For a brief moment they cheered
I probably scored as many goals as anyone else in the neighbourhood, back when the only recreation available to teenage boys involved cheap sticks, a lacrosse ball and an empty parking lot. Goal posts made from blocks of ice, and stamina that kept us “on goal” for hours at a time. We had nothing to do with, and nothing but admiration for the “real” hockey players. Those who wore skates and one of the sacred six jerseys.
But, we grew older, found other things to do during the long winters, and the corporate world decided that if six was good, well, sixty might be better. I know, it only felt like sixty new teams, but here we are in the ’00’s with far too many for me to even know where the cities of the NHL might lie. Shabby geography skills.
I was surprised when son #1 asked to borrow (no, not the car) the living room this evening. Tonight marked the end of the pre-season. The one before the playoff season. The one that all the teams must try to join, or else face the ire of the season ticket holders. Tonight, it came down to a match between Montreal and Toronto, for a final playoff berth. Important stuff, if tradition can be trusted.
With visions of loud shouting and agressive TV coaching, the wife and son #3 headed off to the safety of a movie theatre, and the dog and I battened down the proverbial hatches. By gametime, a small crowd assembled in the cheap seats, and the game began.
It was loud, by moments. It went for exactly the forecast two hours and some minutes, and then the crowd went home, dragging my sons along. Safety in numbers. The “local” team did not win, and the earth did not shift in its orbit. Cleanup took me just over a minute.
So that’s what hockey fever is like in the new century…
