Monday, March 1, 2010

Last Night's Religious Experience...

So, I was at the hospital last night (long, long story...), during the Greatest Game of Hockey That Has Ever Been Played (or, for you Americans, that unfortunate-game-where-you-thought-you-had-a-chance-because-you-scored-in-the-last-24-seconds-but-really-you-were-never-going-to-win). Yes, very disappointing that I did not get to watch our incredible win because I was in the emergency room. But I still got to enjoy it. You should have seen all the people huddled around the TV in the waiting room, all tense. There were even nurses and doctors and hospital staff. This country really loves hockey, I gotta tell ya. They even announced every goal over the hospital PA. When they announced the gold, you could hear cheering all over the building. CANADA ROCKS--that's all I have to say (there is the flip side of that--AMERICA SUCKS--but I'm much too polite to say such things. In type. Of course, me and the rest of my countrymen may been thinking that from time, to, um, time).

In the weeks leading up to the Olympics people wrote a lot of articles saying that "hockey is Canada's religion". I find that hilarious. In so many countries saying something like that would be offensive. But here it Canada it rings so true. Hockey is our sport, our religion, our everything, as we saw last night as people flooded Yonge Street in Toronto:

I read an article (in a magazine in the hospital waiting area, incidentally) where they interviewed Torontonians (I hate that word!) and asked them if they would rather have the Summer Olympics (sans hockey, obviously) in Toronto or the Stanley Cup finals. Guess which they chose. By a 20% margin. Yeah, hockey really is our religion.

Now, I am not a hockey fan. But I couldn't help but get caught up in it when my morning paper looks like this:

My entire class wore red today. Without planning. Yes, WE ARE CANADIAN!! WOOT! WOOT!

As I've said before, there are a lot of false Canadian stereotypes. The hockey one, though, is true. So, all you Americans don't ask us if we live in igloos or if we know how to make maple syrup or if we know a Mountie (which, incidentally, I do--my cousin is married to one. But that's the exception, not the rule, like in He's Just Not That Into You). But do ask us about hockey. Clearly, that is that is a rule.

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