It's Silk

Holidays for me are a time to embarrass myself.  I blurt something out, and my family reminds me of it for years to come.  How lucky for me that they all seem to have such long memories.

One of the most famous, of course, took place in high school--my freshman year, if I'm correct.  It was one of those years when I wanted something very specific.

Despite all my hoping and anticipating, I unwrapped my gifts in an almost anti-climactic way, careful not to tear the paper because I folded it up and saved it.  As I pulled the lid off the white department store box I had just extricated, I caught a glimpse of red, felt the soft, smooth texture of the shirt's material, and exclaimed, "It's silk!"

Whether I laughed or cried or turned the same shade as the blouse I'd received, I'm not sure anymore.  Echos of "It's silk!" surrounded me as my extended family collectively enjoyed my response to the gift.  It was an expression that I would hear Christmas after Christmas as I opened my presents.

I don't save my wrapping paper anymore, though I hear if you shred it, it does make great filler for gift bags or shipping packages. Very rarely do I ask for a certain gift either, as I feel fortunate to have what I need (and most of what I want) already.  This year, however, was to be another of those unforgettable moments for me.

We distributed the presents at my mom's house so a pile sat in front of each of us.  I chose one whose tag stated it was from my youngest brother Evan, and for some reason I presumed it to be a sweater.  Not that a sweater is bad or good, but my rational mind made a guess.

As I ripped into the gift I saw black and gold and a Penguins logo, and I turned it over to see "Francis" on the back of what happened to be a different kind of sweater.  I cried.  On Christmas.  No blurted words, just blurted tears.

And my family declared, "It's silk!"

Maybe it's a silly thing to cry when you get a hockey jersey of your all-time favorite player from your baby brother.  I was so moved by the thoughtfulness of the gift, the expense he shouldn't have gone to, the joy of holding that "shirt" that I won't even mind if you bring it up again.

Photo courtesy of Jessica Brown-Bence.

The Start of the Season

October is not only a beautiful month but marks the precious yet fleeting overlap of hockey, baseball, basketball, and football. ~Jason Love

I know, the fifth game of the season is kind of silly time to start my blogging back up, especially when my team just lost. I saw this quote recently, and even though the Pirates are out of the playoffs (and have been for decades now), and even though CNN is broadcasting about the basketball lockout, hockey and football still contribute to the allure of October for me.

Now I for one feel very fortunate to be able to watch both of these sports. Which is the other reason for starting blogging now. I've gotten several letters from my brother Levi over the last five weeks while he's been in training for the National Guard Reserves, and despite his thirst for "civilian news," I think that he also really misses simple luxuries like watching sports, among other things. So partially this is for him--the least I could do!

So, Levi, to summarize: they're off to a good start.

Letang is leading the team in points. Tonight James Neal scored his fourth goal, with Cooke on his heels with 3. Malkin has sat a couple games due to his knee, but the way he was playing tonight, it was like the Geno show. They were perfect on the penalty kill (with 2 shorties) until Washington got a 4-on-3 in overtime tonight; killing 16 out of 17 still isn't bad. We signed Kunitz to a two-year extension. Oh, and Sidney Crosby got cleared for contact today--no big deal.

I know--this one is short and sweet and probably not anything new for anyone who can watch the Penguins whenever they want. I'll get back to elaboration and hopefully some charming little stories about my family as we relate to hockey.


Note:  No sooner than I had stated my intent to blog for my brother Levi, he returned from National Reserves training on a medical leave and got to watch some hockey of his own accord!  Of course, he did go back right before Thanksgiving and will now graduate his basic training in February 2012.


Random thought:  When the goaltender holds the puck, it's called "freezing the puck," but really someone else freezes all the pucks before the game even begins.

Go West, Young Man

Well, I think I'm ready.  I think tonight I will watch hockey again.

I've often used the mentality on others that if the team that beat yours is still in it, at least you know you lost to a quality team.  But I'm not thrilled to be watching the Lightning still living it up in the postseason.

Last Sunday at church, I had a conversation with another hockey fan in the congregation.  Never mind he's nine, a Canadien's fan, and the Pastor's son--he's got a passion for the sport and he likes to discuss it.  I had missed some church lately, and it was the first opportunity I had to offer him my consolation for his team's elimination.

I'm always interested in other fans' opinions, so I was asking Colin which team he thought was going to hoist the Cup this year, now that it couldn't be the Habs.

We shared a common outlook--it didn't matter who won it as long as it wasn't the team that eliminated our own.

