That doesn’t mean I never forget it myself.

No one, aside from possibly some gladiators in ancient Rome, have ever lived or died because of the result of a sporting match, but it sometimes feels that way. No sporting event feels more that way than the Stanley Cup Playoffs, and no individual game has felt more like life or death to me than last night’s Penguins game.

In case you aren’t a hockey fan, let me set the scene: down 2-0 in a best of seven series after losing the first two at home, the Pens go into Boston to attempt to salvage the series. A third loss won’t end the series, but it’s about as close a guarantee as you can have in sports these days. After blow outs in the first two games, the two teams battle for 95 minutes – an extra half a game beyond the normal – literally breaking bones to try to take control of the series. In the 95th minute, the Bruins break the stalemate and put a choke hold on my Penguins – the #1 seed in the conference and Stanley Cup pick of many, the team that went so all in on this season that anything less than a championship would be considered a massive disappointment.

I know it’s just a game, but it hurt like hell.

It always hurts when they lose, but this year feels worse than most. Yes, it’s the heightened expectations due to a phenomenal regular season and a few trade deadline blockbusters. Yes, it’s the sense that this team full of individual talents is a once in a lifetime thing in the salary cap era. Every Penguins fan is feeling the free fall back to earth after letting our hopes get up so high. But for me, it feels like something more, something so much more visceral and raw. It’s a feeling of attachment to these guys, the sense that (completely unrealistically) they have been playing for me, to make me happy, and everyone else is just along for the ride. For the past six months, no matter what else was going on in my life – no matter how many jobs rejections I got or how utterly hopeless I felt – I had this team to pick me up again.

And pick me up they did. When I moved home in November, the one positive I kept dwelling on was that eventually the NHL would resolve their lockout and eventually I’d have hockey to watch and eventually, for the first time in years, I’d be able to watch every game as long as I was home. I kept that hope in the back of my mind as I struggled to adapt to living with my parents again, and when the season finally kicked off in January, I finally felt like I had the release I’d been needing – a way to get out all of the pent up energy and frustration building inside of me.

I couldn’t go check anyone into the boards. I couldn’t take a slap shot in open ice. I couldn’t punch anyone. But I could watch the Penguins.

I watched the opening game with my brother at a bar outside of Pittsburgh. It was a gorgeous, unseasonably warm winter day, and I downed Canadian beer and felt a happiness I hadn’t felt in months as I watched a dominating 3-1 win over the Philadelphia Flyers.

I drove to DC a few weeks later to catch a Super Bowl Sunday afternoon matchup against the Capitals, relishing the thrill of being in enemy territory as your team makes it look easy.

I nearly threw my wine glass across my living room and terrified my dog when the Pens squandered a beautiful game-tying goal against those same hated Flyers and let in the game winner just a few seconds later, then felt vindicated as a few weeks later, they erased a three goal deficit to embarrass their biggest rivals at home.

I watched them kick off their 15 game winning streak in my brother’s apartment during a crazy back and forth 7-6 win in Montreal.

The day after I was rejected by a job I really wanted – a job that happened to be in Boston – I went to the Pens/Bruins game with my cousin and witnessed an incredible third period comeback victory. I let the Penguins take out all of my frustration on the city of Boston and the company that had rejected me and the awful things I’d dealt with while living in Massachusetts years before. I felt a release of all of that through a 3-2 win over the Bruins.

And when I finally got a job and made plans to leave Pittsburgh again, I said goodbye to the city on a Saturday night at Consol Energy Center, the final game of the season and the one game I’d been waiting for since June the year before.

Maybe I could have gotten through all of that without the Pittsburgh Penguins, but it sure doesn’t feel that way. That specific group of players, at that specific time… over and over again, it quite honestly felt like they were saving my sanity.

The only other time I felt that way was in 2010.

That year, the hockey season started just a few weeks after my world fell apart. I’d been watching hockey games with my ex for years by that point and the thought of watching a game alone was nauseating. So I invited my friends over – wonderful friends who came despite not knowing or really caring about hockey – and I drank beer and watched the Penguins raise their Stanley Cup banner, and I felt happy for the first time in weeks.

That year I bought the cable package that allowed me to watch games out of town, and I rarely missed a game. I did my homework with the games on in the background. I stayed up for west coast games, because I was on a student schedule and I could. I remember the playoffs starting and me wearing my Sidney Crosby jersey to my friend’s house because there was a game going on, and even if I didn’t watch the whole thing, I still had to feel like I was doing my part.

