17 Seconds

I wonder if Tuukka Rask hears “17 seconds” in his head every time he loses a game. 

For those of you not Bruins fans, in 2013 Rask gave up 2 goals to the Chicago Blackhawks in 17 seconds costing the Boston Bruins the Stanley Cup Championship. I moved to Chicago 3 days after it happened, and it’s all I hear from Chicago fans whenever I wear my gear.

I bet Rask hears it louder though.

I spent a lot of last night thinking about that. I had an emotional week for sure. I am attributing this to estrogen and an impending shark week. At home I can deal. I spent two nights of the week shutting myself in my room, drinking and crying. No harm, no foul right?

At work it was a different story. It’s hard to effectively express random emotional uneasiness to ateam of all dudes-especially when you’re management and the solution really is as simple as hugging me and telling me how wonderful I am and that everything is fine. You can’t ask that from your team. Not sure why, but I assume professional leniency insurance does not cover the goings on of ovaries.

So last week was my 17 seconds, and I couldn’t get out of it. I am still stuck in it for some strange reason. I don’t feel like myself at all.

So what do you do? You can’t just not exist until you feel back to normal. The Bruins can’t miss a few games if they lose. 

They have to play. They have to show up, and they have to play, and for redemption, they have to win. They owe it to themselves and to the fans.

And that’s what I have to do to, even on the days when I am the equivalent of gum stuck to my shoe. 

Show up.
Play. 
Win.

Make 17 seconds mean the amount of time it took me to put out a fire, not the amount of time it took after I began talking to start crying.

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