While I could barely stomach the thought of the Lightning in the finals again, he didn't want to see the Bruins there either.  (As for the Bruins, I really wouldn't mind seeing them win this year, if only for Mark Recchi's sake, and because of Tim Thomas's amazing play.) But one of these teams will need to represent the East.

Together we agreed to cheer on the West.

Overall, he thought it was the Canucks' year (and they hadn't even wrapped up their series with Nashville yet).

We'll see about that.  They still need to defeat the Sharks.  I'll admit that I haven't watched a Western Conference playoff game yet.  The time zone difference kills me.  From what I know, I agree the regular season's number one seed is probably good for it.

First of all, the Sharks were forced to a Game 7 with the Red Wings, and they will have very little time off before their next series begins.  And the Canucks have been tested this post season:.  they received a wake up call in the first round, and their top players have been shut down, but they still managed to win their series.

But as we know, in hockey everything goes.  This is a whole new series.  That same Game 7 could mean positive momentum for the Sharks.  The extra time off for the Canucks could leave them out of focus.  Either way, the conference is well represented.

I can't wait to see how this one plays out.

Go West?

Playing Favorites

I wasn't ready for the end of the post season, and just because it's here, I'm not any more prepared for it.  I'm still feeling fairly nauseous about that game, so rather than analyze it, or critique the power(less) play, or question how the Penguins allowed the Lightning to overcome a 3-1 series deficit, I'm going to keep tonight's blog fun.

Who's your favorite player and why?

My active favorite is none other than Marc-Andre Fleury.  The Flower is known for his poke check and acrobatic saves.  Something about his demeanor reminds me of the French Canadian goalie of Slap Shot, or maybe that goalie reminds me of him.  I tend to favor goalies.  I had been favorite-less for years now and leaning toward Sid, but this season I made up my mind.  Fleury had such a tough start this year (and some of the "fans"--yes, you know who you are--thought we should deal him early), but with some adjustments on his part and more solid play from the defense, he put himself in the Vezina discussion.  Sometimes it's easy to forget just how young these players are; at 26, Fleury has already hoisted the Cup and serves as a veteran of the team.

My longtime favorite is the non-active Ron Francis.  Of course, it breaks my heart that he's instrumental on the bench of the Carolina Hurricanes and not the Penguins, even though I understand why.  As a roller hockey player, I strove to perfect my stretch pass, a la Francis.  One of the highlights of my youth was meeting him at an event, and I proudly display his autographed photo on my wall of fame.  I think my only regret is that I didn't start watching hockey earlier, as I missed his contribution to the Penguins' first two cup wins.  He always seemed like a quiet player, a sleeper, and also one who was okay with taking the supporting role to help achieve the greater goal.

So tell me about the player(s) you admire.

Game Seven

Well, Easter is coming to a close, and even though it's not a Penguins game day, we did have hockey on at our house.  George is showing great progress as he's the one who pointed out we'd be able to catch the Flyers-Sabres game on NBC today (normally Buffalo's games are blacked out as we don't have MSG).

Quick sidebar:  I saw on NBC there was an option to like NHL on NBC through facebook, and I'm curious--does anyone actually like watching hockey on NBC, or are they doing it for the same reason I am, as a necessity?  Personally, I'm not a fan of any of the announcers or commentators, except that I can deal with good old Eddie O.  And aren't the commentators what separates the stations from one another?  Maybe I'm missing something, but back to the topic at hand.

I think George was a little confused that I didn't want the Flyers to lose today.  He made it clear that they could head out to the golf course tomorrow, for all he cared; I'm nearly certain he thought I'd share that sentiment.

It's not as though I were rooting for them.

I explained to him the strategy I currently employ during the playoffs:  hope every series but our own goes the full seven games.  If our team goes on to the next round, I could only hope the team they play next was as tired, run down, and beat up as possible.  I want the teams to make each other suffer and wear each other down.  I want to see seven full games of them testing each other's strengths and divulging each other's weaknesses.

I could actually care less if Philly or Buffalo won their series.  I watch the hockey for love of the game, but find fantasy leagues detrimental.  Participating in polls that encourage me to cheer for the Penguins' opponents to move on to the next round only distracts from my focus on my team.

In the past, I had rarely chosen favorites in other playoff match ups.  While I preferred we not play the Caps or the Devils or [insert team name here], I didn't worry about it and let the ice chips fall where they may.

