two sizes too small

Not caring about hockey is a terrible affliction. It's like not having a libido. Or legs. Fuck it, it's like not having a soul, and I'm sorry that I'm soulless. But this bird you cannot change - Lord knows I can't change. When the Flames had a shot, I didn't care. When Calgary was a-riot with skanky girls screaming out of red pickup trucks, I didn't care. When the Flames finally started playing some goddamn hockey in the last 6 minutes of the last game when they were down one point, and they were fast and beautiful and courageous, like someone had just woken them from an underwater dream and reminded them that playing hockey is the kinetic product of joy, and everybody dared to hope for half a second that they might just... I didn't care. Maybe I'm not really Canadian.