Cement hands, dull minds, and overall childishness: Rioters are the worst.

Apologies for the past week of silence.  Since Game 7, I have sat down three times and attempted to write about the game, the riots, etc., and haven't been able to do it.  Every time I try, I go into a blind rage and have to eat my feelings again (die, nanaimo bars, die!).  At this point it feels like everything has already been said, so rather than pontificate on the shameful state of society or get involved in the blame game, I'll just tell my story...

I watched the game at a bar at Granville and Drake.  My roommates and I arrived at the bar around noon, and then we spent five hours saving seats, drinking funny-tasting lager, and watching darts and horse races on The Score.  Then game time rolled around, and of course, you know the outcome.  For all our time, effort, money and carbohydrates, all we got was a hockey game that felt like death-by-a-thousand-cuts.  We couldn't bear to watch the Bruins receive the Cup, so we left the bar right after the final buzzer.

One thing they don't tell you in the "spending 8 hours drinking in a darkened room" manual is that stepping out into the harsh light of day afterwards makes you feel like a cave-fish tossed onto the surface of the sun.  I swear, every synapse in my head fired at once.  Here is a sampling of my thoughts as I stood there blinking:

• "I am going to have to kill my boyfriend (who works for EA Sports) before someone else does."
• "If the Canucks make me wait another 17 years I will be going through friggin' menopause next time around.  Imagine this feeling, PLUS hot flashes!"
• "This is all Scotiabank's fault.  Chexican??  Jerome Iginla probably came up with that."
• "I bet jumping off the Granville Bridge isn't even lethal... not if you do a proper pencil-dive."  
• "You know who never gets my hopes up only to mercilessly dash them?  Noodle box.  Go Noodle Box Go.  We are all Noodle Box."

Notice how none of these thoughts involve flipping smart cars, stealing plus-sized mens dress pants, or throwing mannequin legs at cops.  As disjointed as my thought process was, I never once considered walking North when I left the bar. 

As it turns out, the walk South over the bridge was painful enough.  At one point we all stopped walking, counted to three and screamed at the tops of our lungs.  The group catharsis of that moment was nice... but that's also when we turned around and saw the smoke. Oh snap, the city is on fire.  Better get back to Kitsilano. 

Seeing the smoke sobered us up a bit, and we started to take notice of the types of people who were walking past us in the opposite direction.  People walking North... people with cheap knockoff Canucks jerseys and backpacks.  "Canucks in nine!" we yelled at them.  In retrospect I doubt that they cared all that much about the game.  As we continued our walk home, text messages and tweets started pouring in.  Riots in Vancouver.

"Hey guys, this says there are riots in Vancouver." 

"Jesus Rollerblading Christ.  Should we pick up some Greek food?"

"Let's."

AND THAT IS HOW CIVILIZED PEOPLE ACT IN A RIOT.