Reasons to Be Cheerful (or: me, the Rangers, and why losing isn’t so bad)

First published on http://www.ukamericansportsfans.com/ on 31st May 2012

To say my fledging career as an ice hockey fan has had its ups and downs would be a bit like saying the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel is quite a big painting, or that Natalie Portman’s sort of okay looking, in her own way. Two seasons it’s been people, two. I spent the first of those passionately embracing my local side before losing them to the ravages of recession and a second travelling around the UK trying to pretend that I was fine with not having a team of my own to support, I’d get by.

I was a latecomer to all things NHL in comparison, as I spent my first season dividing my brain between all-encompassing love (for the Newcastle Vipers) and learning the rules, regulations, and everything else that makes hockey the game it is. I had scant little time left over to immerse myself in the big, scary world of the big show, with its 30 teams and 20+ man rosters and interminable post-season. As such, I gave of myself all too easily, flippantly selecting the Calgary Flames as my team of choice.

And then it all went wrong. I’ve written in detail about my agonising over shared allegiances and it’s plagued me ever since the New York Rangers starting creeping into my consciousness. I was gripped with paranoia about being tagged a ‘glory hunter’ for jumping on the Rangers’ bandwagon, and wracked with guilt over abandoning the team I had chosen first. After all, they hadn’t done anything wrong, had they? They were plugging along modestly, vying for a play-off position. Could I really ask any more? But it was already too late. The Rangers had a hold of my heart.

Like a new kid at school, I shyly joined in with the Blueshirts in-crowd, on Twitter and on the Rangers website, and found myself embraced into a family in the way only a hockey community can embrace, and I knew that it didn’t matter what anyone else thought. I was home.

Most importantly, I love this team. I am fully invested in them as people, as players and as a unit. From the pure awesomeness of Captain Cally, about whom I have waxed lyrical on many an occasion (to the point of professing my desire to bear his children on Twitter), to the knocking it out of the park season of break-out young defencemen Ryan McDonagh and Michael Del Zotto, to the solid, reliable and unwavering toughness of the gritty, balls-out lower order; the likes of Brandon Prust and Mike Rupp. I love them all, simple as that.

I recognise, appreciate and applaud the system John Tortorella has fostered and all who reside within it. It’s a tight-knit family, a group with youth on their side, character and team spirit by the bucketload and enough individual talent to raise their heads above the parapet without falling foul of the prima donna trap that can befall a team that builds itself around a small core of talented players, or the constant nagging fear of what an injury to one of that core could do to the team dynamic.

It’s pure work ethic; on a full organisational scale. And most of all it’s running a tight ship, and staying on an even keel – Tortorella is loath to let wins go to his team’s head: there is always SOMETHING that can be improved upon. And likewise in defeat, there are always positives to be found. Thus keeping some very talented feet very firmly on the ground (ice!), where a less disciplined regime might otherwise have allowed its players’ respective heads to ascend into the clouds.

Let’s consider for a moment what they achieved this season, doing it ‘the right way.’ They won a thrilling Winter Classic, ensnaring me in their blue honeytrap in the process. They topped the Eastern conference and were only two points shy of the Presidents’ trophy having won the same number of games as Vancouver. None too shabby. Their incredible defence ensured they were third in the goals against standings, but lest we forget, this isn’t a purely defensive side – they work as a unit at all times, on the forecheck just as much as when throwing their bodies behind shots, and this was not reflected anywhere as well as in their penalty kill, which was the fifth best of its kind in the league, and on top of that they were third in the league for holding onto a lead. And as for physicality, they hit. Oh how they hit. Bodies on the line, all day long. Oh and they were fifth in the league in penalty minutes, and topped it in fighting majors. Not that it’s a plus point as such, but it shows the heart that exists throughout the ranks at Madison Square Garden.

The amount of 3rds and 5ths in the stats really stands out. That’s the beauty of Tortorella’s system: it doesn’t rely on one specific area for success – the Rangers are no one trick pony. There’s no explosive powerplay unit (chuckle), there’s no pure reliance on goaltending – okay, perhaps SOME reliance. But they sit in the top few in every single statistic – in a game of inches, the Rangers don’t give even one, in every area of the ice. They are right in amongst it all. Really. All of it.

