Cheering for Canada from a world away

When Cale Makar’s magic wrist shot evened the score late in the second period of the gold-medal Canada-U.S. men’s hockey game on Sunday, our shouts of joy echoed inside the stone walls of our rented apartment in Lecce, Italy.

Which was surprising, if you know me, since I don’t follow sports. I don’t root for a team, own branded jerseys or collect sports memorabilia.

In fact, my complete lack of interest in sports was a running joke in the newsroom when I worked at The Telegram in St. John’s. On any given morning after a hotly contested game, our sports editor, Robin Short, would arrive for work and quip, “Some game last night, hey Pam?” — knowing full well I was oblivious.

Yet here I was in Italy, pulse racing, screaming for joy as a black puck made it past the lightning-speed reflexes of Winnipeg Jets goalie Connor Hellebuyck, who was minding the net for the U.S. men’s Olympic team.

My basic Italian allowed me to pick up scattered words in the fast patter of colour commentary — “ghiaccio” (ice), the “Canadesi” (Canadians) and “U.S.A.” (the acronym pronounced “ooza” in Italian), but it didn’t matter. The tension was excruciating as we watched the players work the puck at breakneck speed.

It was an important game, to be sure, but it felt like so much more than that. With U.S. President Donald Trump’s increasing disdain for Canada’s (and other countries’) sovereignty, it felt like we really needed a win for our collective psyche’s sake.

As the game picked up momentum and Canada masterfully controlled the action, we had to remind ourselves to breathe. With Makar’s goal, victory felt tantalizingly close at hand.

It was heartening to see so many Canadians in the stands, and I wished I had something with which to identify myself as such on these cobblestone streets far from home. My friend Heather sported a small Maple Leaf pin on her coat, which had to suffice for us all.

Between periods of the nail-biting game, my husband, my friend and I blew off steam walking around historic Lecce. We stopped in a church adorned with a multitude of golden candlesticks, plaster angels and dark oil paintings — some depicting miracles — and hoped for one of our own.

Back on the street, we passed a small dog wearing an elaborate yellow dress with a tutu and saw a man resembling former prime minister Justin Trudeau at an outdoor café. It felt surreal to be strolling past baroque buildings of honey-coloured stone under blue skies while at home in St. John’s people were hunkered down in front of their TVs as yet another winter storm raged.

For one instant I wished for clairvoyance, just so I could be rid of the nerve-wracking sense of anticipation.

No wonder I don’t generally get caught up in sports — the stress of watching athletes striving for their dreams in real time and in the glare of TV cameras, the desperate longing for a win, are just too intense. But maybe it was just this game, and these times.

We all know how it ended: Jack Hughes broke the tie, clinching Olympian gold for the U.S. in men’s hockey for the first time since 1980.

Our hearts felt heavy for the dejected Canadian players as they lined up on the ice to shake hands with their opponents.

Later, my husband and I were drawn by boisterous noise to the Piazza Sant’Oronzo. Multicoloured confetti littered the cobblestones and children sported dinosaur, alien and unicorn costumes, as women danced to a lively folk tune. Two women in white tracksuits carried a hand-lettered placard in the colours of the Italian flag and Olympic rings made of cardboard. It had the feel of carnival as the local people came together to celebrate their Olympic achievements and their country’s role as warm and welcoming hosts to the world.

The revelry was infectious. As I thought back to the thrills of the hockey game, the tremendous heart, skill and speed of our players — the doggedness and dexterity of young athletes like Macklin Celebrini and the heavy mantle borne by hockey heroes like Connor McDavid — I felt my old sports grinch heart grow three sizes bigger with love and gratitude for our country.

Canadian athletes had stood tall on the world stage, given it their all, and accepted both triumph and defeat with dignity and grace.

People often say at pivotal moments in the life of a nation that they have never been prouder to be Canadian, and I felt that then, surrounded by Italians celebrating for reasons of their own.

I miss you, Canada. In my heart I’m cheering you on, and I’ll be home soon.

Pam Frampton lives in St. John’s. Email pamelajframpton@gmail.com | X: @Pam_Frampton | Bluesky: @pamframpton.bsky.social