Hooked

There have been many firsts in my life, but it seems I have rarely (since I was an infant and everything was new) had so many firsts in the space of a few months. Of course, the new things seem to have multiplied some when I got married anyway. Daniel had plenty of interests that I didn't yet share and together we have found reasons to go new places and try new things. He took me to my first opera. He has been with me for my first trips to London, Dublin, Savannah, Charleston, Philadelphia and other fun places. He was with me for my first soccer game. And, tonight, in the midst of my first "real" fall, I had another first: my first hockey game.

Mind you, I have never even watched a full hockey game on television before. I have watched a few minutes, yes, but not a full game. I didn't know what high sticking was, or what power plays were, or that goal tenders seem to enjoy turning themselves into pretzels at the first hint of an incoming puck. I couldn't have told you that a double minor was a relatively major penalty, that the linesmen (the referee-types without orange armbands) were known to do graceful leaps to avoid becoming obstacles, that players hop in and out of the game like they might get hit by lightening if they stay on the ice more than 25 seconds at a stretch, or that hockey fans are at least as fanatical as their counterparts in other sports.

I knew so little, in fact, that I asked a friend who had attended a hockey game a few days ago to tell me how cool it is in the arena. He informed me that it is a little cool by my standards (he's used to sub-zero temps where he's from and has been seen wandering around in short sleeves when it's 35F outside and I am bundled up like a blizzard may flatten me at any moment). He assured me, however, that if I stood up and cheered properly, I would be fine.

Cheering properly? Well, maybe I could get that right. I *did* know enough to cheer for the home team. Still, at the beginning, I sometimes wasn't sure why, exactly, in that I couldn't have told you why whatever acrobatic or violent thing had just occurred on the ice was laudable. Nor did I understand precisely why I was chanting "Ref, you suck" with all of the black-and-red clad folks around me.

We were 8 rows from the ice and plenty close to the spot where the players repeatedly slam into the glass when they are trying to keep the opponent from passing the puck out of the corner to a teammate out in front of the goal. That was a sight, and sound. But there were other sights and sounds right there in the stands. We were also one row and an aisle from some of the people I will refer to as "donkeys" who were rooting for the wrong team. They even managed to make the otherwise cute and intelligent children in front of them root for the wrong team. This provoked silly comments from the fans behind me and was more than mildly annoying when the other team scored. But why should I care?

I was giggling at "Come on... we all know Philadelphians don't have sticks long enough to grab onto" from the die-hard fans behind me, directed at the guys across the aisle, when the woman on the other side of Daniel asked, "Is this your first hockey game?" I had to admit it was, and I was promptly informed by three of the fans around me that it gets worse (or better, depending on how you look at it).

Well, it got better. And it got worse. The better part was that I began to have a clue and even found myself spontaneously standing and yelling at the right moments. I even understood why the man behind me yelled "Get your head out of your a**, ref... you are missing a good game here." The "it got worse" part is that the good guys played badly. Very badly. Even I could tell it wasn't working.

As the game drew to a close, I leaned over to the woman who had inquired about my newbie status and said, "I am not even a real fan yet and I have already lost my voice." She smiled and replied, "It doesn't take long to get hooked." She's right. I think I may be hooked. Daniel smiled when I said as much as we were leaving.
I left wrapped in a cozy oversized Hurricanes sweatshirt and in possession of a working knowledge of the Hurricanes lineup. Cullen, Wallin, Williams, Brind'Amour, Ladd, Staal, Ward, Stillman, Walker ... Don't you silly hockey players know that hooking is a penalty? To the penalty box with all of you! (But thanks for the rather costly lessons in cheering properly -- and please have the decency to win next time!)