When I was nine, in 1997, and the Roughriders lost to the Argonauts in the Grey Cup, I cried. We watched the game with a few other families at a big house in Pilot Butte, because they owned a projection screen TV. There were a few faces and plays I can remember from the game, but mostly I remember crying on the drive home.
Tonight I cried a tear. There is no need to talk about the game. I don’t want to hear about it until next year, when we are back in the final. Maximal happiness thrashed instantly to a mangled depression. It’s just a game and all that… Fuck.
So, afterwards I felt like doing something self destructive. I went to a show and didn’t wear earplugs. My mind quickly healed as I listened to three Canadian bands tear into my exposed eardrums. There is no better healing. And after all that, a slight temporary depression and a soulful pick me up of music, I realize it is only another sign. It was a battle for my residency, more than anything, Montreal vs Saskatchewan. So I am moving to Montreal on January 10, 2010.