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.