| 28 February 2010
A few summers ago, some buddies and I spent some time in Europe. France, Spain, Ireland, a few other places.
We did it all. Ate the food. Drank the wine. Tried (some days more successfully than others) to woo foreign girls with cute accents back to our hostel. Stayed up too late and got up too early. Saw famous monuments and nude beaches. You name it, we did it.
But what I remember more than anything from that summer was the Euro Cup. Basically, for those of you who might not know, the Euro Cup is the European soccer championship, an event that happened to be taking place at the exact time we were there. In some countries, it's even a bigger deal than the World Cup. No seriously.
It didn't matter if you were in Spain for an Italy-Holland match, or in Holland for Portugal-Turkey. Everyone was on the edge of their seats, glued to the TV, every time a game was on. Period.
When the Germans met Spain in the final, by sheer coincidence, me and my buddies happened to be in Germany. It was awesome, and even now, two years after the fact, I still can’t completely describe the atmosphere that night. Maybe a little bit Mardi Gras and part World Cup, with some strong German beer and pretty flashing ladies thrown in. Young and old, rich and poor, doctors and lawyers, they all mixed in the streets of Munich that night. It didn't matter who you were, or what side of town you were from. That night all that mattered was that everyone was German. And it was surreal.
When I got back to the States a few weeks later, I tried to explain to everyone what I'd been a part of that night. The sounds. The smells. The tension of thousands of people swaying second to second. But nobody understood.
I mean, it wasn't really their fault, how could they understand? This wasn't Yankees-Red Sox, Lakers-Celtics, or the SEC Championship football game in Atlanta, it was so much more. Imagine if the Indianapolis Colts were in the Super Bowl this past February, playing…Japan. Weird, I know, but whether you love Peyton Manning or not, who would you be rooting for? Now multiply that by 10, and you’ve got the Euro Cup.
Sunday’s Gold Medal hockey game was the Euro Cup on skates. I'm not one for hyperbole, but this was the first sporting event of my lifetime that truly brought our country together.
It didn't matter where you’re from, if you’re rich or not, celebrity or average joe, hockey fan or not, everyone was rooting for the same thing, the same perceived common good. A line was definitely drawn in the sand, and like the plot of any good movie, there was even a bad guy to root against, the Canadians. This game was bigger than hockey, and it was bigger than sports.
And in Canada, if you can believe this, it meant even more. It was absolutely inconceivable to our neighbors up North that their group of All-Stars, the MonStars of hockey, could possibly lose to the Americans in their sport, on their home ice. They'd rather deport Celine Dion than watch that happen.
With that, we were treated to one of the most exciting sporting events of my lifetime and yours too, however old you may be (That includes you grandma! I’ll be over for your 94th birthday in a few weeks. You bring the beer). The game was fast, physical and fun. At the same time it was nauseating, sickening, exciting and gray hair inducing at the same. And for better or worse, as Americans, we were all in it together.
Things didn’t go well from the beginning for Team USA. The Canadians dominated the first period and a half of play, were bigger, faster and stronger, and got to every loose puck. The Americans couldn’t even get shots off, let alone challenge Canadian goalie Roberto Luongo with good ones. And when Corey Perry put the Canadians up 2-0 about halfway through the second period, I sat on my couch thinking it might as well have been 20-0. Canada just wasn’t going to give up two unanswered goals. Even if there were still 30 minutes to play.
Like any great game though, things swung the other way quickly. The strange thing was, that it happened in the most unlikely of ways.
All game long, the US was hoping, waiting for something good to happen. A hard shot from the point, a two on one breakaway, whatever. It was none of that.
Nope, their big break was nothing more than a little bleeder off the stick of Patrick Kane. A bleeder that took just enough skips and bounces before being deflected by Ryan Kelser, eventually finding the back of the net, and cutting the deficit to 2-1. Was it pretty? No. But they all count the same in the box score.
And you know what happened from there. The third period came and went, virtually in the blink of an eye, the Canadians clinging to that one goal lead. With about three minutes to go, the US pulled Ryan Miller out of goal to get an extra skater on the ice, and hope for a miracle. Which is exactly what happened.
Just like the first goal, the second wasn’t pretty, and even here and now a few hours later, I'm not sure even exactly how it happened.
