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.

It’s cold, it’s hard and it’s right outside my house: a novice’s review of an ice hockey match (originally posted 8th October)

Yes, it’s another post about sport. Really, I can’t help it. It’s not just any sport though. It’s that most whimsical and enigmatic sport generally embraced by those with colder climes than ourselves, ice hockey. I’ve never really thought about ice hockey before, other than a novelty visit to a match during my time in the states, 10 years ago (and that was in Arkansas so it really can’t have counted). So when my other half brought home free tickets to last Sunday’s Newcastle Vipers match I was mildly intrigued but thought no more of it until the time came for us to head to Whitley Bay ice rink.

Newcastle Vipers are an elite league ice hockey team who had suffered of late from a win-less run of matches in what was obviously a frustrating opening to their season. Or at least, that’s probably what someone who knew about British ice hockey would say at the beginning of a match report. However, I was blissfully oblivious to any of the back-story at the time, but on reflection, the reactions that night of a clearly dedicated fan-base spoke of a team in desperate need of some success. I have been that fan on many an occasion in my long and devoted yet tumultuous relationship with Watford FC, so I should have recognised it. And now I have, I’m right on board.

Okay I’ve bleated nonsensically for a bit but I can’t ignore the elephant in the room any longer. Being a total ice hockey noob, one of the few things I really knew about the sport was that they seem to have a lot of fights. I had wondered in passing whether being a bit cold perhaps makes one slightly irritable, or maybe it’s the jock-itch beneath all that padding that puts a player in an argumentative frame of mind. Either way, anyone with even a vague knowledge of the sport knows that it goes on and is an accepted part of the game of ice hockey. Yet I have to say, I was still surprised to see it happening right in front of me. And I couldn’t actually tell at the time whether or not the fights were for real, or staged, something like wrestling. I was hedging towards the latter and wondering if it was all bit camp and unnecessary but after further discussion and research it appears that this isn’t the case at all. It probably only looks a bit camp because it’s hard to have a fight when both antagonists are on skates.

Apparently, fighting, or ‘roughing’ as it’s known in the sport, is tactically important as the players defend their most valuable team-mates and disrupt their opponents’ play, and although it isn’t officially allowed within the rules of game, it’s not severely punished either, and officials are content to stand back and let it run its course in most cases. It’s actually condoned as part of the game in the US. Is it wrong that I find it mildly arousing? Probably. But I know for a fact I am not the only one. And most of the others are men.

Anyway, besides the fighting, what else can I tell you about ice hockey, from my completely novice point of view. It’s a very American sport. And by that I mean, there are a LOT of stoppages in play. During which, a multitude of well-chosen popular music clips are played over the tannoy and/or the match announcer explains what’s just happened in language that only those who already know what’s just happened can understand. Altogether, this made the bits where they WEREN’T playing a lot more over-whelming and confusing than the bits when they were. Even though the game-play itself is carried out at approximately the speed of sound and appears to have about as much form and style as a hyperactive fly at an all night rave. It’s a game for those with the attention span of a goldfish. A goldfish with Alzheimers, at that. It was in no way unpleasant though. In terms of levels of understanding versus levels of enjoyment, I suppose I felt something akin to a toddler watching a group of drunken adults play Twister at Christmas. Wide-eyed, happy and confused, but slightly concerned for the welfare of all involved, including myself.

And also, I found myself in the novel and unnerving situation of not knowing what the offside rule was. It’s not just because I’m a woman, OKAY?! Don’t worry, it was the first thing I learnt during my subsequent ice hockey rules study session.

Yet there was something undeniably thrilling about the whole experience. Maybe it was just the knowledge that top level sport was being played right on my doorstep, and the excitement of expanding my mind around completely new game, hungry as I currently appear to be for a football substitute (and all this despite Watford’s current impressive run of form). Maybe it was the exotic sounding names on the team sheet, giving me leave to support a team with ‘Newcastle’ in its name despite my slightly more Mackem loyalties (sorry!), after all, Blair Stayzer and Patrik Forsbacka can’t be Geordies, can they?! Or maybe it was just the chill in the air, the buzz of the crowd and the tension of the final few minutes that reminded me just how much fun it is to kick back and take in a live sporting event. There’s nothing quite like it. So I’m going back for more this Saturday.

As we later concluded, this is physically the closest top level sport to our home that currently exists (unless there’s a pro tiddly-winks league situated in the Billy Mill area of North Shields that I’m not aware of), and not only is that quite an exciting prospect, it also gives me no excuse not to get involved. Go Vipers!