Hang gliding on a Dorito

Man, another crummy day. Been feeling lately like every time I solve a problem, whether it's work or hockey obligations or whatever, the solution just presents another problem bigger than the one before it. I was feeling pretty down today, but I had a game to play and I knew I needed it to shake off the dumps.

Then I get halfway to the rink and realize I left my stick at home. I knew the other goalie always brings two sticks so it would probably be okay, but it was more of that feeling like a colossal fuckup.

I get there and hey, look, it's Scott TFCG working with the prep goalies! I never get to see Scotty any more and he's one of my favorite people, so that was nice to have a little chat and that lifted my mood. He stuck around and played our drop in for a little while. I sucked at the start and let in a cluster of goals. I don't know if this was his intention or not, but he had a clean shot at me and put it right in my belly. I was grateful for the easy save and it calmed me down and I played better after that.

My second half was quite good actually, and I was happy to find that the pain in my leg is not nearly as noticeable tonight. It's still there but didn't distract me once I got confidence that it wasn't going to cripple me if I played fully.

What stunk was the pegs for the nets were missing. That's probably the best I've played with slippery nets, but man is that annoying. Only benefit: No blade dings. :)

Anyway, no dumb goals tonight, so I like that about myself, and I like myself and I have a lot of other great qualities as well.



The hot shot I call Crosby has been trying to score on me 5-hole for a few weeks now. He finally got me tonight when he dished a rebound between my knees as I was trying to move across. He was pretty pleased with himself, and I was pretty pleased that I'd made it hard for him. So to speak. Everybody wins!

As I was driving home, I had that all too rare feeling like all was right with the world. In fact, I really felt that from the time I got to the rink. I talked to my folks on the phone this afternoon and we were having a laugh when I said that I didn't think my body was real fond of the things I do to it lately cuz something's always hurting. Dad said, "Yeah, we really passed on those family athletic genes to you, didn't we?" Ha, yeah, the what now? Not an athletic person in the bunch. Dad plays golf. My uncle was a mascot in high school. That's about it.

Anyway, I stood there waiting for the zam to run and finish dressing and just kinda took in the scene around me. If you'd told me I'd be a hockey goalie even 5 years ago, I would have laughed in your face and told you to seek treatment. I dunno, maybe I make too much of this, but seriously, I was in band and the newspaper editor in high school. At the dog park, I throw the ball and the dog looks at me like, "That's the best you got?" I have really severe vision issues related to tracking a moving object.

I'm a writer, an artist, a nerd, a couch potato. I'm everything a goalie isn't and yet, here I stand with big leg pads on and literally twitching to get on the ice, knowing this is the most meaningful hour of my week. Rarely does a day go by where I don't marvel at the chain of events that led to this. I'm so lucky. Someone's looking out for me, that's for sure.

Nonnie, if it's you, can you work some glove hand magic for me?

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My take on "Women and Sports"

Very rude of me to post on top of myself, but whatever. I'll get over it. I was just reminded of something I wanted to throw a few words up about.

My buddy Buddha posted this yesterday on women in sports fields, either as players, reporters, front office, etc.: Women and Sports. It's a good read and puts me in the same bucket as Sarah Spain, for which I apologize to Ms. Spain because she's way fuckin' awesomer than me. I've never gotten an NHLer to sing Fergie and I look ridiculous in pigtails.

It's a good read and I'm flattered to be mentioned, but every time I read something along these lines (and then the ensuing comments), I guess I'm a little surprised that mens' perceptions of them in a sports context is still such an issue for so many women.

It absolutely hasn't been for me and I'm left to sit and think about why that is.

Am I just really lucky? Well, yeah, as I mentioned in my last post, with my fellow Aeros writers (and on up to the Wild where Russo has also been very good to me), I am surrounded by people who support what I do. The PR guys have always been professional toward me and if I've ever felt any slight, I've always interpreted that as more because I'm not always writing the straightest material about their team. That's just what I do and I take some risks as a result.

