They shoot, they score, over and over
Up here in Canada, there are a certain number of things that are inevitable; snow, mosquitoes, cascaded taxes, potholes and hockey on TV. Given the number of sports networks, the value to advertisers and the propensity of a certain subset to stare fixedly at any screen with a black dot, hockey rises to the top of the subject vat this evening. It’s not my fault.
The boys have discovered the fraternity of the beer and hockey set, so either we’re listening to the soundtrack or watching them leave to listen to it at someone else’s house. This evening I was lulled by a Willie Nelson tribute show when one of them switched channels. Like a moth to a flame, I joined in the ritual for about twenty minutes (all games have to end sometime).
In a world with too many cities and too many franchises, this particular game involved two of the “real teams”. Boston vs. Montreal, just like in the “good old days”. Teams with sweaters that recall the Eaton’s catalogue and bubble gum cards. Familiar logos, even if none of the players were alive when I was a kid. I’ll admit it; it was a good show. No cheap checks, no brawls, just highly skilled players in a fest of goal scoring. Quick, precise goals, with no “luck” to taint the colour. It doesn’t matter that the better team didn’t win this evening; there’s another match come Monday.
Now, we’re early in the “second season”. In a worst case scenario, there will still be hockey on TV come the second week of June. “My team” (imagine the phrase with an intonation of pride) is on a “Drive For Twenty-five” according to the sports pages, and it’s too soon to be taking bets on whether or not they’ll go the distance. Try to imagine Montreal, on a hot summer’s night, with The Cup in town. Scary.
Will I watch any more games. Probably… after all, it’s a national requirement.
