I’m feeling a little frazzled at the moment. If you’ve been paying any attention at all to the Stanley Cup Playoffs – and I know you have – you can probably guess why I might have been having heart palpitations.

Having grown up in Victoria BC, home of no winning teams of any sort at all, ever, I’ve generally rooted for distant teams or events. Outside of the 1992-93 Toronto Blue Jays, anything involving Sydney Crosby, the 1993 Habs, and any championship involving the Yankees, who I loathe, I’ve never really rooted for a winning team. I’ve tended to enjoy sports from a distance, with a certain impartiality that has let me really enjoy the beauty and skill of the game being played with little if any emotional attachment or investment whatsoever.

Things are different this year. I was all in. I became totally invested in the Vancouver Canucks. And boy, was this a different experience.

On the radio the other morning, somebody was talking about the upcoming game seven. He commented that the stress must be unbearable for Vancouver fans, but for hockey fans, this series has been quite a ride.

This distinction is far from flippant. Over the past two months, I’ve come to know what it is to in fact cheer for the hometown team, for the winning team and the stress is indeed, at times, unbearable. My stomach hurt. I had trouble sleeping.

I found myself yelling at the screen, crying for blood. And I meant it. It wasn’t about sports anymore. It became a purely emotional experience. It became solely about winning.

And now it’s over. We lost. The city exploded. And I wake up this morning with the bitter taste of defeat and a hollow feeling of loss.

There is, apparently, a vast difference between being a fan of a sport and a fan of a team; and I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I really liked it!