Or maybe it's because I really don't attempt at any pretense. I'm pretty up front with my take on hockey and I'm an open book really. Things you have to know:

1. I love this game more than anything. I love sports in general, but I think hockey is the greatest sport ever and that's really and truly the bottom line. 
2. I'm obsessed with goalies so much that in spite of being old and completely lacking in athleticism, I had to become one.
3. Hockey players are, by and large, pretty foxy and I don't mind saying it. It's not what I'm about as a sports fan, but Christ, I'm supposed to NOT appreciate those strong, lean bodies? Please. You're dead inside if you're not enjoying the view.
4. Brusty Brusty Brusty Brusty

The other thing is that I'm not really into this, "We are sportswomen, hear us roar" thing. I think part of that is because what I see, at least from some hockey blogging women, is that they're trying to dictate how women should relate to sport as part of their agenda. It's this overcompensation of being serious and demanding respect and how dare you think I might wanna tap that?!

I've said it before and I'll say it again. For shit's sake, just be genuine. Don't apologize for your unique relationship to the game just because some women's libber wants to poo-poo you for liking a player just a little extra because he's got eyes the color of the ocean. *sigh*

Bottom line, any man who insists that you prove your "legitimacy" as a sports fan is a man whose opinion doesn't matter. And maybe that's just my weird take on feminism, but to me it doesn't mean equality or being like the guys or demanding respect. It means the freedom to be who I am without apology, to men OR women.

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Have you hugged your stay-at-home D-man lately?

So, I KNEW a plate full of garlic parmesan wings wasn't good game day food, but I did it anyway, and paid the price with a lethargic game tonight. And I had no excuse. The rest of the skaters, including the other goalie, did a power skating class before our scrimmage, and while it didn't look real vigorous, I know how deceptively hard those power skating classes are.

I'm pretty sure our team lost but it was a scrimmage and there were some iffy goals and the score board wasn't very studiously attended to, so I'm not exactly sure what the final damage was, but I wasn't pleased with my play. First goal was super soft 5-hole. Another got me 5-hole while I was moving.

Actually, really only a couple of goals I don't feel bad about. One was a really nice breakaway and a great shot. The other I was screened badly and never saw the shot go off. I could tell by what I *could* see of the skater that he was about to shoot, so I dropped and it was a hard glove side shot that hit the bottom of my glove and went on in. I just wasn't ready for where it came, but I felt like I did all I could.

I mentioned we have all these new people at novice, which is awesome, and one of my new defensemen, I'm just in love with. He's a stay at home guy, and he's competent and has some hockey sense and can skate pretty well, but isn't so dominant that he has to let up, so his play is very predictable. He tells me when I have the puck on a save when I'm not sure I have it. OMG, I love that in a d-man so much. I need to ask him what his name is next week. I can't just keep calling him "Inside Out Jersey Guy"... but regardless, I love you, IOJG! He would get happy cats and lens flares if he were a Jays player.

It wasn't all sucky for me though. I had some good stops but damn, I think I froze the puck maybe twice? It was Rebound City around my net, but my team did a great job clearing. Did a lot of work on my knees though, like a pin ball machine, kicking second, third, and fourth chances out. Been doing more of that since I came back and I'm not sure why.

Anyway, I was way more tired than usual. Not sure if it's just that I've had a draining weekend or really about how few carbs I ate today. Friday night was the Iron Maiden concert where we stood and dripped sweat for 2 hours. Yuck. Then I spent all day Saturday at the beach. Well, on the porch of a beach house. Where I thought I was okay without sunscreen because I was in the shade. WRONGO! My face is red red red. I even have a knee brace sunburn. So that was kinda draining, too. I dunno. Just not my night.

Tomorrow night at SLICE may be a little rough. I'm not up to that speed yet, but my skating felt totally back to normal tonight, so that is great, and the knee definitely hurt less. Dinged the fuck out of my blades tonight though. Need to go early so I can take the stone to them. Yeesh.

Have my first Physical Therapy appt tomorrow morning, too. No clue what to expect from that. Don't really know whether to focus on the knee problem in particular or just show them what I do as a goalie, how I hurt it, and how I work the right muscles to avoid that. I guess that's why they're the pros.