That year, the Penguins lost in the second round to the Montreal Canadiens. It was a seven game series that, to be honest, I don’t remember all that much about. What I do remember is watching game seven – this time at home by myself, I had already adapted that much in just nine months – and the dread as the clock ticked down at the end. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to that team. I sat on my couch long after the series-ending handshake, my arms wrapped around my legs and leaning my chin on my knees. I just sat there. I didn’t want it to be over. I didn’t know what to funnel my energy into.

I didn’t want to take off my jersey, and I didn’t, wearing it out to meet some friends at the bar. It was a hot spring night, and the game had been over for an hour, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t ready.

That’s how I felt last night. A third loss is not a fourth loss. There’s still a chance – a very, very small chance, but a chance nonetheless – that the Penguins come back and win this series. There’s a tiny part of me, deep down, that thinks maybe they will, that maybe somehow they got the memo that while I have a job and an apartment and am feeling better about my life than I have in years, I still need their help. I still take out my aggressions through their fights and checks, I still need them to defend my honor to the city of Boston, and I still need to feel that there are men out there who won’t let me down.

I know the team will be back in October, but it will be different. It won’t be these players at this point in my life.

It’s just a game and just a business. I know that, except when I choose not to.

I know this sounds silly. I know it sounds fanatical and melodramatic. Sometimes, especially after double overtime back breaking losses, I wonder to myself what it feels like to not care about sports. And then I think about the elation of a win – the way a group of 20 men who don’t know me can make me feel completely on top of the world, even as that world is trying its hardest to keep me down.

I’m not ready to let go of that feeling just yet.

In a nutshell, here’s what I’ve been doing:

• getting a new job
• moving back to New York
• finding my own place
• sleeping on friends’ couches
• starting a new job
• learning a new client, a new sport, and a new industry
• signing a lease for my own place, the very first apartment that’s all mine
• watching a lot of Penguins playoff hockey
• drinking a lot of wine watching a lot of Penguins playoff hockey
• cursing at a lot of players while drinking a lot of wine watching a lot of Penguins playoff hockey
• loving every single second of Penguins playoff hockey
• eating a lot of Thai food, because I can again
• traveling back to my hometown on a business trip
• planning my ten year college reunion trip
• walking through Bryant Park, my favorite place in Manhattan, and smiling to myself because I feel like after a long, hard road, a few detours, and many, many speed bumps, I finally feel like I’m where I belong

I have a lot of posts brewing in my head. I’ll get to them, I promise. Hope you’re still here.

Romantics Bracket – #1 seed – Noah (The Notebook)

In many ways, Noah is the same character we’ve seen in a hundred different movies: the guy from the wrong side of the tracks who falls in love with the rich girl and sees her for who she really is. But the difference with Noah (and what gives him the #1 seed by the slimmest of margins) is that while we can predict the demise of many other similar movie couples, we know that Noah stays with his girl until the day they die, and he never, ever gives up on his love for her. He writes her 365 letters, he renovates the rundown house she loved so much, and when she develops dementia in old age, he reads their story to her, trying desperately to see just one glimpse of the woman he loved so much. I’m getting teary just writing about it.

Essential clip: best. kiss. ever.

Nice Guys Bracket – #10 seed – Jake Perry (Sweet Home Alabama)

Jake is a good Southern guy from a small town, but that doesn’t mean a city girl can’t fall in love with him. He’s the kind of guy who will carry you home when you get too drunk and would never kiss a girl who’s dating another guy – even if that girl is still his wife. And when that wife tries to run away from her “hillbilly” Alabama past, he’ll spend years trying to make something of himself to win her back, building a successful glassblowing business (which is hands down one of the coolest jobs someone can have).  Small town guys can be the best kind, especially when they’re as sweet and dedicated as Jake.

Essential clip: not the most romantic thing in the world, but I love a guy who won’t take shit from you but is still nice enough to remind you to visit your family.

So there you have it, ladies. The choice is yours…

Prime Minister David and Jacob Palmer ended in a tie, which puts me in a tough spot. I didn’t have any tiebreaker rules prepared. I could go back and add up all the percentages from previous votes, which sounds like a lot of work. Or I could just make the decision myself. Instead, I’m considering the events of the past week and making an executive decision.

Ladies, for the good of Boston and in honor of the brave men and women up there, I’m reinstating Dignam back into the bracket.

Does Dignam care about the Movie Boyfriend Bracket?

But we do. And we care about Boston. And who got more shit done than the first responders in Boston last week? So my favorite fictional Massachusetts State Police Officer is jumping into the Final Four, on account of you folks not being able to decide between our last two Get Shit Done men standing. (Sorry, ladies who were clamoring for a Gosling v. Gosling final. My blog, my rules.)

