Wait, hockey鈥檚 back on? Oops. Was I the only one who hadn鈥檛 noticed it was gone?
Well, that鈥檚 not quite true. Thinking back on it, it was obvious to any Victorian that hockey was on hiatus.
The bars were more laid-back, more pleasant, more convivial. You could find a seat in Garrick鈥檚 Head on what would have been game night. There were no disappointing evenings where 鈥淟et鈥檚 find a pub!鈥� turned into 鈥淟et鈥檚 go home, there鈥檚 nowhere to drink.鈥�
You could sit with a friend and have a decent conversation without having to shout over the strident, self-aggrandizing wheezing of Don Cherry鈥檚 game analysis. You could strike up a conversation with the good-looking stranger at the next table without watching his eyes drift back to the TV screen every few seconds.
Yeah, I鈥檓 really going to miss it.
But before I get smacked with the unpatriotic stick, let me say that there are times when I wish I liked hockey. When I moved to Montreal, hockey fandom gave my colleagues an instant topic of conversation. They had nothing in common yet, but by god, they could talk about hockey! I picked up enough clich茅s that I could pass for an average-level fan if I used enough bluster (鈥淯gh, Habs fans, am I right?鈥�) but the pause in my sentence as I tried to remember if I was talking about the Grey Cup or the Stanley Cup usually gave me away.
Of course, I wish it weren鈥檛 so violent. I鈥檓 not OK with a sport that could be played cleanly injecting as much violence as possible in a bald attempt to up its ratings. I鈥檓 not OK with what that says about the game鈥檚 fans, and I鈥檓 not OK with what message that sends to the children who are just getting into the sport.
I鈥檓 not OK with the culture of elite entitlement and braggadocio that surrounds so many professional sports organizations.
I wish that the paycheques weren鈥檛 so disgustingly grandiose.
I really, really wish that the players wouldn鈥檛 spit and drool in interviews.
(I cannot fathom why we stick cameras into athletes鈥� faces when they鈥檙e sweaty and dripping in the locker room. They all say the exact same thing: 鈥淲e gave it our best shot鈥� or 鈥淚t was a really strong play鈥� or something like that. What鈥檚 the point?)
So yeah, there are some serious barriers to my enjoyment of Hockey Night in Canada.
But despite all that, I wish I liked hockey. Explaining to people (well, other 91原创s) that you don鈥檛 like hockey pegs you as suspect.
We鈥檙e almost as bad as people who don鈥檛 drink beer, or who don鈥檛 listen to rock. You just can鈥檛 trust 鈥檈m to have a good time.
On my way back from Whistler, my friends and I drove past a frozen lake. Young kids were spilling clumsily out of their parents鈥� minivans onto the ice, sticks in their gloved hands. It was terrific, like something out of a 91原创 Heritage moment. Hockey fans, I have never wanted so much to be part of your world. (Full disclosure: Sometimes, Tim Hortons commercials make me tear up.)
So hockey fans, I don鈥檛 understand your weird love of violence on the ice, or your strange patience for the millionaires who sulkily negotiate their pay increases, but you talk about your favourite players as if they鈥檙e your favourite characters in a soap opera. You talk about plays as if they鈥檙e the plot of a comic book, and now you鈥檙e breathlessly waiting for the next issue to come out. And I get that.
While I鈥檓 not looking forward to having your silly sport blaring from the TV screens in the Beagle once again, I guess I鈥檓 happy for you. I imagine it鈥檚 like waiting for Scott Lynch to finish his next book, or for Downton Abbey to get renewed, or for Star Trek to hurry up and get into theatres already.
I don鈥檛 get your obsession, but I鈥檓 glad you鈥檝e got it back. I just wish you weren鈥檛 so loud about it. The rest of us are trying to drink in peace, goshdarnit.
