I hadn’t intended for it to work out this way, but on the day after the Sox ended their season, the Bruins opened up their big, padded, jersey-swathed arms to me and offered me a shoulder on which to cry.

Since I wasn’t at that point, thank you very much, they decided instead to offer me a thrilling game to cheer. A six rounds of penalty shots kind of thrilling.

I don’t know what precisely the difference is between taking in a game at the Garden and a game at Fenway, but it still shocks me each and every time I enter the former. I get out of work, hop onto the T, make my way over to the venue and am just there. Just a hockey game on a Monday. Boston hockey. You know. Whatever.


I’m a happy Bostonian (Somervillian, whatever) – but sometimes I forget what’s right there, ready to be enjoyed. And when I get reminded, it’s pretty incredible. After spending so much time wanting to be here, actually being here continues to be remarkable.

I love this place. Even if the Bruins lost.