For as long as I can remember, I've been a Devils fan. I grew up in New Jersey. I played hockey for the youth Devils. I own tons of green-and-red Devils paraphernalia. I have painted "Lets Go Devils" on both the rear bumper of my Jetta and my face. I cried when they traded Brendan Shanahan and when they lost to the Rangers in '94.

Saturday night after Game 7, I cried again.

Call me a sap, a softie, too emotional, whatever you like, but like every one of the 20,000 pompom-waving, Roy-chanting, Avs crazies in the Pepsi Center, I got caught up in the moment. See, I wasn't crying for the Devils, I was crying for Ray Bourque. Yes, I was a little sad that my hometown team couldn't pull out a victory, but when Captain Joe Sakic handed Lord Stanley over to Bourque to raise for the first time in 21 years, I got a little misty-eyed. And when Ray hoisted the Cup over his head and kissed it, I got goose bumps, and I actually cried.

That's why we love hockey. A 40-year-old, gutting out a few extra seasons in a last-ditch effort to have his name etched into Lord Stanley's silver skin. You've got to respect Ray Bourque and his "Mission 16W" -- Ray Bourque and his mission accomplished. You've got to feel for Ray's kids, hanging in there, knowing that their father had waited his entire life, and theirs, for this moment.

Now Ray Bourque can retire a happy man, and I, a die-hard, lifelong Devils fan, am happy for him.

Lindsay Berra covered the NHL playoffs for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail lindsay.berra@espnmag.com.