Whatever It Takes....to get over a broken heart
I sat in 333 Row G Seat 9--and when it was all over, I was too tired to cry. I was too tired to be angry, even though my friend Chicago Pete was hustling me out of the arena before I could muster up the strength to barehandedly eviscerate the loudmouthed Wings fan walking out next to me.
It's been four years and one day since Game 3. That's all I ever refer to it as--Game 3. In my own private Hell, I've seen that goal over and over and over again and heard the tormenting laughs of the enemy fans in my ears. Every fan has a moment like that...and that's mine.
Am I over it? Hey pre-1997 Wings fans--are you over 1995 yet? How about you, Oilers fans ages 25 and up? Are you over Steve Smith yet?
That's a question meant to illustrate my point, by the way.
There's a big keloid on my heart that forms the words:
9 June 2002
It's all hard and painful--not as much as it was four years ago, but still painful. It tugs, it itches, it burns. But one day, the pain will fade and I'll be one step closer to being able to put Game 3 aside like I've put aside Steve Smith and the 1986 NFC Final and any other crushing sports heartbreak I've ever experienced (fuckin' Pistons, hope you rot in--oh wait, you're already there. Hope you rot).
Gods willing, that day will be today.
Puck drops at 8 Eastern, Lots at the RBC open at 3 for tailgating and the game will be shown on the jumbotron. Go Canes.