Hockey nights in Canada...

Yes, I'm just like a healthy majority of Canadian boys. I love hockey. I love April/May because it invariably means that if you get both CBC & TSN, you can watch 2-3 hockey games every night for a month and a half. Everything in life should be so easy and so within reach. Well, maybe not everything. Seafood can stay well away. In fact, it can stay in the sea. Let's quantify. All good things should be so easy and within reach. You know; pizza, grilled cheese, pepsi, hockey, rock and roll, hot sex, peanut buster parfaits, Christopher Guest movies, cherry kool-aid (Oh Yeah!) and quality television (a whole other blog - Lost, American Idol, Desperate Housewives and anything produced, executive produced, assistant produced, associate produced or co-executive associate assistant produced by Marc Burnett do not qualify as quality television). Right. I was talking about hockey.

I played hockey for 12 years. I was pretty good. Too small to go very far, but we'll never know how far, because my career was effectively ended when I was 16 years old and I had two full dislocations of the shoulder and a broken nose in the same season. My team (Midget AA, I think) went on to win the provincial title without me. Anyway, the best I can now do is live vicariously through the television. Aside, of course, from making my own team and dominating at the PS2 & Xbox variations of the game (although I was challenged by my 8 year old cousin a few weeks ago - he beat me in game 1 - 2nd OT, of course - before I thoroughly schooled the boy and shut him out in 3 straight games. Tough love, tough love.) I was - in fact - the Ryerson residence champion for 2 years running and we went on to form an inter-university rivalry with the McGill champ who is now a friend of mine. I believe our lifetime series tally sits at 3-2 in my favour.

Anyway, spring means playoffs. And playoff hockey is - far and away - the best sport to watch on television. I could list the guys who exemplify it: Steve Yzerman, Doug Gilmour, Martin Brodeur, Gary Roberts, Mark Messier. And now Ryan Smyth. The guy got hit in the face with a puck and had to leave the game. He lost three teeth and got eight stitches, but was back a period later. BOY, did he look pale. But he set up the game winning goal in triple overtime. Having just had some teeth issues, I can't imagine how much that must have hurt to play. Breathing was painful for me - let alone having people purposely trying to knock you over at high velocities. Anyway, he's just the latest in a series of these playoff Gods. They transcend the extraordinary skills that put them in the record books and they display something more. It's heart, it's desperation, it's savage hunger, it's being within an arm's reach of a lifelong dream. And we get to watch it every year. It's magic.

Since my team is golfing right now(although I'm ecstatic they just hired Paul Maurice!), all I can do is pray the Senators allow the inevitable repetition of history and hope that the Oilers go all the way. Everyone loves an underdog, right? And when a team inspires prose like this quote from tsn.ca you have to be equal parts awed and disgusted.

"Oilers forward Georges Laraque, who was kicked out Wednesday (May 10th) halfwa through the game for lining Jonathan Cheechoo's head against the boards and appearing to spike it like a volleyball, said no one has the advantage."

Call me crazy, but I think the guy who's able to line people's heads up and spike them like a volleyball gives his team a distinct advantage. That and a guy who can gain eight stitches, lose three teeth and a pint of blood in one game. That's dedication. My hope is a Buffalo vs Edmonton final. Speed and grit vs speed and heart. Dig it.