Last season, though, I let it get personal.  I let myself get distracted.  And as the Penguins defeated the Senators in six games, I let myself get sucked into the Caps-Habs series that extended to seven games.  I cheered on the underdogs as they clawed back from being down 3-1.  And I gloried in the fall of the number one seed to the Canadiens.

Of course, we all know how this played out.  Even though the Penguins won 3 of 4 regular season games against the Habs, and they had outscored them 15 to 9 in those games, we all know the playoffs are their own story.  This story did not end well for Pittsburgh.

And so rather than putting myself in a position to wonder if I rooted for a team because they were an underdog, or if I cheered for that team because I felt they were the easier team for us to beat, I'll just hope for game seven, round by round.

You might say that the Caps-Habs game did just that--went to game seven.

True.  But I chose a favorite in that series, and it wasn't the Penguins.  Regardless of which two teams are competing, my focus--the favorite--should always be the Penguins.

So I'm happy to say that the Blackhawks and Flyers have both forced a game seven today.  Let's go, Pens!

Coming Home

So it's been a long time since I've posted a blog, mostly because I'm not sure if anyone actually reads this, or if it's mainly serving as an online journal for me.  But either way, I'm back.

I thought I'd start blogging again last month after George and I visited the Consol Energy Center for our first time.  We played the Florida Panthers, and despite a lethargic pace to the game, the teams settled it in a shootout.  Kovalev scored the winning goal!  


Despite that, I couldn't get myself to start writing again....


Now is the time, though.  I said before that we're in the process of selling our house.  We're making some progress, and I brought up the conversation again with Gregory, our 7 year old, that we'll be moving out of state soon.  He's not handling it well because of all the friends he has made; he's started to have quite the social life.


We've told him that we'd like to have a party for him and his friends--a going away party.  I want to make sure that he gets their addresses and phone numbers.  I want him to have photographs of them having fun together.  George suggested we get Gregory an email account and bring up the topic with his friends' parents as well.  Then I thought to myself, "Why don't we do a spin-off blog for Greg and his friends so they can post notes and pictures for each other?"


Hence the blogging.


It's an exciting and scary time in our lives.  For me it's a homecoming.  Which is why I'm going to link my current favorite song:

But I'm not the only one coming home.  The Penguins are bringing their series back to Pittsburgh tomorrow.  Honestly, there couldn't be a more exciting time to be a hockey fan.  They're trying to put the Tampa Bay Lightning away in Game 5, and I'm hoping they can exercise some killer instinct.


The other series have been equally exciting.  


In the East, the Bruins came back in overtime last night to tie their series with the Habs at two games apiece.  The Flyers and Sabres battle again tonight to see which team can take the upperhand in their tied series.  And tomorrow the Caps will try to close out their series with the Rangers as well.


I'll be honest:  I haven't been paying as much attention to the West except to know the Red Wings have swept Phoenix.  Also, the Blackhawks have finally decided they'd like to make an attempt to defend the Stanley Cup, and facing elimination against the top-seeded Canucks, they've extended their series at least by another game.


By the time I'm back in Pennsylvania, the playoffs will be over.  But I look forward to discussing it more and hopefully the Pens will keep advancing, round by round.  And of course keeping you (or, if no one is reading this, me) up to date on our move!

If Wishes Were Penguins

Is it fair to expect that my blog's title is self-explanatory?

Only if you know which saying I'm paraphrasing in the first place.

In my family, especially from my Grandma Wyatt, it was just as common to hear, "If wishes were horses, beggars would ride," as it was to hear, "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush."  (That is still, by the way, my favorite of all the Geico commercials.  I mean, it's like Antique Roadshow for goodness sakes.)  Sometimes it'd just be shortened to the first half of the statement; you fill in the rest.

When I first said that to my husband, he looked at me like I had two heads.  In the foothills of western Pennsylvania, proverbs like that are commonplace.  In Webster, NY (a suburb of Rochester), not so much.

I had to explain the concept.  It makes perfect sense if you think it through.  If hoping and wanting for something were all you had to do to make it yours, everyone would have exactly what they desired and dreamed without trying.

As much as I love the saying, and when I was thinking of what to call my blog, I knew "If Wishes Were Horses" just wouldn't do for me.  It would suggest I were a horse person, which would be misleading.  I've ridden, but I honestly know very little about horses.

But since I love hockey so much and planned to make my team integral to my blog, "If Wishes Were Penguins" fit perfectly.  

