I'll have what she's having

When I met my now-husband — me, a Mexican girl, and him, a proud Canadian — one of our early conversations was about hockey.
I must confess: sports have never been my thing. I don’t watch them, I don’t play them, and honestly, I don’t really understand them. But as he described it, hockey in Canada wasn’t just a sport. It was part of the fabric of the culture, something deeper, something almost sacred.

He promised me that one day he would take me to a playoff game — the real experience — where I would see an entire city come alive, united by passion.
And so I waited. Five years, to be exact. Five years for the Montreal Canadiens to finally make it to the playoffs.

In the meantime, I had caught glimpses of the game on TV. I understood the basics — although I still can’t pretend to follow all the rules or the reasons behind those sudden fights on the ice.
Still, when he told me he had gotten tickets for a playoff game, I was thrilled. Finally, I would live the magic he had spoken about when we first met, i grabbed a white cropped top and a pair of jeans and of course a cap of the Canadians of montreal, i was all dressed up for the occasion.

We drove downtown toward the Bell Centre, and as we got closer, the transformation began.
The streets bled red.
Fans, young and old, wore their jerseys with pride.

Music blasted from every corner, hyping up the crowd. People poured in by the thousands, smiling, laughing, filled with excitement.

In that moment, I finally understood: this wasn’t just about the sport.
It was about belonging.
It was about community.
It was about heart.

As we entered the stadium, the energy was electric. The sea of red was breathtaking — men, women, kids, even babies wearing Canadiens gear.
Everyone waved their white towels with wild joy, and when the lights dimmed for the player introductions, the roar of the crowd was deafening.

Every shot, every near miss, every goal — the collective gasps, the cheers, the groans — I could feel them in my chest. I didn’t need to understand every rule to get it: it was about feeling part of something bigger.

It ended up being one of the most special dates we’ve ever had.
And now, whenever someone asks me about Canadian culture, I tell them:
“You haven’t really lived Montreal until you’ve been to a Canadiens playoff game.”

Pro Tip: If you ever visit during playoff season, do yourself a favor — go to a game, wear red, lose your voice cheering… and don’t forget to grab a hot dog. It’s practically a rite of passage.

Sometimes, it’s not about the scoreboard or the technicalities. It’s about being swept away in a wave of shared passion, forgetting for a while the things that separate us, and finding unexpected joy in the things we once thought weren’t for us.
That night wasn’t just my first hockey game — it was a reminder that sometimes, love, culture, and belonging show up in the most surprising places… even in an arena packed with strangers who somehow feel like family.