I sit in my seat, comfortably, looking out the window, seeing just my reflection. The train pulls out of the station, as I take one last look at Quebec City, my home for the last three and a half seasons. 

I had any choice in team all those years ago, when I was putting on tryouts for junior teams, trying to be noticed. It's easy to play the what-if game of if I'd gone elsewhere. Maybe I'd have a ring, or more individual accolades. But in the end, I went with the team I felt was the right pick for me in the moment. Quebec City had a promising young group of rookies, they needed the help, and they had a culture as good as any in the J.
 
But that's what life's about - living in the moment. Especially in junior hockey, where your career is a ticking time bomb. Eventually, it explodes, it's done, and everyone has to turn to a new page. That time is now. And it doesn't feel any less painful. Losing a final is one thing. Losing a final in OT? I don't care if it's Game 7 or Game 4, that shit stings. At least if you're losing in regulation, you see that clock and you savor every last moment while trying to fight another day. Losing in OT? It's like a sledgehammer to the skull. It's just one big blow. You're done. There is no countdown to savor. Just the desperation to try and keep it going, the heartbreak of the moment, and the pain of the reality.

The old city eventually fades. A new tapestry emerges as this train continues its trip southwest. The train is surrounded by green forest. Fir trees, from the looks of things. I'm reminded of our first playoffs together. The upset win over Colorado, which ironically came in OT. The joy when the run kept going as we gave the Timber a run and took a 3-1 lead. The gloom that set in after we lost Game 7 in OT. But it's okay - we had five years, we arrived a bit ahead of schedule.

Then the fifth year was scrapped - probably the right call by J head office in the grand scheme of things. But our team really started to take flight. The rookies I played with developed into All-Stars, myself included. The team rose the ranks, we won our division, and took it all the way to the final where...yeah, we ran into a buzzsaw dynasty in Newfoundland at the peak of its power. We were good, and we gave it a battle. But they were great, on another level. On one knee, after Game 4, seeing them celebrating on the ice, I put it in the back of my head. Every time I took to the ice I didn't want to feel that again. And we were terrific in the regular season.

Problem was, we were only great. Not quite all-time great...which Detroit was. They had one of the greatest seasons in J history, we ran into them in the semis, and like the Newfoundland series we gave them a fight. But they weren't leaving any crumbs on the table. Sweep. They win the Four Star. It's okay, they're having an exodus, and we'll have one last shot. We even got one of their elite d-men as a rental. And now, I had winning experience - I'd won the World Juniors with the DACH team, then gone on to debut for the national team - a long-held dream of mine. We won that, too, and I had a blast in Salzburg. We have the squad, and now the winning experience. Surely this is our year, right?

Except, a new plot twist emerges. Major rule changes. That caught us out, especially me - after two years of being great, one of which was the second-best offensive season by a J defender ever, I had my worst season since my rookie year. Most of that production for me came in the second half, where we adapted and finally started to click. We entered the playoffs on a roll, rattling off five wins in a row. 

Regina and St. Louis proved tricky, but we punched our ticket to our second final of my time here. This time there was no tomorrow. We were in it for the now. Aaaaaand...here's a team that's 8-0 in the playoffs. Make that 12-0, after two blowouts and two heartbreaking OT losses, the last of which came in Game 4. It hits you like a falcon punch. That was it. There is no next chance. We're done. A Four Star ring wouldn't ever sit on my finger. There was no savoring those final moments. It was just...sudden.

We were a great team. But in the playoffs, we constantly ran into some of the greatest teams of all time. A dynasty, at the peak of its powers; the best regular season J team ever; and a team that blitzkreiged the playoffs so badly that you wondered what the point was of having the playoffs. It's Mark Martin syndrome: one of the best, going against THE best.

The train rolls on, passing through Montreal. I could've chosen to fly or drive. But driving is lonely, and flying....eh. I don't feel like dealing with airport bullshit when I'm in this kind of mood - at least until I have to fly to Winnipeg for the IIHF World Championships. And I realize, in this very city next season, I'll be seeing one of my QC teammates, not as a comrade, but as an adversary, protagonists in the Toronto/Montreal rivalry that was renewed in this year's SHL playoffs.

We've won together and lost together, and now the guys I came through with will go our separate ways. There was no storybook ending, of a talented group of players coming through and ringing together. Lots of great memories, and three and a half seasons I wouldn't trade for the world. Amazing teammates from Day 1, and many more came in along the way. I can't name them all - Time, Versi, Fiske, Bordeleau, Hayden, Moxii, Thompson, the Koves, Skovgaard, and many many more. 

It's onto a new frontier. From the old French city to the hub of English Canada. I don't know what awaits me next. But no matter what happens from here, I take so many seasons of memories with me. A new journey begins. 

It just sucks this one didn't get the ending it deserved.

(1139 words, ready for grading.)