As a child, I had a problematic relationship with gender. By problematic, I mean No Relationship At All. Perhaps different familial circumstances would have produced different results, but alas: I was the first child of my generation. With only a younger sister and no males to be placed in opposition to, I was raised by parents who raised a child, not a girl.
So, that Vancouver Canucks have swept their first series in recent memory. Four games to zero over the St. Louis Blues. Alex Burrows scored two goals, one being the overtime winner (none for Kesler). As a widely advertised Burrows fan, I feel vindicated. Without degenerating to mere fangirlishness or boring statistics, when I talk about the Canucks (namely, the playoff Canucks), I instantly turn into a ten-year-old watching the 1994 dream team in their epic playoff run.
That year, I started a Pavel Bure fan club with a bunch of other girls in my grade four class, filled my room with Bure posters, bet a grade six kid on the playground that he wouldn’t actually get the Canucks logo shaved into his head if they won the Cup (in permanence, the elementary school equivalent of a tattoo; and this was the old mouldy skate logo, too), and ripped up a Mark Messier hockey card and threw it in the cat litter box at the end of game seven. I will never accept the fact that he was ever a Canuck. Ever.