headed to OT, baby. Time to get the power cord for the laptop. This could be a long one. I hope...

1:00 AM: Why must you look like you want to lose this game, Chicago?

1:04 AM: NOOO!!!!!!!
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO! WHY BURROWS? WHY?! I can't yell but I can SWEAR IN EVERY CHAT BOX I'M TYPING IN RIGHT NOW! I can't yell but I can FEEL AS THOUGH I MIGHT VOMIT.



1:05 AM: Deep breaths. Normal people are sleeping.

1:06 AM: UGH! DID THAT REALLY JUST HAPPEN?!

Still 1:06 AM:  I. AM THROWING. A SILENT TANTRUM

1:07 AM: Utter despair sinks in. But at least I don't have to give a shit about Chicago anymore. That made me feel pretty dirty.

1:08 AM: Enough with the God damn highlights already. TV off.

1:15 AM: Begin the skeleton of a plot to waterboard Chris Campoli to Celine Dion. Who the fuck makes that pass in Game 7 with that much room?

Still 1:15 AM: Okay, seriously now, reign it in, Shales.

1:20 AM: My life is ruined. The Vancouver Canucks have ruined my life.

1:21 AM: Okay, not really. But still...

Sometime around 3:45 AM: Last thoughts before passing out? Fuck. You. Alexandre. Burrows.

-Shaela