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.... And that's why the games go on, for my heart beats another day.

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DennisDubay

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They say with age you become more sentimental and at 32 I may agree. Though my tooth isn't that long and my hair just spotted gray I find myself more emotional about the things I love. Things like my dog crawling up the stairs ... slower every time but fighting the pain so he can get to our room for snuggle time. Yeah, I snuggle with my dog. Get over it, manly men who think that's weak.

I love waking up to the sound of my Dad's alarm clock going off at 4;30 am, cuz at 63 years old he STILL works harder than you. And yeah, I still live with my Dad. He's my best friend and financially, we need each other so get over it, trust fund sally.

And I cry during sporting events. There, I said it. I cried when Dallas Drake lifted the Stanley cup for the first time - balled like a damn baby. And I'm OK with that. There's a quote that I love about history not being done with us. I forget who wrote it or said it or read it or thought it. But it stirs something inside of me. And that's all that matters. History is never done with us. We can run from it. We can try to hide from it. Eventually it catches us.

And in those moments it does with us what it always did. It effects us.

Same as sports. It effects us. While trying to ease myself off the Hockey High I felt last night watching the Wings dismantle the Penguins on the ice 5-0, I started surfing Youtube for the best moments of Hockeytown. I found this video. And It might the combination of a long night of drinking, worrying if our team was falling apart or that damn sentimental bug that I have ... this video brought the tears out:

I don't know what I'd do without The Detroit RedWingsTigersPistonsAndyesTheLions. They are the fabric of my life. They have always been there. I was sitting here after watching that video above and had a chat-to-chat with myself. I don't think I've ever invested this much of my life on one season - as I have with this cup run. Now, don't get me wrong. I've been hollering at the TV screen for the past 12 years for the Red Wings ... Even longer for the Tigers.

But for some reason this is my "special" season. Is it because it's the end - or the beginning? Is it because I haven't missed ONE game all year? Is it because as I grow older and less active I'm now vicariously living the dreams I know have slipped through my fingers? Is it because of the economy - and the escapism of sports? Is it because of ... I don't know.

Before game five started I told myself it is just a game. No big deal. We've had a nice run. We'll be back. It's just a game.

But it's not.

It's life.

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If you don't get at least a bit misty-eyed when a Drake or a Raymond Bourque finally get to hoist the Stanley Cup, you are either a robot or completely lack the perspective or appreciation of what it takes for a hockey player to A) Last that many years and B) Achieve the ultimate award in his sport. What is sweeter on this Earth than the taste of tears of joy, when shed for your fellow man?

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