Hockey Night in London

When Sid the Kid scored a tie-breaking goal seven minutes and 40 seconds into the overtime period of the men’s hockey finals last night, and put a subsequent end to the most stressful three hours of my life, I was overwhelmed with an odd combination of pride, happiness and melancholy. At that historic moment (which I will use to regale generations to come in the same way my Dad still talks about Paul Henderson’s goal in the 1972 Summit Series against the Soviets) I was certainly never more proud to be Canadian. But I was also so sad that I hadn’t been on Canadian soil to witness it.

Sure, I was in a tension-filled and suddenly joyous room of Canadians wearing Team Canada toques, Vancouver 2010 red mitts and a maple leaf-spotted tie, but when I walked into the street after the game to make my way back to my flat, the sidewalks were eerily silent. Anywhere in Canada, the sounds of celebration, drunken rioting and general merriment would have drifted through the air. In London, not a single person on the walk home seemed aware of the absolute significance that this night held for me.

And why should they? Britons don’t care about hockey. They care about football, rugby and cricket – in that order. A few hours before the men’s hockey final, Wayne Rooney led Manchester United to the Carling Cup finals. (That’s something to do with football, I’m told.) And even I, a serious hockey fan since birth, had spent the better part of my Sunday afternoon at my very first live rugby game, drinking Guinness and irritating my friends with innane questions about what exactly was happening on the field.

This initiation into one of the UK’s favourite sports capped off with the greatest hockey moment of my lifetime really did make for a wonderful Sunday in London. The sheer contrast between these two events was the most interesting part of the day.

Warned about outdoor conditions and the threat of rain, I bundled up and trekked out to Watford with my flatmates, their friends and my Canadian friend Lauren. It was cloudy but the rain had stopped by the time we got there on the overground. Even though I had piles of questions about the rules, the scoring and the lack of protective gear, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. It was one of those UK experiences I am thrilled to add to my life list.

But who cares about rugby? Let’s get back to the Olympics.

I might have mentioned before that I have not been too impressed with Britain’s coverage of the Olympics. Articles have been snide, ungenerous and downright mean. But, this morning, when I was reading through a few newspapers at my desk, I got teary-eyed at the Vancouver 2010 headlines. Granted, the Daily Telegraph had buried their coverage on page 21 of the Sports section while the Times had included it after pages of football and rugby news, but what little they did have to say was particularly glowing towards my home country (if not implanted with the odd spiteful remark).

“… The win means Canada has 14 gold medals, more than any nation has managed at a Winter Games. The Canadian public has not so much embraced the Olympic circus as ravaged it behind the podium, and yes, the inflated medal target notwithstanding, Canada has owned the bloody thing …

“… In the hysteria it felt like official confirmation that the Olympics have been a huge success. The problems, and they have existed, despite certain claims, were forgotten. All that was left was sport. In years to come people will remember Alex Bilodeau winning Canada’s first Olympic gold at home rather than the ripping up of 28,000 tickets because of safety fears on Cypress Mountain. They will recall the bravery of Joannie Rochette’s bronze medal days after her mother’s death and not the Olympic flame being locked away behind gates. Most of all, they will talk about the hockey.”

Probably the most depressing part of being in London during these Winter Games is the fact that no one wants to talk about the hockey. Or the bobsled, the snowboarding, the speed-skating and the moguls. That around-the-water-cooler post-game analysis has been sorely lacking these past two weeks. However, I have forced last night’s spectacular game into as many conversations as I could since waking up this morning. I am a proud Canadian and I will not be silenced by football, rugby and, least of all, cricket fans.