If you don’t know me by now, let me assure you that I will never – ever – cheer for a team from New England. Actually, I hope every team has a big goose egg in the “W” column for the entire season. So, obviously when I was watching the Stanley Cup Final, I was cheering for Vancouver all the way. (Sidebar: I probably would’ve been anyway, since I utterly despise any team in the East who’s not the Sabres.)

I seriously thought Vancouver would take it in four games. But, even as I watched the clock tick down Wednesday night in Game 7, I had to give it to the City of Vancouver: they were classy. Giving their team a standing ovation – after they blew the series and was basically a no-show to the most important game they’ll ever play. But nonetheless, there they stood, cheering their team, thanking them for a great season. I said to my husband, “Look at them. Now that’s class. Vancouver is such a classy city.” Not kidding. That’s a direct quote.

Imagine my surprise when I wake up Thursday morning to hear of the riots that took place on the streets after the game. I thought it was a joke, until pictures started to surface and the veil covering my eyes was lifted. The City of Vancouver is like that two-faced bitch you went to high school with – one moment she’s all like, “There, there. It’s OK. We looove you.” The next she’s using a Sharpie to tell everyone who will ever visit the ladies room that you have herpes.

So thanks for nothing, Vancouver. You made my husband utter words that are grounds for divorce in my house: “I’m glad Boston won.”

Not cool. Not cool at all.