Yesterday we watched Canadian men win gold at hockey,and while I never even put a Canadian flag on my backpack when I was travelling (I find it tacky to display flags unless you are a government agency or at an international sports meet), I felt a bizarre surge of national pride.
Yesterday morning, Adam was so excited about the game, he came out of our room dressed exactly like me. The copycatter.
He then cleaned out the tv room/office, polished the T.V. and got some king cans of Canadian from the beer store.
I got back from brunch just in time to see Kariya score a goal and all the guys jump up and high-five each other and spilling beer on the floor. In the last 5 minutes of the game, the kid next door started dinging his bike bell and did a victory circuit of the neighbourhood with a flag stuck in his handlebar.
We found our selves inexorably drawn towards Yonge street, with thousands of others after the game. It was deafeningly loud, but pretty organized (this is Toronto, after all, and Wayne Gretsky asked us to play it safe).
Everyone but everyone was high-fiving each other. Now Adam has the flu, I suspect from all the strange hands he slapped.
My favorite people were:
The people without shirts, even though it was 4 degrees, who had painted maple leafs on their chests and yodelled out cars.
the guy on roller blades, with a Canadian flag cape fluttering behind him, listening to his discman (Rush, anyone?) as he coasted down the street, triumphant.
The guy wearing nothing but a flag wrapped around his waist, yelling "did you ever doubt it?"
Adam's cousin Sarah and her boyfriend who we ran into, stoned out of their gourds, only dimly aware of the hockey medal, but getting such a rush out of the energy, they were running up the street, slapping high-fivers like it was nobody's business.