So then we were off to the play-offs. My first experience of supporting a team in the post-season, and New York did not disappoint – from a slightly masochistic point of view. They provided a proper rollercoaster ride. It was sport exactly how I like it. No 4-0 sweeps. Not even a 4-0 win. They scrapped and scraped for every victory, mental strength ebbing and flowing, injuries being sustained and recovered from, key players losing form, regaining it and then losing it again. New stars emerging. A one goal win here, a single goal loss there. And those overtimes. It was about as draining as a run could get.

Every single series was a battle. Against Ottawa we were our own worst enemy. Battling against some real attacking prowess, we butted up against a side who had ran us hard all season. We SHOULD have been more than a few shades better than them. But we made hard work of it, and after back-to-back losses in games 4 and 5 I was convinced it was over. Then the Capitals – the ‘looking in the mirror’ series. It was a game of chess, a constant frustration. The annoyance of Brayden Holtby who suddenly came good, much to the delight of his highly visible mother. And finally the New Jersey Devils. The big one. Comparisons to 1994. Our bitter local rivals.

At so many points I thought ‘it’s over’ but every time, we battled back and dug our heels in. Until I finally did believe. I DID think we could battle back. We WOULD take it to a game 7. We had done, twice already – we could do ANYTHING. The Cup well, it’s a wily beast, and our opponents, if we made it that far, would be a team who have really found their form in these play-offs. As for us, were we fatigued? Highly likely. Struggling for goals? Perhaps. Battered and bruised? For sure. But beaten? I didn’t think so. So when it finally came to an end early in overtime of game 6, it was quite hard to take it all in. There’d be a game 7 still, right? Right? It couldn’t be over. Wrong. It was.

On reflection, the loss still hurts. But in a way that will heal. Let’s face it, having supported a team for less than a season, to see them lift the Stanley Cup straight away would have been, well, a bit cheeky of me. So in a very strange way, I’m sort of glad. It’s a singularly British notion: the idea that losing might not actually be that bad, in the long-run. Not that I actively WANTED to lose you understand: in the moment, I screamed in every goal, grimaced every time we conceded, and shed a few stunned tears when it was finally all over. But looking at the bigger picture, let’s be honest: this is may be an ending of sorts, but in reality, it’s just the beginning. The future looks exceedingly bright. Despite a number of free agents who presumably the management will look to re-sign, the core of this team will remain next season and be strengthened by some rookies, including the amazing Chris Kreider, who threw himself into the play-offs like a man possessed and promises great things for the future.

With Tortorella at the helm we will stay focused on the task at hand, and realise that doing it ‘the right way’ comes at a cost – commitment to playing that way. And to endure the losses it brings. But those losses have been few, and undoubtedly in the pain of loss, this team will learn what it takes to win. It’s everything they’ve done this season. Just with a little more besides. And they will find that little more – because that’s what winning teams do. If we had won the Stanley Cup this season, it would have left this young, improving team with little more to aim for. But instead, we’ve still got the ultimate prize in our sights – to come so close and fall at almost the final hurdle will give this group the drive and motivation to take it even further next time around. So fear not, Blueshirts. The cup will be ours. Oh yes, it will be ours.

March of the Vipers

Welcome to March, people. March! Can you Adam and Eve it! And other such cockney exclamations. It’s frightening how close we are to the end of the season now; I’m trying to trick my brain into not believing it and have spent massive portions of time studying the NHL in order to guarantee myself a couple more months of pleasure before the summer hits with full force and the reality of the hockey emptiness hits home. This has resulted, unsurprisingly, in yet more nervous moments as I wait to see if my team (Calgary Flames) can make it to the play-offs. Nothing can ever be straightforward, can it. SIGH.

But I’m happy to report that of the Vipers’ six remaining league games, I will be in attendance at five, including the last four in a row, and then of course there’s play-off weekend, so I will be able to bring you a veritable smorgasbord of hockey babbling to keep you going well into those dreaded summer months. Or until the second week in April, at least. (This is the first time in my entire life I’ve ever dreaded the summer. I feel so DIRTY!).

It seems as though every game is ‘the most important game of the season’ for the Vipers at the moment, but on Saturday it was unequivocally true as we were once again playing the Dundee Stars, our only rival for 8th spot in the league and the final play-off place. A defeat would have ended our challenge in all but mathematics, a victory would keep us very much in the race, despite the tough selection of fixtures we have facing us during the final weeks.

