We begin the summer of no contact sports. Hockey ended. Boston won. (Fans in that city will still talk about how they are persecuted, no doubt. But really? That's an Irish Catholic thing so it's not that surprising. "But look at your good fortune!" "Aye, just waiting for the other shoe to drop...Gawd hates the Irish!" Trust. I live in one of these families.) Then Vancouver got burned to the ground in a loss, a part of mob mentality I do not at all understand. But here we are. A long summer waiting for my beloved college football to start again, the countdown clock already up on the LSU website. And then hockey again shortly after that. But what do we do in the meantime?
Not that I don't love baseball, I do, but baseball is for listening on the radio on sunny summer afternoons as you sit on your back porch in the sun. (If you live in a Southern novel, as it's 60 and foggy all summer in SF. (Not today!) And you actual Southerners I know are doing your best to avoid the steaming hot weather.) It's for going to games and socializing and half paying attention while you chat and drink beer and indulge in ballpark food. It is the thinking mans game, with it's slow, easy pace. What am I supposed do to cure my blood lust?
Because Hockey has kept me rapt since I discovered it a mere 7 months ago. Since I saw a pair of blades dance across the ice. You all know that. I've definitely expounded on the issue before. I loved going to Kezar Pub for the finals and hanging with the bestie, eating wings, drinking beer. I love playoff beards and hard playing manly men. (It was determined I should probably just pick up and move to Canada last night to snag me a hockey player. Too bad there's that whole "I hate snow. A lot." thing.) I make it a point to watch games, to sit down and watch them live as their is nothing worse than DVR'd sports. I bought a hockey t-shirt. By comparison: I don't have a Giants t-shirt.
So now what? I guess I could read more books and go to museums and see plays. Isn't that what summer is for? But damn I'm gonna miss men slamming into other men at high speeds...