When I was a teenager and my Grandma Wyatt would ask me what I wanted for Christmas, I told her "anything Penguins."  Since she wasn't necessarily in a hockey state of mind, I would often get stuffed animals, penguin emblazoned porcelain plates, and bird-shaped ornaments.  The bird and the team became interchangeable for me.

Additionally, the style of hockey that the Pittsburgh Penguins play embodies idea of this proverb--that you work hard and reap the benefits.  It's incredible how they can control the tempo of a hockey game by owning the boards and keeping the other team stuck in their zone.  

If wishes were Penguins.

Even after drafting Sidney Crosby, the team didn't experience immediate success; in fact they were still at the bottom of the ranks.  They had to grow into their new identity.  Then Evgeni Malkin and Jordan Staal joined the team the next season.  The Penguins made it to the first round of the playoffs but lost to Ottawa.  The next year, of course, we lost to Detroit, but this time in the Stanley Cup championship.  So each year they worked harder, gained more experience, and honed their collective team skills until they won the Cup the following year.

If wishes were Penguins.

They are now a team run down with injuries.  Maybe the Pens haven't lost as many man-games as some of the other teams this season.  But what team who had them would want to be without Staal for the first part of the season, without Malkin for the second half, or without Crosby for (hopefully just) its middle?  Even the support players like Kunitz, Letestu, Comrie, Asham, et al are sorely missed.  Yet the team, even when comprised of Wilkes-Barre Scranton Baby Pens, works hard to try to keep our record in tact and maintain our place in the standings as we vie for position in the playoffs.

If wishes were Penguins, every team could have a Stanley Cup.  

Instead it'll be just one.

The players' hard work to dominate the boards.  Shero's trades to fill the gaps.  Bylsma's coaching.  Winning the tight games.  We fans are hoping and praying that these steps will be enough to make us that one team.  

And then it won't matter if wishes are penguins or horses or even elephants.

Oh, and a warm "Welcome back!" to Alexei Kovalev. 

Wingman

Lately I've heard a lot of Top Gun references on TV and movies and commercials.  Almost like it's the new Star Wars.  Everyone wants to allude to Maverick and, of course, his famous wingman, Goose.

As for the Penguins, it seems as though they "lost that lovin' feeling" for their own Goose, Alex Goligoski.

Maybe that sounds a little more personal than it really is.

Trades, as I explained to my brother Evan, leave me with mixed feelings.  I get attached to the players, kind of like members of an extended family.  As fans, we watch them play day in and night out, celebrate their successes, show concern when they're sick or injured, and even dress ourselves like them.

As for Goligoski, the then 22 year-old draft choice joined us from the University of Minnesota WCHA.  We called him Gogo.  Like the rest of our young team, we watched him mature into a Stanley Cup champion.  When Gonchar headed to Ottawa, he helped quarterback the power play.  His nickname transformed to Goose.  We saw his strength on defense and enough offensive prowess to make him the 25th leading scoring defenseman in the NHL this season.

Honestly, I'm not sure how the players deal with trades.  Knowing it's always a possibility--heck, knowing it's likely to happen at some point in the career unless they're deemed a franchise player (and even then there's no guarantee) must be hard.  To pick up your life and family and job and move somewhere you may not even like--well, personally I would feel powerless.

When I was part of a bank acquisition, it was one of the worst experiences of my life.  I didn't feel like a person so much as a commodity.  Fortunately, there was no relocation involved, but suddenly I was working for a company where I did not choose to work.

As for Goligoski, the Stars have revealed he's worth two players, and I hope the Minnesota man acclimates well to Texas.

I know that Shero makes good trades.  He has the ability to see the big picture while maneuvering all the interlocking pieces.  And since we haven't even reached the deadline yet, more dealings may be in negotiation.  While I have trouble letting go, I do like acquiring new players.  Learning to pronounce their names.  Studying their tendencies.  Observing how the team chemistry changes.

Obtaining Neal and Niskanen should be good for the team.  While Niskanen is the even steven trade for Goose (a D-man for a D-man), the focus of all expectations seems to be on Neal.  The fabled hockey gods know could use the offense right now.

Goose, I will miss you.  But I know I'm not alone in wanting to see how our new wingman fits in.

Hockey Party!

Yesterday it was back to hockey after three days off.  The week had one of those scheduling anomalies that involved only two Penguins games within an eight day span.  For fans like me, those gaps are torturous.

Before the game against Chicago, Gregory had a birthday party to attend.  His friend Codie turned eight, and he was hosting a hockey-themed sledding party.

