I do remember sitting in my coach's carport, drunk and crying while a pot-bellied pig ate my vomit.
I think I played well. I do in my reconstructed memory.
It wasn't the end of my youth. I'd be an immature spaz for many more years. It marked the death of my singular childish dream. And like any self-respecting ghost, it haunts me still. Maybe that's why every year of hockey failure, now lived vicariously through the Canucks, means too much.
Or, maybe I'm still a bit of a spaz.
I didn't watch the Canucks a lot this year. That softened the blow of their futility. It stopped the inevitable fondness and love that comes from time and proximity. I still felt rage and sadness. The trade deadline brought anger and disbelief. I lived my vicarious life through highlights, sports shows, box scores and podcasts. I swam in the mediated vitriol of modern reactionary coverage.
It's not a great way to love.
Luckily, I'm a new Dad too. That balances my anger, sadness and impudent rage. My twins ended any dream, or hope, of being youthful. I don't mean that in a bad way. My boys are incredible ghostbusters. Hockey rarely haunts me now. I look forward to days when we can watch games together. I will saddle them with the burden of being a Canucks fan too. Their love for the game will be forged in a crucible of poor drafting, bad trades and unfulfilled legacies.
I've heard a parent is supposed to protect a child's heart. I guess that's true. I also need to ready them for a world that doesn't care like I do. I'll use hockey as practice for that sometimes cruel space. They will be elated, and hurt. They will feel ecstatic and depressed in the safe confines of our living room yelling at the t.v.
I hope they are haunted by childish memories of a Dad who chose to love them more than his ghostly memories and dreams.
(For my first annual
eulogy: http://vansunsportsblogs.com/2013/05/14/guest-post-the-canucks-lost-again-a-requiem-for-hockey-dreams/
)
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