Remember everything's not lost.

My fandom is embarrassing sometimes; something that reeks of misplaced trust or an unsavoury ex. I’m very paranoid. I could say that I blame a lot of losses or turn of events on ridiculous things. I get moody; I can’t explain to my parents that when things get dire – I’m actually sad about a team. My dad’s some ex-engineer and my mum’s a special education teacher; put short, I’m fixing the amount of misplaced dollars that went into books and education that never grazed the primal activity of sport entertainment.

My superstitions never existed. To me, if a team lost; it just meant that baby Jesus was not happy – not really but I felt there needed to be a spiritual side to my argument. Blasphemy aside, up until recently I only believed that these boys and their actions were the only explanation. I was proud to think that they struggled by themselves, that Huey the goalie was mowing down opponents with his killer skillz. And when they stopped rocking and partying, I only looked at them with a stern eye and tried the tough love method.

It’s insane to think a few weeks ago, I was weeping that my beloved Habs may never see the glamour of playoffs. I felt emotional and my eyes stung over thoughts of doom and gloom. I didn’t care if they lost in the first round (I would but I’d still have a whole lot of gloating before the playoffs under my belt) but more importantly if they missed the prized 8th I felt they had nothing to show for their efforts anymore. The news at the end of the season would be laughing and joking, (“How bout them Habs? They still want Mike Ribeiro?”) and I would crawl into a corner of the room and cry.

More recently, I’ve worried if I said that Kovalev was playing nice on the scoresheet (great for Kovalev defenders and fans – not so good for certain Habs apologists you know who you are “I’m so sorry my team got this way, I follow them all the time, but you know all these boys suck – bring back Lafleur he can skate right right?”) – the next day Kovalev would turn into a great big pumpkin and I would be left 10 seconds too late. If I complained about other teams, they would somehow try to spite me by rocking hard. Hockey doesn’t love me, but you know – I still love it back.

One day I woke up, and I stopped believing. I stopped believing that these players were playing to their best of their abilities (true) and I began believing that the supernatural was affecting them (definitely not true). And it all started when I crawled to bed one exhausted evening and slept nekkid with an Oilers shirt. Firstly, I know what you’re thinking, I had the same conversation with myself already – “Jordi your actions do not affect the Habs, stop believing in that mumbo jumbo voodoo dolls ooooh oh waily waily… where was I?”. I started believing that the Oilers were channelling the lack of their mojo through Hockey God Paypal into the Montreal Bulldogs. They didn’t stop winning ever since – unmentionable losses aside. I’m not sure if washing it would make them perform worse, but all I know is that I won’t give it up. I even fretted when the weather got bellow 10 degrees and I wore a jumper and I was freaking worried that just because I wore a jumper it would negate the magical effects of my weird tradition let alone the simple problem that you know – pants would be nice. I know this is stupid and total utter silly talk but you know. You want quirks, I gots plenty. I caught a minor cold over this. And I’m not giving it up yet.

I could make up a couple more; my nails are painted Bleu Blanc Et Rouge for maximum effect. I’ve got my fengshui all good and pointed in a direction I think represents a CH. And one day I will get Mikey Komisarek to answer my phone calls and I will ring the Habs management every midnight with “WHY DID YOU MAKE ME CRYYYYYY OOOOOH IT HURTS SO MUCH MAKE IT STOPPPP *gurgle gurgle*”

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