So here we go! Final Four voting will end at 11am on Thursday. We’ll kick off the Championship immediately following. And then I get to move myself back to New York and start a new job.

Polls will close at 10am on April 20. Campaign away, ladies.

I feel at home there, even though I’ve never actually lived there. And yet, as much as I love Boston and the state commonwealth of Massachusetts, sometimes I just hate them. I’ve had some really rough times there. I’ve had my heart broken by men and by companies during this job search, not to mention their football team which gets my blood boiling like few other teams on earth. But despite all that, I keep coming back for more. As soon as I step off the bus or train in South Station, I feel a happiness come over me – happiness that, for sure, comes from seeing some of my best friends, but also just by being in the city. It feels different from New York and DC, smaller and more manageable, and reminds me of Pittsburgh in ways that I’ve never quite been able to articulate. It’s just a feeling in my gut, and when I heard the news of the Boston Marathon yesterday afternoon, my gut felt nauseous. I felt like someone had attacked a city of mine, even though I’m not there, I’ve never lived there, and I probably won’t visit again until the summertime. But I felt compelled to write down all of the things I loved about this city that sometimes simultaneously drives me crazy.

Patriot’s Day. I used to make fun of the made-up holiday, as I called it, despite also being incredibly excited about a random day off school for two years in mid-April. It’s perfect timing, just as the weather is getting great, and I had always regretted not going to Boston for the marathon day during my time there. It always sounded like so much fun, and I hope it is again next year, and for many years after that.

The Freedom Trail. A red line printed in the sidewalks of Boston that guides you past its historical sites. So simple, yet so brilliant.

“Paul Revere-ing the fuck out of the walk home.” A line said by one of my friends during a late-night walk home from the bars following the Freedom Trail across the Charlestown Bridge. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, but it’s become an inside joke often repeated when we’re walking home from…

Goody Glover’s. It’s a completely nondescript bar in the North End, but it’s one of the first you come to after you cross the bridge from Charlestown, and after a few epic nights there, it’s become a must-do anytime I go to Boston. I think I’m currently at .500 with GG’s, but for awhile, the bar was winning handily. I think part of my dislike of Boston is that I often get really bad hangovers when I’m there, and GG’s is fully responsible for that.

The sports passion. I hate the teams. Haaaaaaaaate. So much that when I saw this lovely sports section from the Chicago Tribune, I thought, “well…. I’m not a Patriot. That’s taking it a bit far.” But I love their passion. I love that I can always argue sports with a Bostonian. Fenway is kind of a dump, but it’s still amazing to see a game there. Gillette Stadium and the TD Garden are fantastic venues. Boston is the only city I’ve encountered to rival Pittsburgh’s sports intensity, and so it makes total sense that the fans hate each other so much.

Gay marriage. Massachusetts did it early, and they’re probably laughing at the rest of the country trying to catch up.

The Zakim Bridge. You can see this bridge from the window of my friend’s apartment in Charlestown, and I love it.

Legal Seafood Harborside. On a sunny Sunday afternoon, there is nothing better than brunch with friends, drinking many glasses of wine, overlooking the water.

The Beanpot. Every year, Boston College, Boston University, Harvard, and Northeastern play a hockey tournament. I’ve never actually gone, but I love that it exists.

The Town. The Departed. Ally McBeal. Cheers.

The ridiculous way you pronounce things. I mean, it should either be spelled Wooster or pronounced Wor-chest-er, but the way you refuse to do what makes sense it is endearing.

Boston is just Boston, and there is nowhere else like it. I’m so thankful that my friends are unharmed, and I’m praying for those injured and those who lost loved ones. I hope they find the bastards that did this. And I hope next year’s Marathon is just as much a celebration as it’s always been.

I love you, Boston. Even when I hate you.

Are you crying yet? You should be, you cruel, heartless people.

In addition to breaking my 16-year-old self’s heart, you also broke up with Doug Dorsey, Westley, Ian Miller, Officer Rhodes, Daniel, Danny Ocean, and Bruce Wayne. We’ve lost some fine men, but the Elite Eight is a strong group. Voting will be up next week, since my little brother is getting married this weekend and I have other things to do. Start writing your campaign speeches now, though. You’ve been a quiet group thus far, and I want arguing in the next round.

Get Shit Done

Click to view slideshow.

Original descriptions here.

The Nice Guys

Original descriptions here.

The Romantics

Original descriptions here.

It’s Complicated

Original descriptions here.

