Cloud Nine is Black and Gold

To borrow a few words from Freddy Mercury: “Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?”

I woke up this morning asking myself these same questions. Was this real life or just a fantasy? Did the Bruins actually hoist the Stanley Cup or was it all just a dream?

Since becoming a hard-core Bruins fan in the 1990s, I certainly have dreamed of this day.

I remember sitting in the basement as a teenager listening to the Bruins games on the radio with my dad as he hung out in his workshop. We didn’t have cable and my parents repeatedly refused my requests to purchase a package that included NESN. I was forced to carefully tune my radio to the local AM station on my boombox and strategically place the antenna until most of the static disappeared. The next morning I would cut out photos and news clippings about the game from the local paper and paste them into the season scrapbook I had created using a three-ring binder.

While my high school classmates were tracking 90210 and Party of Five storylines, I was studying the Bruins roster. After I was done with my homework, I put together annual homemade presentations in an attempt to convince my father to take me to a Bruins game—unsuccessfully I might add, but not for lack of creativity.

I will never forget my first live Bruins game and remember the Christmas I finally got that jersey I had been asking for. I have met idols like Cam Neely and Ray Bourque and watched as the latter paraded his well-deserved Stanley Cup around Boston, jealous that it would be returning to Colorado later that day.

I also watched Joe Thornton leave. Guys like Brian Rolston, Bill Guerin and Andrew Raycroft followed. We seemed to be a team, a revolving door of talent that would let players get away in their prime. We could see Stanley slipping through our fingers as our team disbanded during the summer. Profits seemed more important than winning.

Despite my unwavering devotion, each season the Black and Gold left my spirit black and blue. Although many people might not admit it, I honestly will say there were times when I never thought this day would ever come. Boston’s 2008-09 marketing campaign of “We want it as bad as you do” gave me hope. I believed it to be true, praying sheer will would bring the Cup to the Hub that year. It didn’t.

After experiencing first-hand the Blackhawks winning and the ensuing celebration last year, I wanted more than ever for black and gold confetti to fall on my smiling face as the duck boats drove by throngs of dedicated fans.

Over the last 10 years I’ve had the chance to celebrate six other Boston championships. Elated and ever-grateful, I couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. That sounds bratty, but I might have traded them all for a Stanley Cup. I love all Boston teams, but the Bruins were the reason I started loving sports. The reason I wanted to become a sports writer. I’ve read books written about Boston's geatest sports moments, the WHA and Bobby Orr, living vicariously through those pages and trying to get a piece of the glory days that took place before my time, wondering if it would ever happen again. The Stanley Cup is the most amazing trophy in all of sports and I wanted to see it for myself, just once, belong to the Big Bad Bruins.

Last night, I finally experienced what I’ve only ever read about, what I had only dreamed of. I have now been lucky enough to see each of Boston’s major sports teams win a championship, and within a single decade nonetheless. There aren’t many people who can or ever will be able to say that. I don’t take it for granted for one second and know there are other Bruins fans on the better side of 30 who have been suffering longer than I have.

It all just seems too good to be true. That is why I needed to pinch myself this morning when I woke up to make sure this was real life and not just a fantasy.

To borrow some more lyrics from Freddy—“we are the champions, my friend.”

And it has never felt better.