Stanley Cup ’09: No to Canada, Yes to Bad Kings Memories

So the Chicago Blackhawks expunged the Vancouver Canucks out of the playoffs last night, dashing Canada’s hopes of bring the Stanley Cup back to the mother country for the 16^th straight year. This confirms that the decade will be free from a champion from Canada, something that’s never happened before. Now, I’m not going to lie — I’m greatly depressed about this. It just seems so wrong. So out of place. So…un-Canadian. It’s the official game of the Great White North; don’t they deserve the Stanley Cup at least once every ten years? Can’t Detroit donate one of their championships to Ottawa or something?

All quasi-nationalistic oddities aside (and no, I am not, or have ever been, a Canadian citizen, although dual citizenship would be pretty awesome), there is one constant anecdote that the Canucks’ loss has given yet another year of relevancy in conjunction with Canada’s epic losing streak that saddens me even more. Over the next few days, I’ll be reminded that the last Canadian team to win it all was the ’93 Montreal Canadiens, which wouldn’t be so bad except for the fact that they beat the Kings in five games to capture the Cup.

And that truly does suck, because the mere mention of the ’93 Finals will inevitably bring up a whole lot of unpleasant memories that I’d rather suppress until the Kings actually win a bloody title: Marty McSorely’s illegal stick; Jacque Demers smugness regarding said stick; Barry Melrose’s mullet nobody having the ability to knock John LeClair out of the slot, especially in OT; Patrick Roy turning in the greatest Finals goaltending performance in my lifetime. To this day, I am absolutely convinced that Roy singlehandedly beat the Kings in the Finals. Then again, such opinions do not really matter much. At the end of the day, the fact remains that the Kings haven’t been back to the Finals since ’93. And I inevitably get reminded of this lousy truth every time the last Canadian playoff team gets flung from the proceedings, despite the fact I’d rather not. And that, my friends, is really depressing. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to grab a Labatt’s, throw on “2112” by Rush, and feel sorry for myself.