Anyway, as a closing thought, there I was, 2nd period, kinda realizing I wasn't playing so great, but still having a helluva time and I just thought, "My god, hockey is the greatest game on earth. I'm so lucky to be doing this." Hockey is transcendent. It's magic. The joy of playing hockey... just playing... is amazing. I wish two things:

• That everyone who WANTS to play finds a way to do it. I know it's expensive and inconvenient, but man, there's nothing else like it. 
• That everyone who takes it too seriously lightens up and has a laugh and forgets the scoreboard and just PLAYS occasionally. It's so wonderful for adults to "play" at something, and yeah, sometimes you have to grind it out, but sometimes it feels great to just play, like a little kid. Kinda in one ear and out the other. 

Much love to the people who contributed to my interest in playing and who continue to support me through the ups and downs, especially the goalie fraternity. I'm so blessed.

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Quick Hits: DP_57, bloggers, Gregg, withdrawal

I keep hoping St. Louis Blues David Perron will drunk tweet or something. He can't really be as "gee whiz," straight-laced as his Twitter persona, right?

I mean, I'm not looking for him to be rolling shirtless in a limo with a bunch of ladies of questionable attractiveness or beating up cab drivers, but surely there's some edge in there somewhere? Maybe a naughty Eagle Scout badge he earned? Cougar Snaring? I dunno.

Get drunk and do something marginally unethical, boy. If you're not using a few of those free passes they hand out at the "Dude, You Won't Fuckin' Believe the Chicks You're About to Get: An Introduction to Being a Pro Athlete" seminar, then how can we live vicariously through you? Sheesh.

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I love when someone has a totally fresh, weird, twisted, strange take on something that's been beat to death by a thousand other people. This how it happens a lot in bloggerdom:

1. News "event" happens (actual newsworthiness may vary)
2. All the legit people (beat writers, THN guys, etc.) tweet it in a boring legit way, maybe with a dash of analysis or snark from the ones we'd actually wanna have a beer with (sorry Mirtle)
3. All the bloggers RT or rephrase the legit people
4. All the bloggers then take turns whacking at it like it's on fire
5. All the bloggers giggle at how clever we were on that subject
6. The really ambitious bloggers will then go blog about it, whether it's how it relates to their team, how it makes them feel, how it's Gary Bettman's fault, how it affects Phoenix moving to Winnipeg, where it makes them itch or tingle, etc.

You see stuff hashed and rehashed and re-rehashed until it's a bloody pulp and everyone is tired of the smell.

But occasionally there's someone who is just out there doing their own thing. They react to news but in their own way completely. There aren't many like this but I cherish the ones who have the creativity to do it. A couple of my favorites in hockeydom are Down Goes Brown and The Willful Caboose. I can see new posts from these guys (okay, guy and gal) and know I'm going to get a fresh take every single time.

I was thinking about this because I ran into one for baseball. I don't even understand what's going on really, and I don't even care about the Phillies. But I don't care about Buffalo either, so clearly that doesn't stop me. Anyway it's called I want to go to the zoo with Roy Halliday. Because, who wouldn't? They even have t-shirts. My favorite is the "Kids Drink Free" shirt. Ha! Philly fan...

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baseball

Kevin Gregg makes me want to drop-kick puppies. Even when he wins, it's done so tenuously, it's almost like a moral loss, where you won, but you played so shitty, you probably didn't deserve it. I've never been so frustrated with an athlete for "almost not" winning. Normally I'd find that pretty exciting, but when it's your closer, it feels like a root canal. It's odd and extremely unpleasant. I can't even imagine how the starters must feel.

I'm thisclose to starting a I want to punch Kevin Gregg in the face blog. He'll have to take those stupid looking glasses off first though. I'm delicate. But I bet Brett Cecil would hold him down for me while I do it. Mmm. Cecilicious.

/baseball

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Hockey is over. It's been over several times. Aeros season ended (sans playoffs) and it was over. Constantine left town and it was over. Brusty left town and it was over. All the teams I was fond of in the playoffs were eliminated and it was over. And now, it's just over. Yeah, the AHL finals are still going on, and I'm pulling for Texas, but whatever. It's over.

