Nothing’s worse than a frustrating playoff loss.
We played like our lives were at stake. We battled and bled; our home crowd was ravenous. But we couldn’t finish the damn job.
We lost together as a team, but I deserve all the blame. I made it to “my spot.” Got a beautiful pass from Stubbs and took my shot; the same shot I’ve successfully made hundreds of times.
And it didn’t go in. The damn ball hit the backboard, the rim and fell into the wrong hands. Time expired and 20,000 fans cried in agony.
It’s all my fault.
The tunnel between the locker room and the field was the only place where Jeannette Gibbs could gather herself before handling the chaos.
It wasn’t overwhelming or anxiety inducing. Jeannette just liked having a moment of peace before the intense competition.
Jeanette had walked in tunnels all her life. Her grandfather coached football; so did her father. She probably spent more time inside stadiums than classrooms. Nevertheless, she was still a student; learning play-calling and formations.
Now it was time to put her knowledge into action. Making history was noteworthy, but she cared more about winning than being a pioneer.
The Perfect Ending
Finally, Toronto won the Stanley Cup.
From his balcony on the 32nd floor, Dave Padawski was savouring the moment.
Born in the spring of 1967, he had endured heartbreak, cruel owners and embarrassing failures. There were times when the team’s logo was painted on his face; and times when a paper bag over his head was more suitable. But now, the team Dave loved more than anything else, reclaimed the greatest prize.
As he finished a glass of champagne and adjusted his jersey, Dave concluded that this was the perfect ending.
He then climbed over the railing and embraced gravity.
The biggest sin Rabbi Polson ever committed was during his teenage years.
It was 1985 and the Rabbi snuck out early from Shabbat Services to attend a Blue Jays game at Exhibition Stadium.
He sat in the bleachers and bought several non-kosher hot dogs. As he ate, a drop of mustard landed on his pants. He was wiping off the stain when someone cried, “Look out!”
A baseball narrowly missed his head. It bounced off a few seats and landed on his lap. Rabbi Polson stared at the ball with an unnerving fear.
God had sent him a stern warning.