Lying dead on the floor in front of my TV was not an ideal Saturday night, but at least I wasn’t the only one. I won’t get down on the Caps for their game seven performance because it’s not what I want to remember all summer.
This year, I watched more hockey than ever. I wore out the Center Ice Package and my DVR (and my husband’s patience). I went to more games this season than in my entire life combined – 29, that we could remember, and every one of them a Caps game. I gave up trying to fight it.
So thanks, Caps, for a season that was better for me than it was on the scoresheet: more fun, more memorable, possibly more frustrating than any game recap could recall. Some of my all-time hockey fan highlights were written this year. There were also moments of tough love when doors were slammed, channels changed – I once got so mad at Mike that I threw a fit and bought a Backstrom shirt out of spite.
Yeah, I’m crazy. I just never thought it would be for them.
Now “there’s always next year,” and the year after that. But what I’ll really miss is what can never quite be repeated – the ecstatic, hilarious, infuriating magic that is a single season, with a single team, and almost always ends too soon.