I always feel a little lost and rudderless this time of year. I'm cranky and withdrawn and, well, depressed. That's really what it is.

But this ain't my first rodeo and I know it will pass. We've got the draft coming, then Free Agency, then AUGUST (FU, you sweaty, worthless POS month), then things start to happen and life becomes worth living again.

Hockey Season.

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You love Carcillo. Admit it.

Watching tonight's game 2 and reading the tweets and seeing the stories being written, I can't believe how much fuss there was about Dan Carcillo playing in this game, before, during, and after. *chirp chirp chirp*

As much as everyone says they hate Carcillo and all those similar NHL villains, you love it and you know it. You love having someone to hate. Because that's how passion works. You have passionate love for your team, your guys, your way. But you have to have the flip side, right? You have to have those players you love to hate. Avery. Carcillo. Tucker. Pronger.

Before Avery got his lobotomy and became a boring douchebag rather than the interesting prick he used to be, that was always my stance. I love that the guy brings an edge to the game that most other guys are too stuffy or noble or well-behaved to bring. Would I want everyone doing that? Of course not. But a little shit stirring is good for a culture and every great story needs the antagonist.

Sure, the game is beautiful and is theoretically "enough," but for those of us immersed in it day after day, for those of us who tell the stories of the game, who live and die with each shot or save or trade or draft, we want these guys. We want them to be jerks, we want them to succeed, we want them to fail, we want karma to kick their lousy asses. It's great theater.

It's the bleu cheese crust on the filet mignon of hockey. It doesn't NEED it but sometimes it's a delicious, odorous change of pace.

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Notes from last night and Getting my stuff done (updated)

I was so tired after the Aeros game, from sleeplessness the last two nights and from willing that puck to stay out of Barry's net, that I had to go back this morning and remember what I wrote for T3I. All I know is that the stick figure is my second favorite of the season (the Montoya one still just cracks me up too much to get bumped out of first).

It was, of course, a take off of Monty Python's Black Knight from The Holy Grail (h/t to John for making that connection as I was drawing the bloody stump):



During the second, I stood next to Hannu Toivonen, the Peoria back-up goalie (who ended up getting in the game after the third goal against with 15 minutes left). He's a quiet guy and spent most of the game talking to the equipment guy or whoever that was for Peoria. Did notice he had almost brand new pads though. Bright white still with just a few puck marks. Pretty.

Stark contrast to Chris Holt from last year who is a ball of infectious energy.

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Feeling overwhelmed with work and hockey obligations right now. If I get my work done, my hockey work doesn't get done. If I get my hockey work done, my real job suffers. One pays me money. One pays me in every other way. *sigh*

Not to say that I don't play a hand in that. If I were, you know, working right now instead of writing this blog, I'd be doing the right thing, but I had things on my mind and I had to get them off my mind so I could get my stuff done.



If you've ever wondered what it's like the telecommute. That video is pretty much it.

Of course for me, it's Twitter and Facebook and Google Reader and my blog and my delightful new vibrator that take the place of cleaning and going to the grocery store. Which means my house is a mess and I'm hungry on top of my stuff not being done.

That said, I really do have to get my stuff done. I've blogged. I've turned Twitter off. I do have the Wild game pulled up on my Slingbox. And with that one distraction, I vow right now to get my stuff done tonight.

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I've confirmed that I'll be at the Stars vs. Griffins game Tuesday in Austin. That should be fun. Looking forward to either scouting Todd Ford or cheering for Matt Climie. If I weren't going with work folks, I'd make a point to get a picture of him stretching, since he's also in my personal Goalie Stretch HOF.

Oh right, I was gonna get my stuff done now. Fuck.

