The Normand

by Nic Olson

I was worried I wouldn’t fit in. I don’t speak French, I don’t like wine, I don’t dress well, I don’t wear boots, I don’t eat much cheese. But..

I am sitting alone at a full pub 4 blocks from my house, surrounded by the fans of the team that made the sport great, cheering as loud as I can and my voice is still drowned out by the masses. I am high fiving strangers. I’m in the heart of it all. So…

I could care less.

Saturday it becomes real. Tangible. The Bell Centre, alone again, doing what matters: living the dream.

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