I’m upset about the Sharks. But who isn’t out here? In the final seconds, there was a missed scoring opportunity that sent the puck gliding down to the other end of the ice, into an open net. As if missing that pass wasn’t injury enough, the goal was counted. I drove home thinking, “If only.” If only the pass had been at a better angle, if only I’d said something clever at that party. And so when Marleau wiped a tear from his nose, I got in my car and sped down the highway with the corner of my mouth contorted downwards, sad about things much bigger than hockey. When you get that one chance and you blow it, who else is there to push around in the end; who is left to take the blame and your misdirected frustration? No one, because the game is over and everyone’s already left the rink. It’s just you driving down the highway alone, eating dinner alone, going to bed alone, and just you alone thinking, “If only.”