UPDATE of stuff I've gotten done since I posted this:

• Discovered the software I'm trying to write about won't open for me, so now I have to work on something different
• Harding's hip explodes
• Anton goes in and I hold my breath for like 15 minutes while he makes 9 stops and looks amazing and I'm so fucking proud of him.
• Totally have twitter open the whole time. Like I'm supposed to sit there and talk to myself during all this? Bitch, please.
• Get like 6 new, legit followers on Twitter (why?)
• Remember I haven't eaten dinner
• Heading to get some dinner since I have no food in the house

SEE??? OMG How can I be such a failure at life and still be having so much fun? Ahhhhh.....

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Quick hits: Two doses of hockey

My awe at just how amazing hockey has been for me never ceases. Let me just say that the Wild organization has the two best "primary" beat writers in either league in Mike Russo and Andrew Ferraro.

You won't meet two guys who are more in tune with their team, have better relationships throughout the leagues, and are extremely generous with their time and passion for the game with fans and peers and really pretty much anyone who asks.

And to get to learn from them and watch them work is really something I never anticipated, but the advice and support have been phenomenal and unexpected, and therefore, that much more appreciated.

Got to finally meet Russo tonight, which was awesome. He was there with a large contingent of Wild folks, including Wild GM Chuck Fletcher (who always is younger-looking than I expect). Used to be, when Risebrough was in town, the boys would just crater and not just lose, but lose in the most miserable fashion.

But not tonight. So as much as I'd like to thump every last one of those guys between the eyes for not giving Brusty a chance, it's nice that either they didn't assert the same voodoo as the old regime did when they were in town... or maybe Abbotsford is really just that bad. (Actually, I think Abby really is that bad.)

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Anyway, I had to bail early to get to Sugar Land for drop-in. It was a fun night and there were more good players than usual, so I got lit up like a christmas tree. But I love that kind of challenge and I made some killer stops. My defense was amazing at times and more of a solution than the problem at times, but then, so was I, so I guess that's just how it goes. :)

Definitely one of those, "FUCK I LOVE BEING A GOALIE!" nights.

I was not hydrated enough though, so I got fuzzy headed later in the game. Literally, an opponent was 6 feet away from the side of my net and I went, "Oh! The puck's here!" Shit, girl. Wake up!

Snikpip came out to get a little hockey fix and took a good bit of video of me, which I'm terrified and excited to watch. He showed me a little bit of it, a no-goal that everyone thought went in. Suckahs!

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Okay, I get to hit the road at 5:30 to drive to Austin for work. It's a 2-day-long brainstorming session. Gonna bail early on Wednesday so I can get back for the Aeros game Wednesday night. Best make good time as there are eleventybajillion scouts in Texas right now and they have no problem just taking your seat and apologizing "sweetheart" later.

Though the one next to me (very close because we were crammed in like sardines) tonight says, "No snuggling!" and I said, "Awwww, come on! You're no fun!" :) Scouts are a funny lot. I'd love to just hang out with one for a while and understand how they work. I take furtive glances at their notes but none of makes sense to me, which makes me all the more curious.

Time to throw the laundry in the dryer and sleep. Not only did the hockey gods bless me with a fun game tonight, they made my Funyuns extra Funyuny. I think that means they love me. But then I think about how I've got a really sore oblique muscle, and a huge lump of a bruise on my inner thigh, and a crampy calf and I realize... maybe they're just helping me limp along. :) That's okay too. I'll take help where I can get it.

I love this song. Feeling far away from loved ones lately. Mr. C, my best friends, my parents. Feels like a good one.

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Goaler Plexus

I've always had really amazing friends. I think this happens because, frankly, you have to be a saint to put up with me, but also because fakers just won't pass muster. I don't have time for people I don't like, and I won't work very hard to pretend otherwise.

So, I've been blessed in the friend department. At times the numbers were thin but they were always high quality. Now I feel like I've got quality and quantity. What a lovely feeling! And that's mainly due to hockey, through which I have met a wealth of people whose very heartbeat says, "hock-ey hock-ey hock-ey," just like mine.

Many of them are goalies, because goalies somehow just find each other. It's a fraternity that I'm so proud to be a part of and on bad nights in goal, that's the group to whom I feel beholden to do better but who I know feel my pain, having been there themselves.

