An Alternate Universe
Imagine a world of anarchy and destruction.
Order is now chaos. Money is now useless. Fear and paranoia coarse through our veins like blood.
The recession does not matter here. There are no banks, no institutions, no God. Roves of thieves and outlaws rule the land. Warlords assemble their paramilitaries to battle one another for what little natural resources we have left. And the only semblance of hope are the eyes of our children.
Imagine a world where the US Hockey team won gold instead of Canada.
Where were you when Jaimie Langenbrunner broke through Chris Pronger and Chris Getzlaf for a 2 on 1 rush with Joe Pavelski against Dan Boyle? What were you doing when Langenbrunner passed the puck to Pavelski and then back to Langenbrunner only shoot the puck top-shelf against an unsuspecting Roberto Luongo in Overtime?
These are questions that haunt us all to this day.
I remember it all like it was yesterday. The Vancouver arena fell dead silent. I celebrated with my friends Ron Sterling and Jesse Fernandez in my house in Middleton, Mass. I felt proud to be an American then. I saw Ryan Miller cry tears of joy and accomplishment. Then, the TV went out.
I felt my house shake. I heard an explosion in the distance. We went outside to inspect and witnessed a world of hell. Houses were burning. I saw the remnants of a mushroom cloud in the distance—Boston: vaporized. Cars were turned over. Children crying on the streets only to be run over by reckless motorists. Neighbor suddenly pitted against neighbor with pitchforks.
We thought it was the Russians or maybe even the Canadians, but who could take a loss so poorly? We soon discovered that we had created an imbalance in our universe and this was our universe’s way of fixing that. A force we could not see or hear had taken control of the earth. The Canadians were destined to win and we fiddled with destiny.
All at once a nuclear war, asteroid crash, and zombie apocalypse happened.
Soon Jesse Fernandez turned towards me with a rage in his eyes I have only seen in films like 28 Days Later. I killed my best friend that day. Or was he really my friend at that point?
Here I am locked up in a Reebok store in this abandoned mall. I sit with a few survivors who hold no allegiance to the gangs or even the Omega Men (a cult-like order who strive to rule our barren wasteland under the pretense that we live as Canadian hockey enthusiasts). Disgusting. I’m still proud to be an American.
I don’t regret anything. I would gladly have this post-apocalyptic world than see Sidney Crosby win Gold. Man that guy is such a tool. Tonight, we feast on our fallen member’s carcass, for it is all we have to eat.
