The Worst Thing About a Playoff Round Against the Bruins

I couldn't be happier that the Habs beat the Bruins and are on their way to the conference final. (Okay, I could be, because I'm still in disbelief. When it sinks in, I'll be even happier.) There was so much in this series that I loved.

And lots of stuff that I didn't.

Some of it was the standard stuff you see every time the playoffs heat up, or anytime the Habs face the Bruins: players getting a little too angry at each other, fans engaging in inappopriate/racist/sexist/homophobic language, and hockey sticks hitting delicate areas. But the worst thing, by far, was having to face this reality:

OH, THE HUMANITY

I've been in denial about Jarome Iginla ever since he signed with the Bruins. You know how people say they remember where they were when they found out Kennedy was shot, stuff like that? I remember exactly where I was on July 5th, 2013, when I found out Jarome Iginla signed with the Bruins. I was at the Bell Centre, which is supposed to be my happy place. And I've been trying to forget that moment ever since. Okay, actually, I've been denial about all this ever since he left Calgary:

I don't know what this Iginla business is that you're all talking about. Jarome Iginla is somewhere telling kids to follow their dreams
— Rookie (@HabItHerWay) March 28, 2013

I made it through the entire regular season just by exercising the kind of denial that is probably rarely seen among healthy adults. I would pretend I didn't see him in that black-and-yellow jersey, that it was another #12. I couldn't get away with those denial tactics through seven playoff games. And that is how I found out that Jarome Iginla isn't the same player I used to love with all my heart.

The Jarome Iginla I saw during the playoffs wasn't just an amped-up version of the strong, all-around player that everyone knows he is. He was a Bruin, through and through. He put that jersey on, played with that team, and he turned, like a gremlin someone fed after midnight. He was aggressive, and not in a good way. He was angry. I no longer had any interest in seeing him make a run for a much-deserved Stanley Cup. I just wanted to see him go back to his old self. He wasn't the same guy whose T-shirt I wore, whose hockey card I bought. And it sucked to have to face that.

There are lots of reasons why I don't like the Bruins, but right now, ruining Jarome Iginla is the only one that matters.

30 Rock is ending and now I don't know what to do.

This feels like the last day of summer camp.

30 Rock is coming to an end after seven seasons, and while I know I'm lucky to have watched it for that long (as Tina Fey said, she got to make 140 episodes of the kind of show that usually gets cancelled), I'm not quite ready to let go. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I've grown too attached.

When I first found out that Tina Fey would be leaving my beloved SNL for a show of her own, I was ecstatic. The concept sounded hilarious, and I looked forward to seeing all sorts of in-jokes about cool SNL stuff. Plus, it had Alec Baldwin in it. The actual, real Alec Baldwin who was usually in movies and stuff. Little did I know that the show would evolve into something even bigger than that. Little did critics know that they would grow to love a show they originally panned, and that the mess of an Aaron Sorkin melodrama that they praised would end up retooling itself more than a Real Housewife, only to flounder in its first season. (I guess Sorkin was right: smart girls do have more fun!) Despite the cast changes and such that 30 Rock went through, the show continued strong. I remember some of the third season's best episodes as if they just happened. I don't know why NBC decided to give this gem a chance despite low ratings (Lorne Michaels), or how they knew it would have more staying power than Studio 60 (Lorne Michaels), or why they kept a show on the air that relentlessly made fun of the network (Lorne Michaels), but I'm glad they did.

They must be glad, too, since 30 Rock arguably changed the game.

30 Rock proved that an original, fast-paced, single camera series could work on network television, all while staying true to the structure of the TV season and bringing in big-name guest stars, much like its Must See TV predecessors did. It also proved that sometimes the zany, quirky comedy doesn't get cancelled, and just gets more popular. I'm pretty sure that one of the best compliments I ever got was from a friend who started watching the show in its second season and told me that Liz Lemon reminded him of me. (I high-fived a million angels.) I honestly wish that I could be more like Liz Lemon: completely in control of all my character quirks, eating cheese whenever I want to, hanging a framed picture of food in my office at my TV writing job. More than that, though, I wish I could be more like 30 Rock itself: genuinely funny (even when I'm not), a survivor, someone who manages to make other people happy while staying true to herself.

So I'll just be here eating my Sabor de Soledad, yelling at a plastic bag outside my window, and wondering why that guy at the bar wouldn't buy me mozzarella sticks if you need me.

The way to a fan's heart

So maybe your favourite hockey team hasn't won a game in two weeks, even though they should theoretically have been able to whup at least one of those teams' asses. And maybe your team's coach is being an idiot, and maybe one of the players has made it public that they don't get along and you can't even pick sides in this feud because you're just so sick of both of them. And maybe like half the team is injured, and maybe the guys who are still on the ice seem nearly incapable of defending their own goalie. And maybe they traded away one of the only Bulldogs you still care about. And maybe one of your favourite players scored a goal, then had it taken away from him. And maybe they play four games in the next week and you don't even know how to feel about that.
And maybe your favourite soccer player is retiring.
And maybe your NFL team failboated until you decided you couldn't watch them lose another game and then they won.

Maybe your usual optimism isn't quite working out for you in light of all this.

Maybe you just need to stop thinking about sports and eat your feelings. About halfway through last night's game, I just happened to read a blog post about great foods for emotional eating. I should probably have read my friend Robyn's guide to being a gracious loser instead, but... food.
So, I'm making my own suggestions to eat these Habs worries away:

Ice cream and wine. I just saw a place on Diners, Drive-ins and Dives that made nearly everything into a flavour of gelato. You could go there and have Merlot sorbet and Parmesan ice cream. That's classy emotional eating. I'm sure Audrey Hepburn would approve. (Sidebar: Do you think Audrey Hepburn ever even tasted ice cream?)