One of these goalie friends is Nicky and she's got a goalie friend who wrote this to her, describing her 5-1 loss the other day:

Sadly, nothing was going to salvage Sunday's game. I was *terrible*.
My luck shifted some later in the game. At one point my toe tie came unlaced, I stepped on it, fell down and landed on the puck.
Sometimes the hockey gods decide you've had enough and step in to save you from yourself.

I don't know if you guys are like me where you have a really visceral reaction to certain aspects of the position? I feel it right in the center of my chest, like where someone would poke you if they were goading you into a fight.

Anyway, I read that and felt it right in that spot. It's just heartbreaking and funny and spot on with the humility and triumph that go hand-in-hand as a goalie.

Honestly, does it get any better? I really don't think it does.

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Waxing poetic (again)

I dunno what it is about this week. The gallons of cough syrup, the lack of oxygen from coughing, not having my own playing anxiety to worry about?

Whatever the case, I'm so in love with the game right now.

It was nearly 13 years ago that I saw hockey for the first time in person. It was the Austin Ice Bats, who played in a drafty barn (literally) out East Austin. They were in the Western Professional Hockey League at the time (which later merged with the current Central Hockey League) and the quality of hockey could be described as "rec league with fighting."

But I sat there with my jaw in my lap, completely enthralled. The skill evident even at that level of the professional game astounded me. The grace and speed and incredible toughness. I was hooked on a sport for the first time ever.

And now that I've spent the last 3 or 4 years logging countless hours watching hockey, playing hockey, writing about it, I can still watch a guy skate, his blades cutting into the ice on sharp turns, leaving a fan of snow in his wake, and be awestruck by how simple and beautiful it is.

It's a testament to the game that we can still muster that kind of awe, no matter how long we've been fans of it.

And I don't think there's ever been a night where I sat down with my Center Ice subscription at 6 and didn't get up at 11 or 11:30 after the last game thinking, "Man, what a fun night of hockey." Even when my team stinks it up, someone else is out there doing something amazing.

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Man, what a fun night of hockey.

Seriously. The Wild/Preds game was very entertaining and while I'm still not anywhere near ready to say who won that trade, the pick-up of Lats, just on its own merit, has been a game changer so far. That line of Clutterbuck, Brodziak, and Lats has just been dynamic.

What I didn't expect is how much fun Lats is to watch. He's so big and strong and has terrific hockey sense and goes. to. the. net. Imagine that. Most guys twirl around the top of the circles, but the big dude just barrels in there, guns a'blazing, and creates chances. Color me impressed. It's like if Matt Foy had a brain and a sexy French accent.

The trick is, of course, to sustain this kind of jump after the honeymoon is over, and that's always the hard part.

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Another weird game for the Blades tonight in Toledo. Via the power of the internet, I've connected with both the team's beat writer for the Napes Daily News, who does a great job covering the team, and a fan who has a blog about them (http://swamphockeyfl.blogspot.com) and tweets them (@swamphockey).

Her nickname for Mike Morrison, "the other goalie" along with Brusty, is Rebound. Now, I haven't see him play to properly verify that the nickname is warranted, but it's funny enough that I just don't care; I'm calling him that anyway.

So, Rebound started the game but faced a lousy barrage of shots in the first period, letting in 2, and then he let in a third early in the second period and got the hook after 25 total minutes. Not sure what's in the gum Coach Cameron is chewing but he sure seems over this whole "never pull the goalie" hangup for which he has a reputation, unless maybe there was a bit of an injury in there.

Anyway, Brusty went in and shut. them. down. They had some great chances and he just got a toe or a glove or an elbow in the right spot to keep the puck out. Really great job out there.

Unfortunately, that vaunted offense of the Blades could only put two past the Toledo netminder and Morrison takes the loss. Pobrecito Reboundito.

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Keith Ballard broke another goalie (Craig Anderson) tonight. Wasn't his fault, but man, talk about a guy who needs a luck upgrade. If I'm Clemmensen or Salak, I'm getting a 10 foot restraining order.

Speaking of Clemmers, what do you think of his bright yellow stick?