The two boys have been friends since Codie's mom baby-sat Gregory and Olivia.  You may recall mention of him in "Our Little Secret" as the friend who does karate.  After that post, his mom Erin told me of a hockey program they're trying to get Codie into and she was wondering if Greg was interested.  Given the choice of hockey or swim lessons, Greg chose hockey, but the beginners program is still vying for ice time.

The party was at Camp Eastman, just across the road from Lake Ontario.  While there were mounds of snow still on the beach, it had all melted from the ground.  Alas, no sledding.

When we arrived, Codie and his dad, Codie's cousin Bailey, and a friend were shooting around.  I don't think Greg was so sure if he wanted to join in, so he came inside the cabin with us instead.  Soon the kids would all be headed to the playground to burn off a little energy before the indoor activities.

A little later on, the boys were shooting around again.  Gregory picked up a stick, and I showed him how to grip it.  He was still staying back from the net, the other boys, and any of the action.

The ball went back past him into the grass.  He ran back with his stick, lined it up, and tried to hit it toward the others.  One of the older boys made a remark about him golfing.  "Great," I thought.  "The first time he tries to play, someone's going to make fun of him, and he'll never want to do it again."  Maybe he didn't hear, or maybe he didn't care, since he kept playing.

The ball came back to him again, this time on the asphalt.  He steadied it, wound up, and shot it along the ground into the net.  The other boys were amazed because he was further back than any of them.  He did it a couple more times, each time getting a goal and each time impressing the others.  I was so proud of Gregory.  And I told him so.

Most of the boys went back into the party.  I went in to look for George because Greg wanted to see his dad shoot the ball.  "My dad watches hockey," he told the remaining boys.

Codie's party was a lot of fun, and of course we enjoyed his cake that looked like a hockey rink.  There was even a neat light blue translucent glaze over it to make it look like an ice surface.  We hope he enjoys the hockey cards we got for him; we know he'll enjoy spending the gift card.  What kid doesn't?

By the point we arrived home, the Penguins were already into the second period of play.  I watched as they came back from 1-0 and 2-1 deficits.  They skated through overtime and took the Hawks to a shoot out.

I'm in the party that believes that one point in a shoot out loss is certainly better than no points, especially considering how depleted our ranks are, but it was a bit of a disappointment still.  I'll be watching for Jordan Staal in tonight's game versus the Caps to see how he made out after taking a Letang shot to the face in the overtime period.

And as pretty as the pass was from Talbot to Cooke for the shorthanded goal in the second frame, the highlight of my day, without a doubt, was watching my son shoot the hockey ball for the first time, seeing him put it in the net, and witnessing how his face lit up when the other boys praised him.  And telling Gregory again before bed just how proud I am of him.

The Biggest Avs Fan

The other night as the Penguins played the Avalanche in Colorado, my mind kept wandering from the game.

Yes, my team played more consistently, Fleury came up with the huge saves, and the power play looked organized.  Vitale got his first NHL goal, Sterling continued to prove he's worth calling up, and Kennedy won it for us in overtime.

But playing the Avs reminded me of my friend Devin Engles.

I even searched facebook partway through the game, but with no luck.

When I began following hockey, my love of the sport mingled with my penchant for collecting things.  In this case, my baby-sitting money went from purchasing shoes and earrings to buying sports cards, plastic sleeves, and collector's albums.  And don't forget pricing guides.

One of the hockey magazines that I subscribed to featured a section for kids to trade cards with each other.  I began writing to Angel in Buffalo, John in New York City, and Devin in Colorado.

We shared our favorite players with each other, and as we pulled cards, we would write and mail the hockey cards back and forth.  I saved up Haseks for Angel, Kovalevs for John, and Footes for Devin.  While I liked all of my new pen pals, I enjoyed writing to Devin because I could identify with her the most.

A girl after my own heart, she loved the Avs to the point of obsession.  She attended NHL games frequently, and honestly, it was just nice to have another female with whom to discuss hockey and its players.

When I went to college my card trading became less frequent.  I lost touch with my new friends.  Including Devin.

But obviously I haven't forgotten her.

I wish we could get in touch again.  I wonder what she's been doing all these years, who her current favorite player is, and how she would suggest her team turn itself around.  I'm hoping at some point I find her again.

Until then, I'll think of her at our teams' annual meeting.  At least.

Valentine's Day Revisited

Today George delivered my Valentine's Day gift.

I've known for two days what he chose for me, but today the package arrived.

Does my husband get me a dozen roses?  How about chocolates for the most romantic of holidays?

Not this year.

