Yesterday was a day of mourning. The 2003-2004 NHL season is officially over. Now my husband and I will have to find actual shows to watch on television.
The Tampa Bay Lightning won the Stanley Cup. We really thought this might be the year for our beloved Bruins, but no. The curse on all Boston sports remains intact.
The Captain of the Lightning is Dave Andreychuk. He waited 22 years to win a championship. The look of pure joy on his face as he lifted the cup made me cry. I always cry when any team is awarded the Stanley Cup. As they pass the cup around and skate around the ice, I weep like it was my own husband or son out there.
Damn, I love hockey.
There is something about hockey that is different from any other sport. It makes sense that I would love it, since I'm so fascinated by men. It's a sport where every guy is a tough guy. There is no hiding on the ice. It is still considered perfectly gentlemanly to throw off your gloves and fight for your honor. The celebrations after a goal are heartfelt and sincere. Real smiles. Actual hugs. None of that stupid showboating that has permeated other sports.
At the end of a series, the teams line up and shake hands. Hockey harkens back to the days of old, when men were men, and there was a code.
It helps that a lot of the players are hot. And the equipment and helmets make every guy appear hot, even if he is only lukewarm.
I loved to go to my husband's hockey games when he played in college. He was a scrapper. He was the intimidator on the ice that the other team would check hard just to make a point. It was hot. (Have I mentioned that my husband is not tall?)
That's when I first realized that other females might find my husband attractive. "Number 27!" they'd scream out. "Score one for me, big boy!" Mm hm. Oh, the pride of ownership.
Another NHL season has gone by. Another year of disappointment settles in. I wonder...if I got my son up on skates now, will he be ready for the NHL in 2023?
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