]]> http://howimettedmosby.wordpress.com/2013/04/08/movie-boyfriend-bracket-the-sweet-sixteen/feed/ 3 brennie192 http://howimettedmosby.wordpress.com/2013/04/05/getting-trashy/ http://howimettedmosby.wordpress.com/2013/04/05/getting-trashy/#comments Fri, 05 Apr 2013 18:41:13 +0000 B http://howimettedmosby.wordpress.com/?p=894 Continue reading »]]> When I start to feel frustrated and/or lost in my life, I start to make crazy decisions. Not all crazy is alike, of course. My versions of crazy may range on a scale from cutting bangs (hardly crazy and still rocking them a year later) to moving to Greece for a year (extremely crazy but absolutely worth it). But basically, when I start to feel stuck, I need to actively do something to change that. I refuse to just sit still and ignore the frustrations.

It’s been a very frustrating few months, as you know. The more interviews I go on without anyone hiring me, the harder I find it to just power through and smile like everything is ok. Add to that being back in my hometown and also seeing my ten year college reunion on the horizon, and it means I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately about where my life has gone up to this point and where it’s going to go in the future. A lot of thinking.

My latest crazy idea began a few weeks ago when I woke up with vivid images from a dream I’d had still in my mind. In the dream, I was getting married, and hastily throwing together a wedding, and as a result I wore the dress I’d worn for my first wedding. It wasn’t a terribly pleasant dream, and I was still rattled a day or two later when it got me thinking.

My dress has been sitting in a closet in my parents house since December 2006. When I was still married, I was fine with that, but after getting divorced, I had no ties to the damn thing anymore. I didn’t want to just throw it out. I tried selling it. I considered donating it. But I never really pulled the trigger on anything, and it’s still sitting in the closet. The dress isn’t the only thing still around – my rings are still in a drawer, having not sold or traded them yet, my album is somewhere downstairs, and I still have the huge, framed portraits that at one time were hanging in our apartment. I don’t want any of this stuff anymore, but I also haven’t made the move to get rid of any of it. Mostly because I don’t know how… those photographs cost a lot of money, so I feel guilty throwing them out, and also part of me is nervous that someday I’ll regret getting rid of them. Not that I can imagine that day, but still. It’s a nagging feeling that I can’t quite shake, and so I still have all of this stuff from my marriage lying around the house.

I’d seen “trash the dress” photo shoots before. I was aware it was a thing. But usually they were happy brides who just didn’t care to put their dress back in a box for the rest of their lives. What if I actually, really, truly trashed the dress?

I started googling. I started thinking more and more. And then I got my tax refund, giving me a little extra cash to do something fun. I think this is how I want to spend some of it. I think it’s a positive way for me to break some of the ties that I’ve been holding on to for nearly three years now. And maybe I won’t feel guilty getting rid of things that once had a lot of sentimental (not to mention monetary) value to me, if I do it in a way that allows me to have fun, get out some aggression, and in the end, have some cool photographs of myself.

I feel ridiculous saying I need closure after three years, but maybe I do.

So I ask you, dear readers – is this crazy? Or fun? Or both? If you were in my position, would you do it? And if so, do you have any ideas? I’ve googled the hell out of “trash the dress divorce ideas” and have found a few, but I know there are a lot of creative minds out there that might have some brilliant concepts. And most importantly, if I go through with this, will any of you come with me and pour the champagne and blast the Kelly Clarkson music?

P.S. The Movie Boyfriend Bracket Sweet Sixteen will be up next week. I’ve had a busy week, and I hate starting voting on Friday. So come back Monday.

Get Shit Done
(1) Doug Dorsey
(2) Westley
(6) Jacob Palmer
(13) Prime Minister David

Nice Guys
(1) Mark Darcy
(4) Ian Miller
(6) Officer Rhodes
(10) Jake Perry

Romantics
(1) Noah
(2) Jack Dawson
(11) Jamie
(13) Daniel

It’s Complicated
(2) Bruce Wayne
(3) Ben Berry
(5) Patrick Verona
(8) Danny Ocean

Before we go, though, let’s pay tribute to some of the men we lost this week…

Dignam, you have such a way with words. And Billy, you’re just so vulnerable and adorable.

Guy Patterson, you can jam with us any time.

Ladies, you voted this out of the competition. THIS.

And this. Without this, there would be no Jacob Palmer, you know.

And last, but certainly not least, it’s impossible to find a clip of movie version Enjolras, but there is this little tribute to the barricade boys, which might be even better. Maybe they won’t all die this time.