Mashed potatoes. I literally ate all of the mashed potatoes and stuffing and mashed sweet potatoes that were left over from Thanksgiving. (Probably also some turkey.) Why mashed potatoes? You could put gravy on them. You can load them up with butter. Wait... why am I even trying to sell mashed potatoes? They sell themselves!

Shipwreck Dinner. It's a recipe I came across once, and it's the ultimate comfort food. (Even for a lactose intolerant loser like me.) Mac and cheese, beef, tomatoes, and more cheese? What's not to love?

Cool Whip and Oreos. Why not? Just the thought of last night's game makes me wish I had Cool Whip and Oreos.

Peanut butter cups. One of the foods that I think can make any problem seem smaller. For the minute or so that it takes to eat a peanut butter cup, it seems like chocolate and peanut butter are the only important things in life. Remember that Reese's commercial where they reminded you that there are 3 Reese cups in a package and 3 periods in a hockey game? They've lost 5 games. So, fifteen Reese cups it is.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have fifteen Reese cups to eat before the next game.

The World Has Turned And Left Me Here

I lost my favourite prospect on Canada Day.

No thanks to Steve Yzerman for taking away our James T. Wyman. With Wyman becoming Tampa Bay property and Ryan White likely to spend lots of time in Montreal next season, I've got to pick a new favourite Bulldog. (The frontrunner, by default, is Czechtacular's Gabriel Dumont.)

What to do with this sign now?

I've also got to get used to the fact that the player I loved seeing at the Bell Centre twice a year won't be at Bulldogs games anymore, but with any luck will play for the Bolts in Quebec City on October 1st. And, knowing how his former coach Guy Boucher has been running things in Tampa, I wouldn't be surprised to see J.T. Wyman get some NHL ice time. And yes, to be honest, I know that he's more likely to be an NHL player in Tampa than in Montreal. He was called up once by the Canadiens, and by pure luck I had game tickets and got to see him in a Habs uniform. Now I might get to see him in a Lightning uniform. Who knows, maybe there'll be a Bolts fan who becomes as bizarrely attached to him as I am.

Having played defense growing up, he's a great defensive forward. He's tough, but not violent, and he can find his way to the net. And he went to Dartmouth. I'm going to miss him.

Take care of him, Tampa Bay.

What I did immediately after the Bruins won yesterday

So, yeah, the Bruins won Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals, and it was obvious for most of the game that they were going to win it. But I was still upset when it happened.
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.

Left the downtown pub I was at and passed Centennial Plaza, where a gaggle of Bruins fans were doing whatever it is that Bruins fans do.

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?

There goes the season.

I almost can't talk about it.

The good news is that I'll probably spend less time at the pubs. I'll probably eat better. Hell, I'll probably have a normal appetite again. Maybe have heartburn a little less often. Fewer stress headaches. I might stop biting my nails - they were a whole lot longer when the playoffs started. I can finally stop chewing on my bottom lip. My non-hockey friends won't have the inconvenience of watching hockey with me. I can attempt to catch up on my TV, and maybe go to the movies. (Sidenote: does anyone remember the last movie I saw in theatres?) I'll have a little more time to watch the NBA playoffs. Eventually I'll spend a bit less time nervously checking Twitter and wondering which Habs are going to be scratched for tonight's game.

But I'd rather be away from home, malnourished, nails chewed up, attention span questionable, DVR full of unwatched goodness, than be without my Habs.

I'm not saying the Canadiens should have won the Stanley Cup, but it shouldn't have ended this way. A huge season, followed by a thrilling seven-game series, came down to one goal. One puck. And then it was over.

I'm proud of my Habs regardless. They showed the kind of tenacity and dedication that we should all hope to have in our personal and professional lives, and I wasn't ready for their season to end, but that's because it was such a good season.

Dear injury fairy: you're a bitch

The injury fairy is angry. She's very angry. She's been messing with us big-time in the last couple of days. Maybe she just wanted to see how far she could go with the Canadiens. She's got a lot of bravado now that she managed to fell Sidney Crosby with a concussion. That was a pretty big get. Usually when she goes after the league's most important player, she makes him pull a muscle when he folds his own laundry, or something.

In case you're not up to speed, here's what happened during last night's game against the Buffalo Sabres at HSBC Arena: most of the Habs got injured and Patrick Kaleta is evil. Here, let a few of my Twitter friends fill in the blanks (I'm a little worried that Laura might sic the injury fairy on me, as she's the boss when it comes to Twitter screencaps):

I, of course, had a case of the maybes and tried to figure out why the injury fairy would do this to us, and what karma the Habs could have brought upon themselves. Karma's been especially mean to poor Max Pacioretty, who was sick, then got whaled on by Psycho Henrik Lundqvist, and now has suffered some damage to his ribs. Someone please keep an eye on him, to make sure he doesn't slip on the sidewalk or get a paper cut. Time to confess, Montreal Canadiens: What did you do?
Double-park somewhere?
Claim that Toronto or New York has better bagels than Montreal?
Tell Jacques Martin that his hair looked okay?
Watch Jay Leno at some point in the last year?
Go out into the Montreal cold without hats, scarves, or boots? Oh, wait...

...was it the "excessive" postgoal celebrations?

Well, whatever it was, the injury fairy decided to give the Habs an extra helping of hurt. And in doing so, she hurt my feelings. And the Kings lost, too. And I didn't win an Anze Kopitar autographed puck on Facebook. And then Jarome Iginla pulled out of the All-Star Game and was replaced by Daniel Briere.

Getting a little personal there, injury fairy. Maybe I'm the one who caused this. Are we cool now?