Losing the Love

I think I’m going to be sick.

This past Saturday the Leafs beat the Senators in the Battle of Ontario.  Not only did I not watch the game, but when I found out we won, I didn’t even light my mattress on fire and throw it over the balcony (that’s how we celebrate in London).

But the next day, I watched Tom Brady march down the field in Arizona and throw a go-ahead touchdown pass to Randy Moss, and I rejoiced.  Boy, did I rejoice.  And then I cried when I watched Eli Manning march right back down the field and throw his own go-ahead pass to win the Super Bowl (this is a joke.  I didn’t actually cry, but I did cry at the end of House of Sand and Fog; that’s really sad movie).

How is it that I’m finding myself more emotionally involved with a pack of American footballers than my own flesh and blood Leafs?  This doesn’t feel right.

As I’m writing this, the Leafs have just gone down 8-0 to the Florida Panthers.  The Florida Panthers?  As I retrieve my turtle from behind the T.V. and put him back in his terrarium (and you thought the way we celebrated was weird), I notice now that lately I feel more emotion when we lose than when we win.  I’m not a psychologist (or is it psychiatrist?), but I’m sure this can’t be good for the relationship.