By Jack Nahrgang

It’s been over a week since the dramatic U.S.-Canada hockey showdown, and I’ll confess; I missed Sidney Crosby’s golden goal. I was home, but my backbone deserted me when the Americans scored with 24 ticks left on the clock. I ran upstairs and awaited the outcome, safely out of earshot.

Before pelting me with your souvenir Quatchi pucks, hear me out. My problem involves the pictures that get stuck in my head. When I read a book with a monster in it, well, it’s my mind’s monster. But during the 17 days of Olympic competition, the monsters I saw were created by others, and frequently wore not just red and white, but also blue.

I consider myself to be a patriot; this is a great country, but I suffer from Yankee preoccupation. It grew naturally, for like many of you, I have American relatives, and international competition brings familial arguments, but over the years my fixation has centred increasingly on what our southern neighbours think of Canada.

These past Olympic Games have been an emotional roller coaster for me. I fumed when Jack Johnson, a defenceman for the American men’s hockey team chartered a plane to fly to Vancouver to march in the opening ceremonies, but did not offer a ride to an NHL teammate who would be playing for Team Canada. I slid further into the pervasive U.S. media web, reading countless critical articles about Canada in general and Vancouver specifically: the giant reefers that failed to deploy around the Olympic cauldron, the weather, or the Own the Podium slogan. I tripped over our initial gold medal drought and railed against Canadian television commentators who fumbled and grumbled and talked about minutiae.

Then a sea-change occurred. Buoyed by enthusiastic crowds at Whistler and in Vancouver, red and white Canadian pride flooded across the country, and lapped up against my door. I was entranced by the athletes, the hundredths of a second finishes, the personal sacrifices, the music-laden video montages, and most of all, by the genuine outpouring of Canadian pride.

Although I knew that the Olympic bill would be enormous, that protesters possessed some valid points, that Stephen Harper had a choice seat at every venue except Ottawa, such calamities receded as our commentators honed their craft, our athletes caught a second wind, and countless volunteers enthusiastically welcomed the world to Canada. I bonded with my television and still can’t tell you if I cried more than I clapped. It was probably a photo finish.

But I stumbled in the final hockey game. The tying goal that forced overtime pushed me back into old fears and insecurities. It was this picture in my head: a prideful Brian Burke and Ron Wilson, their team of Stars and Stripes minions winning the game, gold medals draped around their necks, in our rink, hours before the closing ceremonies. Faced with that monster, I broke and ran.

But Team Canada did not run, nor did Community Canada, and from that faithfulness I learned that the True North really is strong, and free from the doubts that I carried.

So I salute this country. I’m proud of our efforts, and I vow to worry less about what my American neighbours think, and care a bit more about what my Canadian comrades do.

Hmm. Comrades. There’s a thought. I wonder if I can learn some Russian before the 2014 games in Sochi? That way I can read what the Russians are saying about us. Oops. Sorry. Backslid a bit. I’ll work on it.

After all, I’ve got four years to practise.

Jack Nahrgang of Kitchener teaches history and English at Huron Heights Secondary School.