I liked the way my Aunt Lisa described it, "Nothing shouts Love like a hockey game with a possible melee on middle ice!"

At the end of next month, George and I will watch the Penguins play the Florida Panthers at Consol Center.  I'm anticipating my first trip to the new arena, even though as a person with a strong sense of nostalgia, any change of venue is bittersweet for me.

Speaking of bittersweet, I haven't seen any of the tickets for other games, but mine features Malkin and some Panthers players, but we won't have the opportunity to see Geno in action firsthand.  I'm hopeful that since the game is over a month away, our injured players might have the chance to recuperate so I can see them compete.

George and I will have been together for eleven years this Friday, and I thought I'd take a moment to go through our hockey history.

As I pointed out in "Introducing...Me," when George and I started dating, he made it clear that he hated hockey.  He didn't say he disliked it.  Or that he wasn't interested.  He told me he hated hockey.

I wasn't dismayed.  I knew it was more likely that he didn't understand it, so I didn't let it become a deal breaker.  Instead I chipped away.

During the playoffs I would lay claim to the lounge in my dorm so I could watch the Penguins.  George lived clear across campus, but he stayed up with me for the third longest overtime in NHL playoffs--92:01 of extra play (http://nbcsports.msnbc.com/id/12506186/).  The Flyers won that game, tying up the series, and went on to win the round too.

That same semester George escorted me to the formal hosted by our college men's hockey team.  As statistician I would attend this end of season event.  George was the only guy there who didn't play hockey.

I think George fell in love with the city of Pittsburgh the summer he spent his internship there (thank you, Uncle Rodney).  So it wasn't a difficult task getting him to the Igloo to buy Student Rush discounted tickets with my brothers and me throughout our remaining college years.  In fact, I think he was starting to like hockey by this point.

I spent part of my 2001 Christmas break with George and his mom in Rochester.  That year that we surprised each other by exchanging hockey jerseys.  I got George the Lemieux away jersey.  He got me the then new home jersey with the skating penguin.  For a [insert "poor"] college student, a hockey jersey is a pretty serious commitment.  Just another moment where George demonstrated he knew just what I wanted.

After I moved to Rochester, we spent quite a few years where we couldn't watch many Penguins games.  We focused on purchasing hockey cards.  He would buy them for my for my birthday, for Christmas, for no reason at all.  You'd think we might have caught more Amerks games than we did, but it's just not the same.  My brother Levi got us tickets a subsequent Christmas so we could go see the Penguins play in Buffalo, and we traveled the hour and a half to cheer our team to a win.

I credit Sidney Crosby, Evgeni Malkin, and Jordan Staal, though, in bringing us back to Penguins hockey with fervor.  Those three gave the team new life, and soon we were taking note of the Penguins in the playoffs once again.  Two years ago, George presented the NHL Center Ice package to me as an anniversary gift.

My husband has proven again and again how well he knows me by his gift giving.  While "a diamond is a girl's best friend," he knows I prefer a different kind of ice.

Thank you, George, for eleven wonderful years and all the spot-on gifts of hockey!

The Big One-Zero-Zero

In school, the 100th day is now a widely celebrated day, even though we didn't know day 100 from 76 from 110 when I was in grade school.

The kids usually put together some type of project, and they use it as an opportunity to count to 100 by 2s, or 5s or 10s.  They bring in one hundred pennies or one hundred pieces of popcorn or one hundred pop tabs.

At my son's school, the 100th day is February 18th, just over a week away, and he plans to make a picture of a Pokemon by gluing one hundred pieces of O-shaped fruit cereal to a piece of paper.

But Penguins fans have a different "100" milestone on the brain, and we're hoping it's reached long before February 18th.  In fact, between now and then, they have four opportunities to reach this mark.

Dan Bylsma is looking for his 100th win as a Penguins coach, and he'd achieve it more quickly than any other coach in the team's history, according to Bob Errey.

He's already had two chances. The Penguins lost 3-0 to the Caps and 4-1 to the Blue Jackets.

But now the feat is going to be that much harder.

Injuries plague the Penguins.  Crosby is hopeful he'll play again this season.  Malkin is out for the next six months due to his knee injury.  And then there are the injuries to Asham, Kunitz, Letestu, and Comrie.  On top of that, Cooke is serving a four game suspension, and obviously he offers both scrappiness and goal-scoring.

Still, it's possible.

I'm just hoping that if you can breathe the words "hundredth win" and take it away (just as quickly as thinking "shutout" makes that goose egg disappear), maybe you can say it's just about as impossible for Bylsma to get his 100th win tonight, and help make it happen.

