I never really understood sports, much to the disappointment of my sports-adoring father. But I found myself last year hosting my friends and family for each Canucks game of the Stanley Cup Playoffs. We didn’t plan to, but by game 7 of the finals, we had hosted almost every game. It was one of the happiest periods of my life. I discovered something pretty major about myself: that one of the things that brings me the most joy is hosting my loved ones in my house, cooking for them, looking after them, making them happy. It connected me to my long-deceased Grandmother by realizing that all that time she was busy in the kitchen and we had to nag her to sit down and join her large family for dinner, she was at her most happiest. It taught me that she, a woman I admire more than any other, and I have something in common: this love of friends and family and making them happy. The playoffs taught me that. In between making meals or desserts for my friends I occasionally sat down and watched the game. I finally gained an understanding of sport: it’s about community and camaraderie. It’s about sharing a bond with loved ones and strangers in a common desire for your favorite team to win. It’s about allowing yourself to feel the joy of cheering for a goal. It’s abstract—cheering for a team of players you have no real connection to—but if you let it, the joy is real, the pride is real, the triumph is real. 

I finally understood sport. Then a massive plume of black smoke arose from the other side of the library that we could see from our windows. One of my first dates with my husband was in the atrium of that library, I worked at that library, I had my wedding reception at that library. And it appeared they were trying to burn it. My joy of two months turned into the deepest rage I have ever felt. The riots were an embarrassment to all who live in the lower mainland, BC and all Canadians. But they took place in my neighborhood. The riot hot spots were three blocks to the North of and two blocks to the West of the apartment I’ve called home for five years. That was my library they burned cop cars next to. That was my Chapters that they smashed the windows and broke into. When I walked around the next day to survey the damage, I was seeing what they did to my neighborhood, my home. What I saw on my walk, however, was one of the great surprise-joys of my life. People were coming together to clean up the mess. People were leaving messages on the boarded up windows of love for their city and their team. Vancouverites were determined to show each other that this was not us. In less than twenty-four hours I felt the deepest rage of my life turn into one of the highest prides in my neighbors, my home.

The night of the riot I felt betrayed. I had cheered for two months and the end result was burning cars and smashed windows. I worried that I would not be able to cheer this year for fear the end result would be riots again. I choose not to let the rioters win. I will cheer again this year. I will host my loved ones and feel the joy of looking after them in my home. I will trust that my city is not idiotic enough to let it happen again. 

Rioters be damned. Go Canucks Go.