Hockey: A disposition

Two nights ago, I found myself watching an NHL playoff game between the San Jose Sharks and the Calgary Flames. This event happened in a Canadian bar called, ironically, The Maple Leaf. (There is a separate NHL team called the Maple Leafs [not Leaves] from Toronto.) Either way, the people there apparently cared a whole lot about this sport. Now, while I’m not one to dismiss competition of any sort, I’ve never been able to get into hockey.

I don’t think I’m alone in this. The one thing that may have separated me from them, however, is that I know exactly why I haven’t been able to get into it. When the game comes on TV, I can’t follow the puck. Seriously. The play is so quick and so bang-bang-bang that when the puck goes in the net, I have to watch a replay to see how cool (or how cheap) the goal was.

The thing that kinda bothered me, though, was that when I was watching this game, I was actually getting into it. I suspect this is for a few reasons:

1. We were with a friend who cared. Lindsay was a huge fan of the San Jose Sharks. And, by virtue of being in a bar, other people didn’t like us because of her shirt: SHARKS. This was, apparently, a Flames hang out and they certainly gave us a hard time.
2. The people around us cared. Sometimes I like watching the sport, and other times I like conflict. Hearing these people yell at us simply because of the girl at our table with a SHARKS shirt on was hilarious. Before I got there, apparently people even tried to come fight with our party. This is awesome.
3. Beer was there. Bud Light helped a lot in making the initial thought of watching an NHL playoff game interesting.

That being said, today I was flipping through channels and saw that an NHL hockey game was on, and I actually became mildly excited. This kinda feels like a problem. I have resolved that it is a good thing; that way, I can feel knowledgable about the sport, whereas now I feel completely incompetent. Barry Melrose can only take you so far.

It should be said that my feelings towards hockey are the same as I have towards seafood: It’s not that I want to dislike them. I’m trying to like them. It’s just hard. At the very least, unlike seafood, my knee-jerk reaction to the NHL isn’t to throw up.

I still feel like the heart of the matter lies in this: While I was there, despite my intrigue, desire, and fervor to want to like hockey, I still found our other mutual friend losing his keys, walking up to the bar, ordering a round, returning and saying, “I can’t find my keys. We aren’t going anywhere, might as well drink,” the most amusing part of the evening.