The term is over; the holidays have begun. The dream is ended; this is the morning.
I’ll spare you the details of my reaction to Saturday’s game. It was not pleasant. It reflected poorly on myself, the city of
I hear them, my guys, in the interviews after the game- Koivu cursing and Huet blaming himself for everything and Higgins just trying not to cry- and I try to talk to them through the ether… guys, listen, we are going to come back here next October and we are going to try this again and we are going to fucking get it right next time. Okay? Come on, don’t break down like that, it’s not really over, not really… It’s harder than I thought it would be to give up and admit defeat- it was easier, in fact, to feel like giving up when there was still plenty of possibility left. Now that it’s set and definite and I’m not supposed to have anything more to hope for, though, I can’t let go. The first question I ever asked about hockey fandom was how fans keep such a fierce sense of loyalty, year after year after year, when everything about the team changes and so often there seems to be nothing worth loving- a reasonable question, especially for Habs fans. That question, however, is based on the premise that it is more difficult to care about something than not care, that the basic human position would be indifference, that love is something that constantly has to be earned and re-earned. But that’s not the way it works, is it, for I find it suddenly much easier to maintain a belligerent affection for whatever will survive of my Canadiens into next season than to… honestly, I don’t even know what the alternative is, I can’t imagine doing anything else.
So there isn't going to be a pretty post about endings and farewells here, just a few tears and whole heap of denial, and the overconfident assertion that they will be better, next time. Because it’s not really over.
Next project: Trying to find a way to care about the playoffs.