Monday

Life comes at you fast. One minute you’re a donated silver cup being fought over by toothless Canadian amateurs fresh from a shift at the dockyards. The next, you’re a heavily trademarked corporate laurel that spends most of its time around American millionaires.

I’ve been to the White House so often I’ve got my own Secret Service code name. I’ve been filled with hot wings and Kristall liqueur more times than I can count. There are times I catch myself spelling “colour” without the “u.” I stared in the mirror for several minutes at the Dominion Hockey Challenge Cup inscription on my bowl. How often do I forget it’s even there.

Tuesday

I’ll be frank; I didn’t know Canadian teams were still technically able to win me. I figured Canada had lost a war or something, and as a conditio

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