Bored to the point of illness from sitting in her house on Long Island and staring at the wallpaper (which, don't get me wrong, can be fun if combined with the correct substances) awhile ago my friend Elizabeth and I decided to go see a hockey game. There had been unconfirmed reports of hockey being played professionally out on Long Island, and Elizabeth and I were going to find it, if it took us all night! As long as "all night" lasted no longer than half an hour, and the tickets weren't more than $15 apiece.
Fortunately, our Quest To Find Hockey On Long Island was aided by my desire to watch highly skilled professionals put their talents on display in the heat of competition. Not to mention Elizabeth's desire to see scores of 200-pound Canadians in their 20s, each of whom makes more money during one time-out than can fit in the whole of Guam. Luckily for us, we took a wrong turn and ended up in a big parking lot. It seemed like some kind of clue -- maybe there was hockey on Long Island after all. No, not in the parking lot. The only thing we could see in the parking lot was a big sign with the number "8" on it, which we conveniently used to identify Elizabeth's dad's car after the game amidst the sea of the other two cars that were parked out there as well. Did I mention that the team in question is not very good?
It turns out that Long Island's hockey team is called -- get ready for this -- the "Islanders." Sheer insight. We got to our seats just after the Canadian National Anthem was over. I gotta hand it to those Canadians -- they definitely have an anthem. More importantly, the playing of that anthem allows us Americans precious seconds to practice our library of appropriate hockey insults, many of which we will be shouting at Canadian players at various points during the action; for instance: "Ha, you are forced to pay a ridiculously high income tax! Yes, that's right, you!"
For those of you unfamiliar with the game of ice hockey, here are some quick yet helpful facts. Ice hockey, unlike many other sports (soccer), is played well mainly by people from North America and Europe. Besides boxing, public school and your occasional world war, ice hockey is the only walk of life where fighting is not only permitted, but encouraged. Take the same two hockey players, having the same fight, and put them on the street in front of a police station. Do you know what would happen? Both of them would probably fall down, because, let me tell you, it is very hard to maneuver on concrete while wearing ice skates.
Due to all of the fighting that goes on, every player in the National Hockey League is currently sidelined with a groin injury. This gives hockey referees essential time to practice the skill of standing around and watching people maul each other with sticks. They make it look so easy, those referees! Also, children are not allowed to play in the NHL, because if a child is given the choice of either shooting the puck or eating candy, it would probably choose the candy, without even checking to see if the goalie is out of position.
While watching the game, which pitted our home Islanders against a band of foreigners of some sort, Elizabeth showed an impressive amount of savvy for a relative hockey newcomer, most notably when she got up in between periods and found the restroom on her own. This is no small feat. Reports abound of long-time hockey fans, a lot bigger and drunker than she, getting lost and/or trampled on their way to relieve themselves.
The only minor problem during the evening, besides of course the game, in which the Islanders impressed the fans with their numerous professional hockey qualifications, such as that they all had the same jersey on, was that Elizabeth kept referring to the puck as a "ball." "Come on, Number 16, get the ball!," she would say to me. Or, "Wouldn't it be a shame if they hit the ball, and it came flying over the boards, and it hit you right in the face, and then I got to keep it as a souvenir?"
For the most part, I must say that our hockey experience was a good one. We will look past the fact that our team netted a grand total of one goal, which, upon further review, reports suggest may have been alms. I think Elizabeth summed it up best after the final buzzer sounded, when she turned to me and said with all of the poise of a veteran hockey fan: "So that's it? They don't come out later and dance, or anything?"