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Playoff spring fever

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I’m one of those people that get really cerebral about movies.

It’s rooted in the film theory courses I exposed myself to back in university.

Arnold Schwarzenegger films of the early ’80s, aside from being heady violence, are a statement on the American cold-war psyche under Reagan. Molly Ringwald’s oevre with John Hughes is frothy fun, admittedly, but also a reflection on the female gaze. The Commitments is an allegory for Ireland’s historical struggle for independence. I’m sure the Big Lebowski somehow represents the story of Christ. Give me a couple beers and I’ll figure it out. I revel in this stuff.

So I was kind of taken aback by this publication’s Notes From the Back Row movie column last week, wherein Feet Banks related Wolfgang Peterson’s current film Troy to American military imperialism.

It wasn’t because the concept isn’t valid. Au contraire. Banks makes some legitimate points. No, it’s because I had seen Troy myself the weekend prior and not once had I even considered the subject.

After seeing Troy there was only one thing on my mind and that was Brad Pitt’s gorgeous bronzed body straining to flex itself free from the shackles of thigh grazing leather armour, touseled blond locks sweaty from battling equally buff warrior extras hand to hand. Good god. I’m reliving it now. Somebody get me a cigarette.

If this were any other time of year I’d be worried about the disappearance of my film geek mindset and transformation into some kind of oversexed Jackie Collins protagonist. But I’ve chalked this incident and my general state of mind over the past weeks up to a powerful springtime phenomenon.

Call it spring fever with a red-blooded Canadian girl twist – Stanley Cup playoff fever. Hot damn.

I’ve got it particularly bad this year because of the continued success of the Calgary Flames. They’ve become Canada’s team and I am Canadian. But their victories have also tapped into a reserve of Alberta pride I didn’t even realize I had in me. Did you know I grew up in the same Edmonton suburb as Jarome? I didn’t care a month ago. Now everyone that’s ever said hi to me knows it. I think I even told the cashier at the grocery store the other day.

With the regular season elimination of the Edmonton Oilers I began cultivating my enthusiasm for Calgary in an appropriately reserved way during the round one Vancouver series. That night at the GLC following the Snowboard Big Air at the World Ski & Snowboard Festival everyone, even the Supersuckers, stopped what they were doing to cheer Vancouver’s time-buying overtime goal in game six, but I secretly cursed under my breath. It had just postponed what I was starting to believe was the inevitable.

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