Hockey is my favorite sport. I love it, could talk for hours, could watch for days. Everything about it, good, bad, fights, bogus calls, breakaways, all of it.
Admittedly, my love started late in life, in college where it was the school obsession...I mean sport...nah, I really mean obsession. Then moving to a new city with a new job with both access and means to attend NHL games, made it grow stronger. And now, attending my first playoff game has sealed my fate. There is no cure, not even cowbell. And even if there were, I wouldn't take it. The energy, the speed, the physicality, the skill, the tradition, all are elements that fascinate me to the core.
It speaks volumes that this pivotal game of deepening hockey love wasn't even one for my team (though the Hawks were playing halfway across the country and I was wearing my colors with pride), but the thrill was infectious and I was on the edge of my seat, or off it as the case may be, the entire game. You could feel the desire and the desperation of every single Caps fan in attendance. Bruins too, though they were out numbered 10 to 1 at least. The game had every high and low of a regular season battle, only intensified by the opportunity to tie the series or to start to run away with it.
Each team had their heart stopping moments, each goaltender sacrificed
it all, and each of us held our breath for what seemed like hours,
watching that puck fly. That is hockey. That is honor. That is my love.