The momentousness of the occasion played on my mind throughout the week and by the time Saturday night rolled around, I should by rights have been quaking in my boots with nerves. But I wasn’t. A peculiar air of calm had descended over me; I felt all zen. Why? I couldn’t put my finger on it. There was a portentous air of inevitability hanging around the rink, as there has been for some of our other recent matches, but it has gathered density and momentum of late, like a snowball rolling down a hill, and it’s impossible to ignore. The sense that the script for this season is already written may be ominously tempting fate, but it’s prevalent none the less.

Here endeth the slightly abstract, mysterious and speculative section of the post! We did theorise that perhaps the real reason no-one felt nervous was because the players were all clad in the most ridiculous shade of pink. It detracts a certain something from the gravity of such a crunch game when your entire team look like giant shrimp, right down the horrendously clash-y red trim which put me in mind of a platter of fresh king prawns. Sexy. All for a good cause of course, as the simply-named ‘Pink at the Rink’ night was in aid of Macmillan Cancer Support.

A busy day at the salmon farm as the Head Salmon reveals the day's key swim tactics

And so to the game. Just as we had against Belfast last weekend, we got off to a dream start, Jaroslaw Rzeszutko scoring within the first half a minute. In contrast to last week though, he didn’t stop there. Quite what they put in Jaro’s Lucozade this week I don’t know, but whatever it was, I’d like to order a significant amount. He scored a hat-trick in the first period alone, the third goal an absolutely spectacular diving effort over the Stars’ netminder. I’ve been trying to get the nickname ‘Ninja’ for him to catch on in recent weeks and after Saturday’s performance, I hope it will, as I think it fits him perfectly. The guy was on fire. Although someone misunderstood me and started calling him ‘the Jarrow Ninja’, which conjures up a whole different image to what I had in mind!

We weren’t completely dominant in the first period despite the scoreline, one of main issues being our powerplay, which was ineffective at first as we squandered a couple of opportunities before finally finding the key – 5 on 3! Something about a two-player advantage just makes the game that bit easier. It’s a revelation!

We started the second period nervously and Dundee capitalised on our lack of intent, scoring within a minute and again later on in the period, but we scored a couple more of our own to set up what everyone hoped would be a straightforward third period. I must say that the whole affair was passing by with relatively little in the way of conflict which was a surprise to everyone, particularly in light of the last meeting between the two sides which could very well have ended in a bench clearance. Oh and can I just say, I totally called a penalty and got it right!! Go Katy, it’s your birthday etc. (It’s not really. It's June 15th, in case you’re wondering. Please address all gifts to KTDude, number 14, quite near the ice rink, Tyne and Wear. Thanks guuuuuys!).

Blink and you'll miss them. Speed Kings Hartmanis and Rzeszutko

Now, I will devote a whole paragraph to the awesomeness that is our number one forward line. Take a bow Messrs Rzeszutko, Prpich and Hartmanis, you are truly breath-taking. Toms Hartmanis’ astonishing turn of speed, his amazing link up play with Ninja Rzeszutko, and the intensity of the line as a whole is astounding. It breathes life into the whole team every time it takes to the ice, and it can and does induce mild whiplash in all who gaze upon it, as it shoots by at the speed of sound. Dundee looked nervous every time that line took to the ice. But tonight was Rzeszutko’s night. He netted his fourth and fifth in the third period, and despite a spirited fight-back from Dundee, it was never going to be their night. Even if they had scored a couple more – highly unlikely given our second star of the night, Charlie Effinger, who was quietly going about his business saving shot after shot in the background – in the form he was in, Jaro probably would have poked in a couple more just to make a point.

That’s not to say there weren’t nervous moments. It certainly wasn’t plain sailing. Dundee even had six on three at one point, having pulled their netminder whilst we had two in the penalty box, but they couldn’t even convert that, and once the sixth goal went in Dundee would have had to resort to praying for miracles to pull anything from the game. Kudos to their travelling fans though; they were boisterous, lively and vocal for the most part of the match, and we look forward to welcoming them back to the Bay on the final Saturday of the season, before we repay the favour on their patch the very next day! Here’s hoping we are still in the race by then.

A Dundee Star realises his best chance to score at Whitley Bay is to fuse himself to Rzeszutko

I was reliably informed that following the victory the team took to the dressing rooms and spent some time involved in a group singing session which is apparently quite unusual. Perhaps that’s the effect that playing in pink has on a team. It brings out their more, er, shall we say, theatrical side. I now have visions of the players jazz-hands-ing all over the dressing room. Tap dancing isn’t all that different from ice-skating, is it?

