A FAN’S NOTES
Oh No, Not You Again
Oh my shattered nerves. The Montreal-Boston playoff is knotted at two games apiece. The game tally could easily be 3-1 for either club. It’s been that kind of series, tough on the ticker and hard on the nerves. Needless to say, real life ceases to be for three hours come game time.
The Canadiens have played hockey for 105 winters, the Bruins 90. This year marks the 34th time these two teams have faced off against each other in the post-season. To note that the franchises have a history with one another is to understate the nature of their rivalry. The clubs compliment each other in a weird way, like LOVE and HATE knuckle tattoos. The Habs need the B’s just as good requires evil for its very existence.
It is springtime. The grass is greening. Buds are bulking up, ready to burst with leaves and petals. But to truly feel alive, a Montreal fan must fixate on Boston’s black and gold, and seethe with the obsessive hatred of an Ahab or Iago. This is the stuff of life even if the Canadiens will never engrave my name on the Stanley Cup, nor replace the carpet I’ve paced a trough into nor thank me for the money I’ve pissed away on Habs merchandise.
Dear me. There’s a Rocket Richard figurine on my bedroom bureau. And another one downstairs surrounded by seven or eight other Montreal skaters. There are five different Habs sweaters hanging in the closet beneath a shelf with two logo caps and a team toque. There’s a CH emblem on my disposable lighter. A miniature red home sweater hangs from my key chain. There’s a shelf of biographies and coffee table books and old games on DVD because being immersed in the past is healthy, okay? As for the fridge magnets, the coffee mugs, beer mugs and pictures on the wall – best not to go there.