Being the Bigger Person

Originally published April 2009, updated January 2026.

The Montreal Canadiens were eliminated from the playoffs last night.

I should be gracious about this. I should acknowledge that the Bruins were the better team, that Carey Price played well despite the loss, that Habs fans have nothing to be ashamed of. I should be the bigger person.

I'm not going to be.

The Rivalry

If you don't understand the Toronto-Montreal rivalry, none of this will make sense to you. It's not rational. It's not about what happened this season, or last season, or any individual game. It's generational. It's cultural. It's baked into what it means to be a hockey fan in Canada.

The Canadiens have won 24 Stanley Cups. The Leafs haven't won since 1967. Montreal fans never let us forget this. Not ever. Not for a single moment.

So when the Habs lose? When they get bounced in the first round? When their season ends in disappointment?

Yeah. I'm going to enjoy this.

A Confession

Here's something I'm not supposed to admit: I actively root against the Canadiens. Not just when they play the Leafs—that's expected. But always. In every game. Against every opponent.

When Montreal makes the playoffs and Toronto doesn't, I don't root for Canadian unity or Original Six brotherhood. I root for whoever's playing Montreal. I root for elimination. I root for sadness on St. Catherine Street.

Is this healthy? Probably not. Is it honest? Absolutely.

The Problem With Being Gracious

Sports media tells us we should be gracious. We should respect the game. We should appreciate our rivals and treat their losses with dignity.

I call nonsense on that.

The whole point of rivalry is that it means something. When your rival loses, you're supposed to feel good about it. That's not being a bad person—that's being a sports fan. The Habs fans certainly don't hold back when the Leafs suffer. Why should I?

Being the bigger person is overrated. Sometimes you just want to watch the world burn, provided that world is wearing red, white, and blue and playing in the Bell Centre.

What Leafs Fans Know

We know our team hasn't won in forever. We know our rivals have more banners, more history, more recent success. We know that by every objective measure, the Canadiens organization has been better than ours.

But we also know this: when you haven't won since 1967, you take joy where you can find it. And watching Montreal lose? That's joy. Pure, petty, glorious joy.

Is it a substitute for the Leafs actually winning something? Of course not. I would trade every Habs elimination for one Leafs Cup. But until that day comes, I'll take what I can get.

To Habs Fans

I know some of you will read this. I know you'll mock us in the comments, point out that we didn't make the playoffs, remind us about 1967. That's fine. That's what rivalry is.

Just know this: we're watching. Every year, we're watching. And every year you lose, we're smiling.

Not because we hate you personally. Not because we're bad people. But because this is sports, and sports without passion is just grown men chasing a rubber disc.

Better luck next year. Or not. Preferably not.

The Broader Point

People who don't follow sports often ask why we care so much about teams we don't play for. Why does Montreal losing make a Toronto fan happy? We're not on the ice. We have no control over the outcome.

But that's missing the point. Sports fandom is about belonging to something bigger than yourself. It's about shared history, shared pain, shared joy. The rivalry with Montreal isn't just hockey—it's a story we've been telling ourselves for a hundred years.

My grandfather hated the Habs. My father hates the Habs. I hate the Habs. Someday, my kids will hate the Habs. That's tradition. That's heritage. That's what makes this whole ridiculous enterprise worth caring about.

So no, I won't be the bigger person tonight. I'll enjoy this. The Leafs might be bad, but at least we're not watching our team golf in late April.

Wait. We are watching our team golf. But that's different. Somehow.