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I’m feeling New Zealand-ish today. The famed All Blacks have entered the last five Rugby World Cups as favourites and have lost every time. They continue to be ranked as the top Rugby side in the world and will be prohibitive favourites again in 2011. Like Canada and hockey, New Zealand has embraced Rugby as their game, an incalculable source of national pride. When the All Blacks crashed and burned in 2007, the first Rugby World Cup I watched closely, I was astonished at the emotion and pain the populace felt.

Now I’m feeling it too. I don’t think Canada played particularly poorly last night. They dominated play and outshot the Americans by a wide margin. Goaltending will likely be pointed to as the culprit as it would appear Ryan Miller outplayed Martin Brodeur. Personally, I think that’s going to be overstated and the number of exceptional saves Brodeur made forgotten.

No, it’s a deeper pain, one echoing at the base of my cerebral cortex, which is causing me considerable discomfort this morning.

It is the realization that the team that wanted it the most last night won the game. It stuns me that Canada was not that team. I don’t want to point too many fingers. I’m not an infant (I just feel like one today), but it has been desperately disappointing to watch the play of Joe Thornton, a man who resembles Barney on ice; a plush toy without an ounce of aggression or fortitude. Mike Richards has continued the poor play that has tormented his paymasters in Philadelphia. Sadly, Jerome Iginla and Chris Pronger play like shadows of their former selves.

Other players have been revelations. Chris Doughty is a burgeoning superstar. Sidney Crosby has been superb. Ryan Getzlaf and Corey Perry have confirmed their status as front line National team players. Eric Staal would be ensconced on the top line by any coach other than the implausibly obtuse Mike Babcock.

But the most passionate player I observed yesterday was Alex Ovechkin, whose ferocious slam of Jaromir Jagr changed the course of a game and, possibly, the tournament (Eric Staal responded with a massive hit of his own, the problem being his destructive blow was delivered to teammate Corey Perry). The Canadian players look burdened, like they are playing out of duty, like this oppressive Canadian need to win at hockey has left them submerged in a swamp of expectations and recriminations.

And this is where I diverge from the mainstream view. I didn’t think Ryan Millar beat the Canadians last night. I’ve never seen a goalie handle so many amiable shots. No, at some point the professional hockey player in Canada has chafed at the enormous pressure placed on them before a tournament of this sort. Where there should be joy, there is instead a callous.  We’re not just beating ourselves, we’re beating ourselves up!

It is so important to Canada, these wild hockey dreams of Gold and Glory. And, in this moment of grief, I’m going to tell Canada how we can still pull this off.

Here goes; Stevie Yzerman should shake hands with Mike Babcock, thank him for his time, and send him to the stands. On his left put Joe Thornton. On his right, put Patrick Marleau. Dan Heatley can collect towels and pass the Gatorade around. Put Ken Hitchcock behind the bench. Every time a Canadian looks to the ice for the remainder of the tournament, one of Sidney Crosby, Eric Staal or Ryan Getzlaf will be there.  Roberto Luongo will be in goal. That’s it. That’s my plan.

I implore Canada’s braintrust to put the last sliver of hope squarely in the palm of Sid the Kid, Staal and Getzlaf; our best.

Why were we ever proceeding in a different manner?