January always feels like a grind here in Winnipeg. The days are short, routines feel heavier and even when nothing goes wrong, everything still takes more effort than it should. That is why the third Monday in January has been given the label “Blue Monday,” branding it as the most depressing day of the year. The formula behind the day has been widely mocked, but the idea still lands. 

For me, the feeling of Blue Monday overlaps with another Winnipeg pattern, the Jets as a civic mood tracker. I am not saying the Jets are the most important thing in anyone’s life, or that hockey should matter more than the real issues people are dealing with. I am saying that in a city where winter can easily wear people down, the team can provide a shared lift. When the Jets are rolling, people seem lighter. When they are not, the mood can shift. 

This is far from a scientific claim, but it can change the tone of a day. It gives people something simple to talk about that is not work, rent or whatever is making headlines that week. Loss does the opposite. It does not ruin anything, but it can make everything feel a bit flatter. It becomes one more small disappointment in a month that has already had enough of those.

I also say this as a Jets fan who does not fit the usual background story. I am from Nova Scotia and am the only Jets fan I know from there, which still makes me laugh. I moved to Manitoba for my degree, but I also joke that the real reason I came here was to be able to watch the Jets in person. It is a joke, but it is also not totally a joke. Being in Winnipeg makes the Jets feel less like a team you check in on and more like something built into the week.

I have also been lucky as a fan because, until this year, I had never been to a Jets game where they have lost. That streak ended against the Ottawa Senators, which stung a little extra because Ottawa is not exactly a powerhouse, and they are also my brother’s favourite team. Watching that loss felt like getting hit from two directions at once — the Jets dropping a game at home and my brother feeling satisfaction while I was stuck feeling and living the loss in real time. 

That is what I mean when I say the Jets can affect the feeling of a week. Not because the loss is tragic, it is not, but because it lands in the time of year when people are already tired. In January, small things tend to stack up, and lately the news never stops. Then you check the score, hoping for something that feels uncomplicated, and instead you get another night where nothing clicks. 

People need things that are not high stakes. They need something they can care about without it feeling heavy. Sports can do that, at least when they are fun. The point is not that hockey matters more than housing, health care or the state of the world. The point is that a lot of people feel burned out, and it helps to have something that feels simple. It does not need to be profound, but it is nice when it is shared.

I am also feeling this more because this is my last year in Manitoba. I have gotten used to the routine of watching the Jets during the hardest part of winter, and I have gotten used to the way the team becomes part of the atmosphere here. Knowing I will not be living in Winnipeg next season makes every home game feel more meaningful. It also makes it more frustrating that the season has had a long stretch of losses. If you are going to have your final Winnipeg winter, you want the fun version of the Jets, not the stressful one. 

To be clear, the Jets are not responsible for my nervous system, and Blue Monday is not a real holiday. A hockey team is not supposed to carry a city emotionally. Yet, it can still shape public morale in small, noticeable ways. In January, people take their small wins where they can get them. Sometimes that win is a Jets win. Sometimes it is just having something to look forward to on a Tuesday night. When even that stops being fun, you can feel it. 

That does not mean hockey is everything. It means people need something that is light, because so much else is not.