I appear to have lost momentum and I’m not sure where I’m going with this post anymore. I think Saturday’s nerves have hit me, belatedly, as I write about yet another fantastic achievement for our lads and think of the mountain they have still to climb in the space of three short weeks. At the end of the day, 8th place is Dundee’s to lose. But we’d better make damn sure we push them every step of the way, and I have no doubt in my mind that we will. To reiterate a phrase which has become one of the catchphrases of the season, and a lot like myself and my obsession with large bearded Canadians, Vipers just don’t know when to quit. And I hope that stays true until the very last moment of the season, regardless of the final outcome. Whatever happens, they can be proud of themselves. D'aww, I feel I warm inside now. Group hug, everybody.

Eat, drink and be merry! Oh, and watch some hockey.

So, how was everyone’s Christmas? Full of festive fun, yet barren and hockey-less? Mine was. It seemed for a while like I wouldn’t make it to this side of the silly season, but I got through, with the help of what I think equalled about two wheelbarrows full of chocolate and cheese, and clinging for dear life to anything vaguely hockey-related to try and keep myself sane. For example, just prior to Christmas they showed a decent fight from the NHL on Sky Sports News, Bruins against Thrashers, I think. So rare is their coverage of hockey of any kind, usually isolated to a few ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ results scrolling across the bottom of the screen, that I actually moved from the sofa onto the floor, to get a better view, and when the clip came on I started salivating and clapping like a seal. I even watched the repeat of it and wondered where the evil laughter was coming from, until I realised it was me. On Boxing Day morning I sat through a rare gem of a film entitled ‘Jack Frost’, despite it being desperate dross, just because the kid played hockey. Might I point out that this was a picture whose key plot device is a boy’s dead father being reincarnated as a snowman. A freaking snowman. I wish I was joking.

But after a painful Christmas-punctured hiatus of a whole 20 days, I finally got my hockey back (cue choir of angels sound effect). In the first of five matches to be played over the holiday season, in the space of seven days (can you imagine the reaction if footballers were asked to do that – Alex Ferguson would choke on his own pompous disbelief), we were taking on one of the in-form sides in the league, Hull Stingrays. I deemed myself to be a Very Important Person for the day (ie someone who had an extra £2.50 to spend in return for the opportunity to keep warm and paw hockey players at will – they really didn’t think the pricing structure through when any old psycho can get close enough to lick them. I must say I did have nightmarish visions of me, prostrate on the ground, curled around Mike Prpich's leg murmuring incoherently about facial hair whilst being dragged towards the exit – thankfully on the night I just stood in the corner drinking cider and swaying. Still, you never know. There's always next week).

Hull’s team bus suffered a puncture on the way to Whitley Bay so they arrived late, which threw me momentarily into confusion and regrettably allowed an extra half an hour of enjoying the VIP bar’s special brand of Christmas cheer (=Bulmer’s cider) prior to the match, but on the plus side, it did appear to have deflated the ‘Rays confidence somewhat, as they started the match sluggishly. (Do you see what I did there? Flat tyre? Deflated? Stay with me, I have every confidence the jokes will remain of a similarly sub-par quality. They may even get worse. I have had nothing but crackers for inspiration for the last week). Vipers took advantage of their unsettled opponents and scored three goals in the first period, the best of which was a well-taken individual effort from Whitley Warriors captain Adam Reynolds. We were always in the lead but by the first period break Hull had us pegged back to 3-2. The theme of losing the lead continued in the second period and we went into the period break with the score tied at a mouth-watering 4-4. However we reverted to type in the third, quickly going two down as arguably one of the league’s top forwards, Jereme Tendler, struck twice in a few minutes to seal his hat-trick, and to put the game to bed.

*BREATHE* I am totally getting there with the summaries and junk, right? Apologies for the lack of detail, but I was feeling a bit, well, festive, and some of the finer points of the match escaped my attention. I can tell you that a Hull player of unknown origin (postscript following footage review: it was Esders) was checked all the way to Rake Lane Hospital by John Schwarz, who seemed to be a bit of a moving target throughout the game, as he obviously had been in last week’s match against Sheffield also. He attracts the attention of some of the more aggressive guys on other teams, despite the fact that on the face of it, he doesn’t appear to be antagonising anyone. Unless he’s whispering ‘yo momma’ jokes in their ears. Just an occupational hazard I guess, when you’re the biggest/strongest guy in a team. He doesn't need to fight, anyway. He’s well 'ard, innit. I wouldn’t mess.