I have to admit, if the yellow matched the yellow in his gear, I'd like it. But it's too bright, so I can't quite get there. But I appreciate his embracing the complete obnoxiousness of the Panthers' colors and being bold and different. Also... sick poke check in the shootout made even sicker with loud yellow stick. I unequivocally approve.

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Someone just searched for "goalie helmet sex paint jobs" and got my blog. I'm definitely doing something right here.

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Saying it again...

If you haven't set your Google Reader to subscribe to A Theory of Ice, which is among the most thoughtful writing about hockey you're going to find anywhere (think Ken Dryden's The Game), you're really missing out.

Don't be scared off by the long posts. They're not very frequent and they're dripping with goodness. Today's, especially, touched home on a variety of levels for me.

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Hockey, Bitches!

Ahhhhh.... I just watched professional hockey players play hockey. They skated, they fought, they scored, they saved, they blocked shots... I spent the full 2.5 hours with an ear to ear grin. I just love hockey.

And I forgot how fucking awesome a good penalty kill is. Oh sweet Jesus.

What is weird is watching a game where neither team is the home team. Kings v. Isles in Kansas City. Mostly lukewarm cheers, and not really the most educated crowd as there was a near total lack of appreciation for penalty kills or a good clear or those little things that hockey fans appreciate.

But it really didn't matter. The score didn't matter. Who won fights didn't matter. Even the goalies didn't much matter (Quick vs. Lawson). I was excited to see Lawson as Bourne said he's a good puck mover, though I didn't see a bunch of that tonight, except for one puck that he cleared down the center of the ice. He's a feisty goalie though, and did plenty of hacking and whacking to defend his turf, so that, of course, thrilled me to no end.

Anyway, the Kings won and this guy Sutton on the Islanders is such a meathead and Simmonds is a beast.

Okay, that's all. I'm sleepy. Go hockey. :)

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Confessions of a fantasy draft addict

When the nerds sit down to design a computer, a laptop no less, why does it seem like a good idea to make the whole thing glossy black and the click buttons chromey silver? They should have called my new laptop the Fingerprint. It's less than 24 hours in my possession and it looks like I store it in a bucket of fried chicken.

But that's okay because I'm more about substance than style (lie), and it's working just peachy. So nice not to have to lumber through all the crap software they put on my work laptop or get warnings from IT for having certain software installed. And porn! Oh the PORN! (Oh, what, like you don't?)

But I'm going to need the little fella because I'm now signed up for 4 friggin' fantasy hockey leagues. I swore to myself: only 2 leagues and NO 20-team leagues. But that email comes: Hey, wanna join? AUGH. Yes! YES I do.

Why? Because I love to draft. I love the possibility, the "ohmygodpleasedon'ttakemyguy" anticipation of my pick coming up, the satisfaction of feeling like I "stole" someone, and that glow at the end when I've picked a darn fine team, tempered by the sinking feeling that I've now jinxed 18 guys to crappy seasons (I REALLY fucked the Stars last season). I'll be issuing my apologies to my players before the season starts.

Anyway, I'm now in 4 leagues and 2 of them are 20-team leagues. There's the two keeper leagues, one on Yahoo and one on ESPN, both 12 teamers and pretty fun managers.

Then there's the Wild Message Board league, which I didn't like much last year and didn't plan to do again, but like I said, the invite came and I couldn't say no. Will probably just auto-draft and maintain that one but not really worry about it much.

And the fourth and final is the league Bourne is starting up. I tried to resist. I didn't fire an email to Justin when he put the call out. But somehow I ended up saying, "Yes." Must be the universe wanting me to do it, right? Should be a fun one though, so I'm excited about it.

But that's all. I'm already starting to feel a little *urgh* in my tummy at how busy I'm going to be this season. Writing for PHN, T3I, IGM, Wild Nation, and this blog. Four FH teams. 80 Aeros games to watch (40 in person). 82 Wild games to watch. My own games to play. Oh yeah, and my JOB, which I just started a ginormous project that I'm a month behind on.

FACK!

I need an intern. I can't offer college credit but I do keep Dos Equis in the fridge and I do grow my own limes. I know I never got that good an offer when I was in college, so don't pass this up.

