The starting paragraph of my column has largely become a "what grinds my gears"-style rant. I've realized that I need to be more careful, however; right now, I'm failing at picking the fights I want (with the Mirror) and succeeding with those I don't (the Dartmouth football team). So, my insults this week will be directed towards the least offensive topic I can think of: your mother. Ha ha! I mean North Face fleeces.
When I first came to this school (that was the fall of '03 for you young folks), everyone had black fleeces. When you left a party, you just stuck your hand into a pile of black fleeces until you found one with your name on it, or, barring that, your correct size; then you took it and left.
So when I bought a new fleece, I thought I would go with cutting-edge color technology -- I would be a maverick. So I got a red fleece. Frankly, I think it's an awful color; purchasing it was a purely strategic decision-- I had no interest in losing it at some frat party. Well, fast-forward three years and everyone has red North Face fleeces. So now I'm screwed again. What the hell. I was thinking of switching to yellow, but I'm already seeing yellow fleeces popping up around campus, and I refuse to be anything but a leader in the field of fleece color choice. I'm thinking something way out there. Orange? Teal? Plaid?
Anyway, the falling temperatures and my complaining about outerwear signal the coming of just one thing: winter. And what better to talk about at the start of winter than hockey? Now, I'll be the first to admit, I don't really watch hockey anymore (much to the distress of my father). I couldn't even tell you what channel the Outdoor Life Network (current home of the NHL) is. But I'll also be the first to admit that my life is somehow poorer without hockey. Why should I, and by some vague extension, you, watch hockey?
First of all, these guys are tough. This isn't baseball, where a paper-cut can sideline Pedro Martinez for an entire season (apologies to all baseball players -- I don't need to piss off two teams in two weeks; I already live in fear). Maybe you've heard the stories of Glenn Hall, who played 502 consecutive games in goal -- without a mask. Or Bill Gadsby, who racked up 620 stitches in his 20 NHL seasons. How about Bob Baun, who had his ankle broken by a slapshot in the 1964 Stanley Cup, had the leg frozen in the locker room and returned to score the winning goal? Or even the little stories that get overlooked, like that of Bruins defenseman Brad Stuart, who didn't realize he'd broken his finger during a recent game until he took his glove off postgame and saw that it was twisted around backwards. There really aren't any jokes to be made about this. I've never even broken a bone in my life. The worst injury I've ever had is probably a bee sting.
Secondly, hockey is really fun again. They got rid of the tie, using the brilliant philosophy of "maybe we should eliminate features of our sport that every fan viscerally, and vocally, hates." Good idea. Now, any game that finishes overtime tied is settled by a shootout; it might not be the purest hockey, but it sure is exciting.
Finally, I couldn't write a column about hockey without touching on the genius of Barry Melrose, ESPN's hockey god. In poorly-tailored suits, with a barely concealed accent and a mullet flowing down his back like a silver waterfall, Melrose does for hockey what OSC fave Mel Kiper Jr. does for the NFL draft. Unlike Kiper, however, whose persona is a carefully constructed caricature, good ol' Barry has no artifice. Barry doesn't have a ridiculous haircut because that's what's expected of him, but because that's how all his Labatt-drinking buddies back in some bar in Ottawa look. His joy at covering hockey is palpable. I don't know what he did during the lockout season; ESPN probably had to put him on suicide watch.
So I leave you with this: watch hockey! There's no way that cars driving around in circles and occasionally crashing into each other should be the fourth most popular sport in America. Also: If you see a guy wearing a pink and teal striped fleece, come over and tell me what channel OLN is.