John Schwarz: 'Yo momma so fat, she on both sides of the family!'

Hair Loss Weekly: news update! I've had to expand my 'Mike Prpich Beard Watch' as there’s been a severe spate of hair loss that seems to have afflicted a number of Vipers over the Christmas period. Most notable in joining Prpich’s beard on the march for freedom was Patrik Forsbacka’s inimitable mullet, but also joining the Hair Exodus was Charlie Effinger’s beard. Unconfirmed rumours suggest that Danny Stewart may be tempting the various hair features to a secret location in order to construct a convincing toupe, as his ears are getting a bit cold in this arctic British winter (it’s basically tropical in Canada at this time of year by comparison), but to be honest the real truth can only be that the other players became jealous over the amount of attention I was paying to Mike Prpich and resorted to drastic moulting in a desperate bid to be name-checked on the Hockey Novice blog. I’m flattered guys, really. And you’ve got your wish – this time. I must say though, Prpich seems to be dealing best with his follically-challenged status (it must have been an amicable split), as he was the stand-out player on the night, for me. He seemed to be everywhere, always involved in the action, ditto Man of the Match Kyle Sibley and Skipper Danny - so good on them!

Hey, Hull dude! Mike Prpich is chasing you! Did you steal his beard, perchance?

So it’s my last post of 2010 and the New Year is upon us – out with the old and in with the new and all that, and it was nice to see Vipers starting early with the return fixture at Hull on Wednesday, when it was out with third period collapses, and in with away wins – our first of the season!! Good news as we have two more tough games on the road coming up in the next few days, before Whitley Bay sees the return of the Nottingham Panthers on Monday, which promises to be a feisty encounter. Let’s hope it’s out with no money and in with new owners very soon so we can enjoy the New Year in the knowledge that our club will be around for the rest of the season.

Phew. Thank goodness I scraped together enough material to fill a blog post there, and didn’t have to accurately recollect anything that actually happened in the game. Right. To quote a wrinkly and sweary TV chef, 2010 – done. It’s been a pleasure folks and I bid you farewell until, well, probably about this time next week, but it will be a whole new year so it feels somehow significant. Thanks for your support thus far, Happy New Year to one and all, and I’ll see you in the bar on Monday. I’ll be much more coherent this time. Or possibly not.

STOP PRESS: Since this post was originally penned, on Thursday 30th, Vipers continued with their storming run on the road, beating Belfast Giants in the Northern Irish capital. I will not elaborate on it as I wasn't there but I felt it necessary to acknowledge what an awesome achievement it was and congratulate the team on their success in the face of adversity. I'm a very proud Vipers fan indeed today and I dearly hope that someone, somewhere sits up and takes notice of the amazing spirit being shown by this group of individuals, despite the continued uncertainty surrounding the club. The New Year really deserves to be a good one, for all of them. And my New Year's resolution will be to win the lottery so I can rescue them from financial peril. Not that hard, right? Easier than going on a diet, I'm certain. Well done lads!

Some further musings on my early days as a hockey fan… (first drafted 20th October)

Being a relatively under-represented sport in the UK it’s not surprising that ice hockey teams have to work hard to secure a large amount of sponsorship to support their existence, but the extent to which it’s infiltrated the game makes me giggle. When I was at my first match and heard over the tannoy ‘icing, sponsored by Winn Solicitors’ I was rightly confused. There was no cake in sight for a start. If there was, why hadn’t I been offered any? I have since discovered that icing is actually an illegal move, a bit like offside. But more puck-related than player-related. The pesky little thing sometimes gets ahead of itself, apparently.

Sponsoring an element of play is incomprehensible to me, and has always made me laugh, ever since we were at Hull’s KC stadium watching Watford a couple of seasons ago and the announcer kept insisting that penalties/half-time/possibly even throw-ins were sponsored by such-and-such. But I do understand the need for it in challenging times, especially for a sport that is so little known in this country. They could at least provide cake, though.

