Normally not a “sad stuff” blog but always good to do a bit of reflection.

Hockey man. Those who haven’t put the skates on just can’t quite understand why a moment like this is intense as it is. Why the passion for this game gets to this level for players, former players, fans, coaches, and of course, the mythical “hockey parent”. The game-play itself comes with a thrill that is second to none (no combination of Rugby, clumsy forays into various martial arts, or blacktop hooping have come even close for yours truly), the lows feel like the lowest parts of your life even if you’re in the second grade, and the highs feel like you’re in a packed arena hoisting the cup, even if you’re in a small rink in Hingham in front of 40 some odd, tired spectators.

So I get this kid. I get why it meant the world to him to meet Carey Price. I get why it was his mother’s last pursuit to make it happen.

Cheers to Carey price. Cheers to hockey.

(P.S: I still hate the Canadiens.)