Flames Fever? Not for me...

Written for the Calgary Herald Q

Generally in life, I like to defy stereotypes. I enjoy the unconventional—women who rebuild engines, men who know how to accessorize, polite children. You know, the unexpected. But one area in life where I am absolutely your stereotypical female is when it comes to sports in general, and hockey in particular.

What? There’s something going on with hockey right now? The only reason I know this is because someone was wearing a Flames jersey around the office today. And yes, I know what those look like.

I just don’t see what the big deal is about hockey. I’ve tried to watch a couple of games, I have. And I’ll admit that going to a game can be quite enjoyable, mostly on account of that flat Stadium beer and the Pocket Dawgs, but again, I just don’t get it. From where I’m sitting way up in the nosebleeds, hockey and hockey games are a huge money grab: The exorbitant players’ salaries make my blood boil; the merchandise is outrageously priced and good seats are unaffordable for your Average Joe.

All of that aside, to me it’s still just a bunch of guys chasing a puck around the ice. I still remember with exasperation the Year of The Red Mile. I suffered long and hard in 2004. I must have been the only one in Calgary breathing a sigh of relief when the Flames were finally out of the playoffs, if only because it meant an end to the ridiculous and unnecessary pandemonium. Tickets were selling for four hundred bucks a pop, flags littered every car and gutter in the city, students couldn’t be given homework because there was a game. Man, you couldn’t go anywhere in this town without having hockey practically shoved down your throat. I think I saw more shirtless women that year than Hugh Hefner. And you would have thought that the outcome of those games was a matter of life and death. Like Jerome Iginla was curing cancer down there at the Saddledome.

Being a Canadian and a non-fan can sometimes feel like having two heads. For my own protection, I generally keep my ignorance and disdain to myself. And really, I’m just not up for the argument. You like hockey, that’s fine with me. I may not understand it but I respect it, as long as you respect that I could care less about it. Yes, I get that you think it’s the Greatest Game Ever Played; I just think it’s still a game and that that money could be better spent on just about anything else.

Every couple of years, I feel like I am being closed-minded and that I should revisit my hockey aversion. Like there’s something wrong with me that a little Don Cherry won’t fix. So I give it another try. It sure would be nice to get what everyone’s on about. There are entire posts on this blog that make absolutely no sense to me. So I grab my big foam thumb and head on down to a game and try to get into it. I can’t see anything. I don’t know where the puck is, what the rules are, who the players are, which team is winning, why that guy got a penalty, how long there is left in the game or why all of a sudden everyone has jumped up out of their seats. And just when I think we’re almost at the end: OVERTIME.

I suppose the appeal of hockey is the feeling of belonging to something greater than oneself; a sense of pride in community, a city supporting its players and being able to get behind something bigger and better and more exciting than the dishes or the garbage or the recycling. Hockey is a form of entertainment like any other, an escape from the mundane events of our daily lives. I get all of that. I just don’t understand why it defines us as Canadians or how it is in any way part of my national identity.

So I guess I’ll just have to ride out hockey fever for a few more weeks. After all, the blissful hockey-free days of summer are just around the corner…