I buried myself in the basement, grunting and brooding, gasping with every ebb and flow in the great game that was Canucks vs Hawks, game 7. Late in the game I let out three uncontrollable yells - once when Chicago tied it up, once when Alex Burrows took the early overtime penalty, and once, turning my voice raspy for the rest of the night, when Burrows scored the game winning goal.
I do not usually watch hockey games of such magnitude with other people. Almost never if I am emotionally involved in the outcome. I need space. I need solitude. Others do not need to know how scary I can get. But on Tuesday I watched what I consider in many ways to be defining game in franchise history at my girlfriend's house. And I can say without a shadow of doubt that I, with a couple of blood curdling screams, scared her, her three kids, and most definitely her dog. Probably the neighbors, too.
Now they know. Good thing for them the Canucks did not lose. I can say with no uncertainty that under those circumstances I would have scared myself.
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