I hate hockey
By Greg Whitfield
The Cord Weekly (Wilfred Laurier University)
November 26, 2008
WATERLOO (CUP) – I have a confession to make. I’m probably not a good Canadian. In fact, I’m something of a traitor. Not because of those pictures I took of Michaëlle Jean getting out of her limo à la Britney, or for those secrets I sold to the North Koreans. No, this is much, much worse.
My friends, I hate hockey.
I’ll stay here while I wait for the authorities to arrive.
But see, it’s not my fault. I’m the victim in all this. It’s you who are to blame; you who have been so thoroughly duped by the NHL that you think watching opposing bands of goons sliding around chasing after a rubber puck with long wooden sticks is a nice way to spend an evening.
It’s the country that’s crazy – I’m the sane one.
Now, before I write you all off as duped loons, I guess it’s only sporting that I give you a chance to defend yourselves.
But since I’m kinda busy, and don’t really have time to hear successive lectures on the balletic grace of the forecheck, I’m going to go ahead and explain why most of the arguments that might vindicate your obsession are empty and unconvincing.
First, I imagine you claiming that it’s genuinely and objectively a great game, and to see a great game played by the best players is a thing of great beauty.
Nuts to that. Sure, you might find it graceful and powerful and beautiful to watch. But that you, the individual, believe this, is no reason for me to believe it along with you. I may just respond that you have exceptionally bad taste in most other matters of beauty as well. So, your opinion on the beauty of anything is already in question.
Ah, but I’ve already noted that hockey is something of a national obsession, so you certainly aren’t alone in your (silly) belief that hockey is beautiful.
Fine, I’ll give you that one. But a lot of people think that New Kids on the Block and Katy Perry make beautiful music, so there are clear and deeply disturbing problems that go along with appealing to the majority’s aesthetic sensibilities.
Point: me.
Second period: I think your next (likely shouted) retort will be about the camaraderie and enjoyable rivalry experienced by loyal fans as the fortunes of their favourite teams rise and fall.
But what are these teams you speak of? Sure they’re a collection of athletes, coaching staff, and management who ostensibly represent your favoured city, but the individuals who make up any given team can’t be what hold your devotion over time.
The people who make up a team change quite rapidly from season-to-season and even from game-to-game. Trades, free agency, firings, and drafts shift the entire composition of a team, in most cases, once a decade.
So, that team you became a fan of in your early childhood is not in any real sense the same team you cheer for now. Sure they might play in the same stadium and wear roughly the same logo, but there’s nothing really connecting these two teams, except maybe ownership.
The fact is that nobody cheers for a coaching staff, or an offensive line, or a general manager. You cheer for an ethereal concept that unites past and present teams and exists only in the minds of fans. And you called me crazy
Point: me.
Final Period: now you’re ready to admit the truth. “Fine,” you say, “it’s the violence. I just love the violence.” Hmm, good point.
Point: you.
So maybe I win the game, but unfortunately it’s inevitable that I lose the season. No matter what I say or do, the hordes of devotees demand more puck chasing, and of course they’ll get it.
But as hockey and her fans assault my sanity, and you sit down to watch another episode of Goons on Ice, think of me, who will be stealing your car while the game’s on.
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