Stick it to Them.

Around the world, it sometimes seems to be assumed that Canadians are born not with silver spoons in our mouths, but silver hockey sticks and blades of steel which carve paths through our childhoods in graceful figure eights. You know, long winters and all (though this season has certainly exposed the veracity of global warming).

In a general way, I long ago tore the ticket stub on my time as a hockey fan (of course, with scanners these days, they don't actually tear ticket stubs anymore). Sure, there was indeed a time when I could quote all the nuances in the rulebook and hastily recite stories which had become lore from the times when we first started peeling the tops off of lacrosse balls (now that's a bouncy puck, my friends) through 'One-eyed' Frank McGee to the goon era and finally, to the ascendancy of the Great One. And then, somehow, the ice melted. Which, in terms of a relationship, would normally be a good thing. Instead, I drifted away from the game.

There is, however, one notable exception: international play. Then again, competitive international croquet would likely get me going, too. There's still something about games representing the nation that leaves me wringing my hands, stamping my feet and throwing my arms into the air. Good full-body exercise, really. And this time of year, with the World Junior Championships, you have kids draped in flags, hurtling down the ice with a nation's hopes weighing down like Zambonis on their backs. I'm always impressed by their poise and their emotion. Not to mention skill. I don't remember kids being that big when I was that age.

And it rarely gets better than a game against a heated rival. Today's semifinal pitted Canada against the U.S., who appear to have become the Russians of this generation. Adversaries. And nobody wanted the 6-3 round robin win over our southern neighbours to be for naught. Must win the big ones, boys -- you'll never hear the end of it from your American teammates when you return to your junior teams. It goes without saying that rivalries don't usually burgeon if the opponent isn't worthy. No, you need competition for the emotion to be worthwhile. To make your blood boil in anticipation. To make you leap off the couch and scream violently at the television when a call goes against your team. Your team.

But a Canadian goal just over halfway through the third to tie the game at one made a feeling rise from a pit in my stomach that the goaltender's duel would come to a head in the form of the ultimate goaltender's duel: a shoot-out. As exciting as they are, I hate shoot-outs, particularly with so much on the line. It's not like soccer, when you really can seemingly play for days without ever tapping one over the goal line. Torture and ecstasy.

The streaming video on the computer was ridiculously choppy, buffering every five seconds or so. And running about 30 seconds behind. When it came time for the shootout, cheers and jeers rained down from the stands and the computer hung for what seemed like an eternity. "And we're tied" bookended a giant black pause with "It's time for them to play the Canadian anthem -- again". 5-4 in a shootout. Canada wins! And thanks to poor technology, the shoot-out was shut-out to me.

Both sides obviously played well, but Canada has now won 17 straight. And they now get the chance to turn that silver hockey stick into gold. Their third in a row.