Mmmmmm, the sweet and succulent taste of victory! Like everything you love to touch, taste and feel simultaneously overwhelming your senses. You smile. You quiver. And you wildly release a cry unmatched by any other human sound! You have worked your whole life for this one moment, and now you know why: Victory is Ecstasy!

Not that I would know. I have never won anything in my entire life. Oh, take that back. My junior year of high school, my CYC basketball team won the St. Louis CYC City Championship. Um yes, I was actually on the team! That was a great feeling, but I hardly worked my entire life for it. In fact, it was my first season ever playing basketball; a season I opened by, first time on the court, dribbling the ball full speed (I am quick) towards my own, wide-open net. And I shot! And I missed! So watching the Stanley Cup victory last night, I wondered, what does victory feel like? And what does real victory entail?

My nearest and dearest know that I have been in love with the Redwings since fourth grade. Steve Yzerman was the love of my life, and I proved it by memorizing everything about him from his May 9th birthday to the small scar above the right side of his lip.  In my closet, a gleaming gold hanger held my coveted Yzerman jersey. At one point, I proudly owned nearly 100 Yzerman hockey cards. I kept them in a binder under my bed. I currently have about 20 in my top drawer that I just can't stand to part with, protected in those little plastic cases.  My best childhood friend, Izzy, and I would spend countless afternoons signing our future names -- mine, "Emma Yzerman", and hers "Izzy Noonan." (At the time, there was a Blues player named Brian Noonan.  He retired in 2001, never reaching Yzerman's level of success.  I clearly knew how to pick them from a young age.) "Emma Yzerman" was also a player I created on NHL '96. I meticulously adjusted the skill level so she was slightly better than her husband. Obviously.

The obsession died down over the years. Slowly, my favorite color faded from red to pink, and I moved onto guys I could actually obtain, but the Redwings remained my favorite sports team of all time. (Sorry FredBird!) Then, as if God was eternally tying me to Hockeytown, USA, my dear friend and former boyfriend signed with the Redwings.

Brett was my senior prom date -- flew from Chicago for the occasion. We dated for a little while before we both went away to college, and after a couple year of animosity, we rekindled our...friendship.  (Largely due to the fact that our friends married each other.) We have stayed in touch, literally, over the years, and I try to see him in his Wings jersey when he's in the metro area.  When he comes out of the locker room, I still see Arizona jeans and an Old Navy t-shirt walking through the jetway when you used to be able to meet people at the gate, and the things that come to mind are:
1. He has really soft skin.
2. He is an exceptional water skier -- although somewhat scary to ski beside.
3. He doesn't over analyze things.
4. He always helps out and will pitch in without being asked.
5. He laughs a lot.
6. He sings in the car.

Last night, as a Redwing, Brett experienced the ultimate, unparalleled victory for which I am extremely super proud. Brett, like the rest of his team, works hard and deserves victory-induced ecstasy. He makes it seem effortless and handles his talent with modesty and poise, all the while maintaining his Lebda-ness...in that Brett Lebda is truly victorious.

When I woke up this morning, I decided two things: 1) I was going to write a post about Brett's Stanley Cup victory in his honor and 2) Like the Redwings did last year, I too would retire #19 and replace it with #22 as my new favorite hockey player.

Here's to Hockeytown.