Game 7

I threw up when I got to the hotel room. Nerves.
On the plane it was a heavy mix of elation and anxiety. There were moments when everybody was celebrating, feeling loose and on top of the world. But there were moments, unexpected and unpredictable, when each of us was wrapped up in thought. Strangely quiet after such an intense moment.
In the locker room and in practices, it is like a closed community, a unique gathering of like-minded people. We have all been through the same things, grown up with the same obsession, worked hard towards an intimidating goal with a focus that would burn most people out. On this plane ride that community has closed ranks, there is no one else. The atmosphere is as intense as it is ever going to get.
We won game 6. Convincingly. But you can't expect to ride that wave. This series has been too unpredictable; close, crushing, losses, blowouts, twists and turns, injuries and ejections with an undercurrent of an impending street brawl. Good hockey, exciting hockey, championship level hockey.
This is not always what you get at this level. I compare it to the Super bowl. How many boring Super Bowls have you watched? You invite your friends over, stock the house with meat and booze, dig a little pre-game imbibing just to loosen things up a bit, then settle down to watch your team lose 35 to 21. Not even close.
Seven game series are what championships should be; two teams fighting it out to the bitter end, the last possible moment, for the privilege of being called world champs.
It's been a good year for sports. The Heat got beat. A rare victory for the underdog against the purchased supposed supremacy of a star laden team. Made a lot of fans happy. Made a lot of athletes happy.
And now The Bruins are going to Game 7. For a shot at everything. Not just the everything of Lord Stanley's cup, I'm talking about the everything of being rewarded for a lifetime commitment, the everything of achieving your dream. Not many people get an opportunity like this no matter what their dream in life is. For most people, even for most athletes, their dream will always be just that. A dream. Never a reality.
The Boston Bruins. A storied franchise. I hate the cliche but it's true. We carry the disappointment of every team since 1972 on our shoulders. And we can be the vehicle of our fans' release, a chance for them to shake things up, forget about budgets, bills and jobs and just celebrate like they just hit the lottery. Give them the opportunity to show up late for work Thursday morning with a shit eating grin and a hangover.
So I threw up. I'm sitting here now in my room with a tumbler of Crown Royal. We are in enemy territory; I don't want to get abused in the bar no matter how much cleavage is floating around. I'm feeling too intense. I might hit somebody.
I can close my eyes and visualize all the heavy duty moments of all six games. Any athlete can do this. Ask a baseball player for the details of his first home run and he will tell you what the count was, who was pitching, what the pitch was that he hit, who was on base, how many outs there were and what the score was.
I flinch at some of the memories, grimace at others and smile a soul deep smile at the best ones. I feel good about our chances no matter what our previous experiences here in Vancouver have been. Because I know it's as much about emotion as it is about skill. And we have 39 years of pent up emotion to fuel us.
I'm thinking about my mother and father and all their sacrifice, worry and commitment. I'm thinking about every good coach at every level who believed in me and encouraged and pushed me beyond self perceived limits. I am thinking about my teammates who have been through the fire with me, the men who fought and scratched and endured exhaustion and pain and frustration to get to this moment. It takes a unique make up to be a professional athlete. It's a mixture of hard work, total commitment, a juvenile sense of humor and intense honesty. No political correctness allowed. We get in each other's faces and push each other constantly; criticizing, encouraging, questioning, sweating, swearing and spitting. It ain't pretty. But it's all about finding a way to make a team click.
I'll be dumping some of this whiskey down the drain. I was overzealous in my pour and I will not let anything compromise my performance tomorrow night. My head is where it needs to be. Every thought, every memory, every emotion will be focused like a laser beam to inspire me on the ice. I see in my mind Bobby Orr flying horizontal in front of the net in 1970. I crave that feeling and I want to pay tribute to him and every other Bruin in the right way.
The Cup is the right way. There is nothing else.