this is my Vancouver
I have sat for almost a week wondering if I wanted to blog about the recent events that took place in my city. After writing this post a few days ago, I think I’m ready to hit the publish button.
I woke up on the morning of June 16th absolutely heartbroken. Not because of the loss my boys suffered the night before, they, unlike many people in this city have made me so proud to call them my team. The Canucks had a historic season, on and off the ice, one I’ am happy to say I got to experience firsthand all season. Instead, the morning of June 16th was met with disbelief as the word “mayhem” covered the front page of the papers; the same word had been used 17 years prior to explain a similar event. How did this happen? Let’s go back to the memories of the night before. . .
I walked my way down to Granville St just after noon on June 15th, game 7 of the Stanley Cup Final was almost five hours away, line-ups were already blocs long, jerseys in full abundance, and the vibe of the city was undeniable. This is what we live for. The fever the Canucks had ignited this city with for the past 10 months was at an all time high. More than 100,000 people filled the streets of downtown Vancouver to watch our boys take the ice for their final task to the ultimate goal, the Stanley Cup. Have I mentioned it was Lord Stanley’s birthday? Oh, the irony. I parked myself at the only pub that was yet to have a line-up, I spotted a table for two and even though there was going to be three of us, I knew it would have to do.
So there we sat, for seven or more hours and a few pints of beer down. A historic 40th season ended in second best. It didn’t end the way we expected, but everyone around us was smiling as we cheered, “win or lose, drink some booze” – which is exactly what we had hoped to do into the early morning hours.
What happened next, still doesn’t sit right with me. I was beyond oblivious to say the least and was unaware of the extent of what was happening until I made my way to my apartment. My phone was buzzing with worried texts from friends back home, my parents, my sisters, “where are you?” and “are you safe?” I assumed they were wondering how I was holding up after the loss, so I responded with a naive “we’re good, just having a shot!” I walked outside to the corner of Granville and Smithe, the same street signs that would later appear on the news. We walked down to our favourite pub and started chatting with some of the other patrons, a few minutes later people were running down the streets, the doors of businesses slammed shut, and our eyes began to burn. As we tried to figure out what had happened, we decided to walk away from it all and go home. The night was ruined.
As I arrived home I immediately turned to the news, my heart broke instantly. This is not my city, these are not Canucks fans. This is not the same city who hosted the world just 16 months earlier almost flawlessly with near perfect reviews, so, what went wrong tonight? Hours passed, my twitter feed was filled with video and footage of the riots leaving a social path directly to those linked to being responsible for the nonsense. Before you knew it, there was a group organized for a volunteer clean up the next morning, and a Facebook group to tag photos of those involved so they could pay the ultimate price. Real Vancouverites started to shine almost instantly. The healing had already begun.
The next morning, Canucks jerseys filled the streets, this time not to drink or watch the game, but to help restore our city to its natural beauty after a small group attempted to take that away from us. They should now know you can’t take the pride away from Vancouverites. It is engrained in who we are. Thank you Vancouver for reminding me how grateful I’ am to call this city home, thank you Canucks for making me your biggest fan season after season. Vancouver, I love you.