They don't call it "Bylsmagic" for nothing.

Super Bowl Blues

I tend to take my sports pretty seriously, so please excuse the lapse in the blog posts.  I've been in a bit of an emotional funk since Sunday.

It was going to be a perfect day:  an afternoon Penguins game (I loves me a hockey matinee!) leading up to the Steelers in Super Bowl XLV.

I knew the game against the Caps would be a tough one.  Every one is.  But it shocked me when all our positive momentum in the first period left us down 1-0.  That we were held scoreless felt like a bad omen.  But I'm not a doom and gloom fan; hope springs eternal, right?

Down to the last couple minutes of the Super Bowl, I thought the Steelers might be able to redeem their first half performance and overcome the deficit.  When it was over, all the hype and anticipation of the day fell flat.

Some of my friends expressed the sentiment, "Even if they didn't win, they made it to the Super Bowl, and that's an accomplishment."  But ask any Buffalo Bills fan if losing at the Super Bowl (or four of) makes them feel any prouder of their team's resume.

How I feel now is nothing compared to when the Penguins lost to the Canadiens in last season's playoffs.  It doesn't compare to how I felt when the Steelers lost to the Patriots in the playoffs in 1996.  But it still manages to leave an empty spot, a little sick feeling, that makes me tend to agree with my friend Mentha, who said, "I don't want to talk about it."  I'm assuming, of course, she was referring to the Super Bowl.

What I could really use right now:  a Penguins win, a hocky matinee, someone to use "yinz" in a sentence, a move to Pennsylvania, a hat trick, Terrible Towels waving, a Yuengling, another Stanley Cup, anyone to declare that Green Bay didn't win that so much as show up and let us lose.  The list goes on and on.

What I'll take:  seeing my teams play, even if they lose; taking phone calls from Pennsylvanians as part of my job as a chance to hear that accent again; my son's agreement to play hockey, though only when given the ultimatum that it's hockey or swimming lessons;  a Yuengling Light drunk from a frozen Penguins mug; and any indication that I'm on way out of these Super Bowl blues.

Conversion

My Penguins gear tends to raise some eyebrows around here.  Everyone wants to know why would someone living in Rochester, NY be a Pittsburgh fan?

Rather than monologuing about how worthy they are, every time I declare that I'm from western PA.  That seems to be my answer to most questions these days.

Just yesterday my dental hygienist and I were discussing the Super Bowl, and she admitted to being a Bills fan.  Despite the team's current condition, she can't help it, because it's how she was born and raised; she's a product of her environment.

It may go without saying, but which team you follow has a lot to do with where you're from.

When I went to college, I tried to change that.  I knew I wouldn't be able to follow the Penguins like I always had--meaning if a game were on, I was watching it.  I was determined to become a Sabres fan instead.

Needless to say, it didn't happen.

I traded being an NHL fan, except for at playoff time since the stations would broadcast the Penguins games, and started doing statistics for the college team.  I would record where all the shots were taken from, would put together sheets of scoring leaders for the team, and would travel along on road games (even one time to Neville Island).

I also joined the college newspaper's sports section since writing (and reading) about sports was, and is, my passion (Better give credit here to my Journalism/Mass Communication major roommate Brooke, who asked me to go with her to the initial newspaper meeting!).  I wrote beat stories on the cross country team, features on swimmers and divers, unveiled the new school mascot and even interviewed the school's only NBA player since Bob Lanier before starting his first game as a freshman.  But the hockey beat was already taken by a senior.

Eventually, I had the leeway to write any story I wanted for my editorial, and I chose hockey as my subject.  The gist of it was this:  this school has a great hockey team, which it takes for granted because it is so preoccupied with basketball.

Not surprisingly, nothing happened.  Not even the slightest change.

Olean and St. Bonaventure will always be a basketball town.  Just like I can't convert to Sabres fandom.  Just like Miss Donna at Dr. O'Connor's office will always be tortured by her loyalty to the Bills.

There are simply some things you can't change:  where you come from and who you love.

An Elephant Never Forgets

One of my pastors used to tell the joke:  "Once I went to a boxing match, and a hockey game broke out."

Even though I've heard that a million times, I still give a little chuckle.

But you won't hear me chuckling about missing that fight last night.

First of all, I'm dismayed that NHL Center Ice did not have coverage for the second Penguins game in two nights.  I've come to realize that there are certain games I won't see, namely those broadcast on Versus or MSG, so I expected to miss the Rangers game, but not the one against the Islanders!

