This is how I reacted: (Nothing is time-stamped, as I was too angry to notice what time it was.)
Realized that this is the end of the hockey season. And THAT was how it ended.
Tried not to look at the TV, but I couldn't help myself.
Contemplated telling the bartender to "just bring me the whole bottle."
Briefly looked at the TV, thinking that the sight gag of Chara standing (on skates) next to Bettman would make me laugh. I did not laugh.
Tried to avoid seeing Roberto Luongo, knowing that in that moment our faces looked exactly the same.
Made awful attempts to distract Czechtacular as the camera turned to Mark Recchi.
Had a "glove malfunction" when Andrew Ference touched the Cup.
Realized that this whole "Not looking at the TV" thing wasn't working. Just kept shouting.
Made plans to meet up with a friend (the lovely Laura from The Active Stick, which I know you read) for lunch to eat junk food and/or throw things.
Took out my camera and looked at pictures of things that should cheer me up: My cat. My favourite hockey players. My boyfriend. Paul Mara's Beard. My tiny cousin in his Habs pyjamas. My visit to the Hockey Hall of Fame, back when the Chicago Blackhawks were still the Stanley Cup champions.
Remembered how happy I was for the Blackhawks a year ago. How proud I was of Toews. How many wacky, emotional tweets I wrote that night. How little I cared about the Stanley Cup victory that was unfolding in my own country.
Luckily, even my angry tweets made people laugh:
|I genuinely meant it.|
Tried to fall asleep as soon as I got home. Couldn't.
Wiped away a few tears. Vowed to start removing my mascara before bed.
Checked my Twitter feed and saw that things had gone from bad to worse in Vancouver.
Thought about the riots and another bit of bad news I'd received that morning. Reminded myself that there are worse things in life than watching my rival hockey team win the Stanley Cup.
Woke up this morning with a headache.
How many days until training camp?