What I do know, is that with the clock ticking down, the Americans simply put a flurry of shots on net, trying anything to continue the game. It was almost like watching a drunk frat guy stumble around the bar at last call and hit on every girl, hoping that one will be dumb enough to go home with him. Only this was worse.
Tick…Tick…Tick…The clock kept going.
Desperate, the shots continued to fly for the Americans.
Tick…Tick…Tick…
And then, with 24 seconds left, somehow, inexplicably, there was Zach Parise (whose father played internationally for Canada by the way), the guy that was always in the right place at the right time, all tournament long, sneaking in front of Luongo, and...
GOALLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!
Tie game, let's go to overtime!
As we hit the extra period, I think I speak for all Americans when I say, that for the first time, we started to believe that we might get the win. It didn’t matter if the Canadians had outplayed us for half the game, or that more than half their country might be on suicide watch with the loss. Sixty minutes were in the books, both teams were still even, and the next goal would win this thing. Why not us?
It wasn't meant to be though. The action started slow in the overtime, like two boxers feeling each other out in the first round of a prize fight. No player on the ice wanted to make the game changing, Gold Medal losing play, and really, who could blame them?
Then, like the rest of the game, things started to pick up just a little bit…
Then a little bit more…
And a little more…
And then Sidney Crosby got the puck…
Shot it…
It found the back of the net, and game over. Just like that. Just that quick. Canada 3, United States 2. Somebody start pouring the Molson.
Sitting alone on my couch, I didn't really know how to react. How could I? For just a short time I had put my guard down, and believed that we could win, that we would win. And in the flick of a wrist, Crosby crushed that dream.
After the goal, I sat there in silence for a few minutes, thinking about everything and nothing. I listened to “Oh Canada,” and watched the guys in red sing every word, while my American brothers held back tears. And I was bummed, way more than I ever thought I’d be. Sometime over the course of the previous 70 minutes of hockey, this game had become do or die. And unfortunately, my country, my team and I were on the wrong end of that equation.
So with the game over, and a few hours to reflect, I’m trying to piece together what this game ultimately means in the end. Honestly, all this time later I'm still not sure.
I truly believe that if the U.S. had won, it would have become, and stood up as, one of the two or three greatest sporting events of my life. A "where were you, who were you with," kind of moment. We only get a handful of those moments, and you never know when they're coming. Not getting one may be the biggest bummer of all.
As for hockey, this was the major shot in the arm that the sport needed.
Like I mentioned before, hockey is a fast-paced, hard-hitting sport, that’s exciting to watch on TV and even better in person. The sheer violence of the whole thing makes it appealing to men, while the sweaty guys with beards make it appealing to women. This sport should be a bigger deal in our country, but I feel like we’ve all taken it for granted a little too much these last few years. I hope this one game, gave the entire sport the jump start that it needed.
Maybe what I'll remember more than anything about this game though, is how much fun it was to be an American these last few weeks.
Let's be honest, the way things are now, us Americans don't get to root for an underdog much anymore. I know, I know, there’s no sympathy from our competitors, but it was nice for a change.
The truth is we have a huge population, a deep pool of athletes and the best coaching, training and facilities on the planet. The U.S. is supposed to win in everything, and because we’re almost always the favorites, it’s never as much fun when we’re victorious as it is disappointing when we’re not.
Which was why it was so exciting to root for this team. They were the young, up and coming, plucky underdog. And it felt good to rally around them, like we were all part of a bad Disney movie or something. Only it was real life. Going up against the big, bad Maple Leaf Express only made it that much more fun.
In the end, I'm totally bummed that we lost the Gold Medal, and still feel a little sick about it even now. Then again we’re America and they’re Canada, we weren’t supposed to win in the first place. Just like nobody would expect them to beat us in basketball.
In the end though, I’m still proud as ever, proud to be an American. Not just for the guys on the ice, but the way that everyone else in our country rallied around them too.
It’s like I learned in Germany a few summers ago, sometimes sporting events are bigger than the sport themselves, and bigger than the players playing them. Sometimes the name on the front of the jersey is more important than who the person is that’s actually wearing it.
That was definitely the case Sunday, and I’m proud of the guys with my country’s name on their shirts. And proud I got to share this entire experience on my own soil, with my fellow countrymen and women.
Gold medal or not, win or loss, and without any disrespect to the Canadians, I’m happy to be an American. And couldn’t be prouder to say…
U-S-A!! See you in 2014.
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