Something else I did find it quite difficult to keep up with in my first couple of hockey outings was the constant changing of personnel (I speak in the past tense as I am now, thankfully, beginning to catch on). There are unlimited changes allowed throughout the game, and according to the rulebook (of which I am now an aficionado) as long as they are not directly influencing play, players can even change during the run of play. Which seems like a wholly unnecessary complication when you consider by comparison the arguments that break out in football over exactly what constitutes 'directly influencing play' when disputing offside decisions. And football is played at less than a quarter of the speed of hockey. Really. It's been scientifically proven. By my eyes. But in hockey it can result in anything up to about 16 players on the ice at any one time, especially if both teams are switching line-ups simultaneously. It's baffling. I have a hard enough time matching what my eyes are seeing to what my brain thinks is going on without all that added confusion.

Which brings me to the player of the month award for September, which I feel it worth mentioning, despite it now being October. Latvian forward Toms Hartmanis took the honours, just ahead of Patrik Forsbacka, who probably came second due to the epic fight he had on the ice against Braehead, on the day that hockey stole my heart. But quite how anyone works out who their player of the month is I don't know, as following individuals is nigh on impossible; it’s like trying to find your pet bee at the Chelsea Flower Show. I've ended up choosing favourites based on their names, and the ones I've managed to track around the ice for more than a minute at a time. My reasoning is faultless.

Which reminds me, I have finally selected an NHL team. In the end I went for the ones with the nicest jerseys. Which turned out to be Calgary Flames. Minutes of careful research went into that decision, so don’t knock it. I also quite like Vancouver Canucks. For some reason I fancied supporting a Canadian team over an American one. It's colder there, therefore they have more of a right to win stuff on ice. QED.

And normal service is resumed… (or, why success in sport is bad for me); (originally posted 12th October)

I mustered a respectable crowd of 5, including myself, for the Newcastle Vipers match against Coventry Blaze on Saturday night, following last week’s epiphany (that being that ice hockey is a sport I could really get involved in – see previous post!). I even managed to drum up some actual enthusiasm! Mostly in anticipation of the numerous fights I had promised would break out (see, I told you it wasn’t just me!) but hey, they were there and that’s what counted. I had become a bit giddy of late, what with Watford reaching the dizzying heights of fourth in the Championship and all the goals they’d been scoring, and now I start supporting a new sports team and their response is to win immediately! It was all too much for me. Luckily, the winning streak was soon to come to an end.

We arrived early enough to see the pre-match warm-up which was quite a sight. Very well orchestrated training drills gave the impression of a tight-knit unit, which is what you would expect. But it proved to be a bit of a false prophet; not quite such a pretty picture was painted by the team when it came to the match itself. At first glance it appeared the Vipers were a little more organised than the previous week against Braehead Clan, and definitely more focused, with very little in the way of physical conflict – much to the disappointment of my brethren who were all but baying for blood, and also so it seemed later, to the detriment of the team.

Coventry were simply much more well organised and motivated, and they attacked Vipers netminder Charlie Effinger with increasing ferocity, systematically exposing the flaws in the Vipers’ defence culminating in a five-goal stand in the second period which effectively ended the game and put the kybosh on what might otherwise have been a jolly happy evening in Whitley Bay town centre. (Does it sound like I know what I’m talking about yet?) Gone was the buzz of the previous week, to be replaced by an air of frustration and discontent at the dismal showing, one particularly disgruntled fan taking it out on a poor, unsuspecting seat right in front of us and almost causing foot-al injury to one of my companions (although I have a sneaking suspicion his anger may have been caused in part at least by a spot of domestic unrest rather than the hockey). Luckily seats don’t fight back, although I’m not so sure about his rather shouty spouse who stormed after him all guns blazing. Apparently it’s not just the players who get wound up at hockey matches.

On reflection, despite a pretty uninspiring performance, I did enjoy the evening. My understanding of the game has increased exponentially in the space of a week, the kaleidoscopic action shifting ever so subtley before my very eyes and dissolving into clarity, sort of like a 3D magic eye picture. The hyperactive fly effect of the first night was replaced in my mind by a spectacle of grace and aggression – by no means a perfect example of how the game should be played, but enough to enchant me nonetheless. I continued on to think that perhaps I should begin following the NHL. After all, they exhibit the game at its finest. But it’s a rather strange concept, selecting a team to support when you don’t have the slightest inclination of loyalty to any of the available options. I was thinking about basing my selection on the team with the coolest name (currently I’m between the Buffalo Sabres and Minnesota Wild) but in reality, it’s best for me to wait a couple of weeks and just see who settles at the bottom of the league. It’s best for all involved.