It was a difficult situation for the Oilers of Edmonton. Whispers throughout the land spoke of the inevitability of defeat – the bloodthirsty Sharks of San Jose had taken first blood and were firmly on top of the situation, requiring extreme measures if Edmonton was to know victory.
No quarter was given to those who believed imminent defeat was at hand. Flags were flown at full mast, and fans prepared for the climatic showdown at Rexal Place. Victory was assured, defeat was absurd!
The fans lingered outside the stadium, hoping that a saint, or an enterprising young fellow, would provide them with tickets. Their hopes were realized. One person proudly announced that a meagre sum of three hundred and fifty Canadian dollars would grant someone the right to view the game from the ice level.
Without the required monetary facilitator, I proceeded post-haste to the street where the riots would begin, should the Oilers lose this defining challenge. The speakeasys and other fine drinking establishments of Whyte Avenue were at full capacity by the 8th hour. Meanwhile, Edmonton had fallen behind by the score of three to one, and things looked very grim.
The constabulary was out in full force, as the fanatics devotees of the Oilers of Edmonton were known for their violent rage. A cold mood was in the air, as all the officers knew that they could not hope to stop the fifty thousand raging fundamentalists who would destroy the street if Edmonton had lost.
Suddenly, the Shark had indeed been bitten as Edmonton had scored a goal, with the shooter’s stick undoubtedly having been guided by the very hand of God. Alcohol was spilled, women weeped, and the tide had turned against the vile Sharks. (Indeed, no pun was intended).
The Oilers of Edmonton, having evened the game with another goal, left the crowd in a blood frenzy. Passing motorists honked their horns to incite the crowd further. This capitalist decided to show his distaste towards the opponents of the Oilers. He was roundly cheered.
Then suddenly, the Sharks were made into fishfood. (No pun was intended, of course.) Goal followed goal, and the Oilers of Edmonton took a shocking and commanding victory of six goals to three.
Jubiliation became the norm as the common social barriers broke down and a display of unfettered joy spread throughout the land.
Men and women in this fanatic orgy, sanctified by the cult of the Oilers of Edmonton turned Whyte Avenue into a glimmering beacon of The Victory, a moment of absolute self-realization. A realization that Edmonton, through its Oilers, was once again a winning city. That they, by association, were winners. This is, of course, the truth – Edmonton is now the economic engine of our confederated provinces.
For a moment, within the revelry, I had realized, I had found a piece of Canada.
P.S. – They didn’t win the cup. They tied their quarter final series with the Sharks 2-2.