How Does It Feel?


Joy. Disbelief. Euphoria. Vindication. Jubilation.

All of the above. More.

Common emotional reactions to the Washington Capitals - yes, those Washington Capitals - winning the Stanley Cup. In our lifetimes, even.

As the Caps milled around the ice, joyous, on the television above the bar we were watching at, the scene in person around me was similar, but in shorts, not skates. People in red were hugging, shouting, taking pictures, texting, calling, sharing in the joy that had been largely unexpected at the beginning of the season. In the most un-"Choking Dogs" fashion possible the Capitals, the Team that Couldn't, had come from behind AGAIN to win a hockey game. To win THE hockey game, the game that was the doorway from fame to greatness, from chump to champ, from "Yeah, but..." to First-Ballot Hall of Famer.

Amidst this cacophony of happiness, I found myself strangely calm, even a bit reflective. I wasn't feeling joy, though I was happy. I wasn't feeling vindication - I hadn't believed in the team during any step of the team's journey. As the revelers danced about me, I realized what I was feeling:

Relief.


Being a Caps fan for over 30 years has more than its share of heartbreak, as much as a sport can, and long-time fans had developed a wistful fatalism as a coping mechanism for the relentless parade of playoff gut-punches. I didn't realize how deep that went until a friend pointed out how novel it would be to watch the playoffs with no dark cloud hanging over our collective heads - there will no longer be an associated sense of dread as the post-season kicks off. The Caps' playoff resume is no longer topped with "Skills: losing in the playoffs in really painful ways". It's topped with "Recent work history: Won the damned Cup."

That'll get you more offers, I'd imagine.

And as I contemplate my sports fandom without one of its cornerstones, I realize that there are fans of the team who will never develop that fatalism and who will never wear that badge of being a fan through the absolute worst of times.

There are those who would sneer at them, proudly display the scars of their disappointment or the ripped-up ticket stubs of the past playoff shames.

Some will; I won't. Envious, I'll be. Envious, and happy for them.

This isn't some meaningless attempt at altruism, this is nuts-and-bolts pragmatism - the Washington Capitals organization has forever changed. They are no longer a loser organization. They are no longer comic foils to other champions, the Generals to the Globetrotters, no matter what city they play in.

I've realized that's the source of my relief. Watching hockey will now be different for me. In the best way possible.

For lo, as I've walked in the valley of the shadow of losing Game 7's, I shall not fear. The Washington Capitals won the Stanley Cup.