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Waxing Poetic: My Five

I asked my followers on Twitter today, "Do fans of other sports wax poetic about their sport as much as hockey fans? Baseball, tho that often seems to be more a nostalgic endeavor."

The question came to mind while reading Puck Daddy's on-going series of guest posts "5 Reasons I Love Hockey." What I love is that they're so varied and so personal, and while many are rooted very much in an individual's own history with the sport, just as much love is tied to the game as it is today.

Now, I know plenty of baseball fans who can wax poetic about their game, but I think for many, there's a taint left by the steroid era that leaves many unable to write lustily about the game as it is today, to love it without qualification. There are exceptions, of course, so bear with me, as I know I'm painting in broad strokes here, but I'm not really looking for a hockey vs. baseball thing.

And I know Mr.C longs for the days when football fields weren't high tech or domed and didn't drain all that well and players got caked in mud and wide receivers weren't pampered attention whores. We watch a lot of NFL Films shows, and you can tell they feel the same way. There's something about old school football that's just gritty and real. The modern version feels a bit plastic and overwrought.

But among most hockey fans I know, the purity of the game hasn't really been altered all that much. I mean, you can make arguments about the instigator and shootouts and expansion, but really, when the puck hits the ice... oh, it still makes your heart swell, doesn't it?

My question remains, however. I'd be interested to get an opinion from someone who's a die-hard for another sport, because I genuinely don't know. I subscribe to over 100 hockey blogs and one baseball blog, so clearly my exposure is outrageously lopsided.

But I can tell you with a great deal of certainty that writing about how much we love hockey is practically a hockey-writing genre of its own. I mean, there is plenty else to write about with trades, games, front office shenanigans, Bettman doing whatever he's doing lately, and on and on. But I don't know anybody who writes regularly about hockey who doesn't love to just sit back and reflect on why the sport is as addictive, beautiful, and "in our blood" as much as it is.

For me, I find this happens because sometimes I just can't believe how it's taken over my life and made it better, for the most part. And I get to enjoy every aspect it of it, apart from maybe coaching it. I find creative fulfillment in writing about it, personal and competitive fulfillment (and humility, even though I don't always show it) in playing it, and just straight up enjoyment from watching it.

I dunno. It's just something I'm pondering today. Until I hear an argument otherwise, I'm convinced that hockey is special and hockey people are special in the way they love their game.

Anyway, the five reasons I love hockey:

1. I love that so many really important things about the game are nearly inexplicable. From the mysteries of team chemistry to how guys can be punching each other in the face and screaming at each other between penalty boxes one minute, and then having a beer after the game. It doesn't make a lick of sense, but it happens and it happens all the time and not only is it NOT detrimental to the game, it's part of why it's so magical.
2. I love the contrasts. How the tough guys on the ice are almost always the nicest guys off the ice. The grace and the violence. How you can be so fucking sweaty standing in the midst of so much ice.
   
3. I love the traditions and rituals. Everything from "the code" to the handshake after a playoff series. From the the octopi in Detroit and the rats in Florida and Section 303 in Nashville. Nobody tells anybody to do that stuff. They just do it because it's part of the experience.
4. I love hockey people. People who are sincerely passionate about the game, either as fans, writers, or players/coaches at any level, are the nicest, most generous people by and large I've ever met. They also tend to be funny and creative and outspoken (in a good way), all things I love in a person. They're generous with their time and energy and patience, lucky for me as I've been a recipient of that benefit over the past couple of years. It's a debt I cannot repay, but I can work harder at paying it forward.
5. I love that it's mine. It's like a little love that I carry around with me all the time, and when I'm feeling craptastic or PMSing or played a bad game or in a spat with someone I don't want to be in a spat with, I can pull out that little love and it lifts me up. And it doesn't judge me or expect anything of me or need me to pick up its poop in the yard or feed it. It's just there when I want and need it. I've never been a religious person, but I think the Church of Hockey is as close as I'll ever get to divinity.
   

Bonus: Fridge's toothless grin. Come on. That's just the cat's pajamas.

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