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This must be the calm before the storm. It’s 4.30 in the morning and I can’t sleep. I’ve put some Amos Lee on and I’m slinking around in sweats. And I’m thinking about hockey…

The Summit Series of 1972. We’re pulled from our classrooms to watch Canada battle Russia. Paul Henderson scores three consecutive game winners as I get my first taste of nationalistic pride. I like the taste. We’re the best in the world.

The inaugural Canada Cup in 1976. Daryl Sittler scores the winning goal as Canada vanquishes the Czechs. As an eleven year old, my brain ponders exploding. Canada is the best and the beleaguered Toronto Maple Leaf captain records the critical tally.

The greatest tournament of them of all, the 1987 Canada Cup. Three playoff games were decided by the identical 6-5 score. After Russia wins the first game, Canada is forced into double overtime before winning the second. I watch the third game with 50 fraternity brothers. The game features the most electrifying and superb hockey I’ve ever seen as well as stupendous goaltending from Grant Fuhr. Canada plays a unit of Wayne Gretzky, Mario Lemieux and Dale Hawerchuk. As a 22 year old, my brain nearly explodes. As the game ends the group of drunken renegades stands and breaks spontaneously into “O Canada”. Craziest thing I’ve ever seen.

After 50 years of humiliation, during which time Canada wasn’t permitted to bring our best players, Canada finally wins Olympic Gold in 2002, defeating the Americans in Salt Lake. Jerome Iginla and Joe Sakic embody the very best of our country and their play is a revelation. It’s the first time in my life that I witness our players adorned with gold medals. As a 36 year old, my brain explodes, and I’m never quite the same.

There have been moments of terrible disappointment. The humiliation of the 1979 Challenge Cup when goalie Mike Liut appeared, while losing 6-0,  to commit the greatest Canadian hockey sin; quitting (that same Russian squad would be defeated by American college kids months later in the Miracle On Ice; of course all Canadians cheered on the U S A - we’re classy that way). The WHA embarrassment in 1974. The botched effort of 1998 at Nagano (tempered by the brilliance of Jaromir Jagr and Dominik Hasek. Of course we marveled at their skill and heart - we’re classy that way). And, personally, the lowest moment of them all, when Wayne Gretzky, in just his latest moment of glorious self entitlement, selected a team of FOG’s (Friends of Gretzky) that was doomed by the Gods of Hockey when the brutish and disgusting Todd Bertuzzi was selected over character players like Brendan Shanahan and emerging stars like Sidney Crosby.

Today provides the latest chapter in an epic and wondrous history. Hockey is Canada’s game, our all abiding passion, and its honour rests firmly in the hands of Ryan Getzlaf and Sidney Crosby et al. this afternoon. Friday at the Rail, surrounded by some of my best friends, there seemed nothing corny or forced about our reversion to our most basic cheer. And it feels right on this sleepy, cold Toronto morning;

GO CANADA GO!