Where I was

I was at a friend's house--one of the volleyball girls' boyfriend's house. Most the team was there with a spattering of guys too. There was pizza, wings, pop, and a belated birthday cake. There was Smartfood too--damn you, yummy Smartfood...

The game started quite promptly at 3:15pm as scheduled, and we'd all secured ourselves seats around the room to watch. We cheered at 1-0, we whooped and were on our feet at 2-0. At 2-1 we booed but were still confident--at 2-2 we were deflated but still held on to hope.

After the third intermission, we were all riveted to the screen. Whenever our opponents had possession, the French Teacher was on the edge of her seat, cursing him ("fuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyou")--much to the strained amusement of all the rest of us. Strained, because we were all intensely focused on the game, but amused because we were all silently cursing the same blue streak.

7 minutes and 40 seconds later, it happened: Canada scored.

We were all on our feet, cheering and screaming--the French Teacher of course being the loudest. My boyfriend swept me into his arms for a celebratory, bone-crushing squeeze. Moments later he swept another girl into his arms to sandwich me between the two of them to the point of lacking oxygen. I didn't care. It felt good.

When we'd finally calmed down, the boyfriend and I made a mad dash out of the house and scooted downtown to catch a show in the theatre district. Thinking we were late, we parked the car as quickly and closely as possible, and sprinted down the street towards the theatre.

With the crazy celebrations that gripped the city in the wake of Canada's golden goal, throngs of people were swarming the streets to pledge their national pride. Having worn my Canada jacket that day in honour of the game, I found myself running through the crowd meeting high-fives being thrown my way at random. It was delightful.

That's where I was. Where were you?