(But enough complaining.)

Second of all, thank goodness for technology.  If I hadn't been able to watch the video of the fight on http://penguins.nhl.com/, I probably would be lodging some serious complaints right now.  Instead, I blog!

I love a good fight, but it means more to me within the context of the game.  Luckily, Bob Errey's commentary fills in the details.

As Errey reminds viewers, in a previous match up DiPietro and Cooke had several run-ins, most of which resulted in interference penalties for Cooke.  Ummm...those penalties weren't during the last game on January 25th or even during our overtime loss to them on December 29th.  That game dated clear back to October 15th.  If that's the real reason for the interference on Cooke during a simple icing call in this game--well, talk about the memory of an elephant.

Fans with a shorter memory span would recall that before the All Star break, we beat the Islanders 1-0.  And that game two fights within the first two minutes.   Our previous two games against them featured only one fight each.  Only.

At this pace, maybe I'll be adding the Islanders to the list with the Canadiens, Flyers, Devils, and Caps.  (Due to their come-backs this season, I'm also considering the Bruins.)

This fight reminds me what a gritty team we have this year.  As http://www.hockeyfights.com indicates, the Pittsburgh Penguins (33-15-4) have the third most fights this season with 48, behind only the Ducks (28-21-4) and the Blues (22-20-7) who are tied with 49 apiece.

Contrary to this statistic, despite our grinding and cycling tactics, and mindless of our penalty kill record and goals against average, our reputation remains as a team of offensive prima donnas?

What more do the Pens have to do to prove they are the blue collar hardworking team they identify themselves as?

For Pete(Tagliantetti)'s sake, our goalie fought!  It may have been just one slug, but still, you don't see a lot of goalie on goalie action these days.

Normally it's Cooke and the other Penguins defending the netminder's space.  It's nice to know these things work both ways.

Our Little Secret

My husband and I would like our son Gregory to get involved in something.

Anything really.

Besides Pokemon.  Or maybe I should say, "In addition to Pokemon."

While George is really pushing for sports, I'd be happy with anything that makes him a little more active and gives him the opportunity to meet some kids his age.  I just want to promote him living healthy and being friendly.  Maybe you can relate.

When asked, Greg immediately ruled out Little League, football, and basketball--all to George's disappointment.

There might be hope for these someday.  I mean, he really enjoys the movie The Sandlot.  And now that he's made a friend that follows the Jets, he's a little more curious about football.  Plus, he and his classmates must be shooting around in Physical Education because he doesn't mind a basketball so much as long as it's not in a structured game (unfortunately once again for George, he won't even consider sitting down  and watching the UK Wildcats play one out).

We thought that since his friend Codie started karate, maybe Greg would want to do that too.

But like most other kids his age, he already thinks he is a karate and self-defense expert.  He watched The Karate Kid (2010), afterall.

Going out a limb, I even suggested fencing.

My husband thought this was a strange choice, but Greg does enjoy a good light saber duel.  Maybe some lessons would sharpen up his technique.  We found a place just down the street from us (imagine that!) that features Olympic caliber trainers, but is that a little intense for a seven year-old?

What I really want him to love, of course, is playing hockey.  But I just don't want to push him.

That's why it's been hard to contain the news that my friend Jamie gave me:  a YMCA near where we plan to relocate has a youth hockey program for kids his age.  And she's trying to get her daughter involved with it too.

I haven't told him yet because every once in awhile, he shows a bit of interest, but if I'm even slightly too eager, he'll revert.  He's a little like a hermit crab that way.

The good news is this:  when we went ice skating last year at an outdoor rink, which seems more challenging, he wanted to learn.  He tried so hard, and even if he wasn't gliding smoothly, he was working it out on his own.  The same size that will someday be advantageous to him currently makes it slightly harder to maneuver with grace.  I remember Gregory conceding that a hockey stick might help him balance.  And recently he wanted to try again.

Better yet--his school sent home a flyer the other day about an upcoming free skate that will be indoors.  I'm holding my breath that he'll ask to go.

So for now, this hockey league is our little secret.

Until I find a way to make him want it.

Maybe he'll surprise me by wanting it on his own.

And even if (or when) he chooses something completely different, I'll be pleased.

The Trickster

Lately, we've been seeing what a trickster Fleury is.

I mean that from a mythological stance too.  

Between all the extra footage I've seen of Marc-Andre on HBO's 24/7, the All Star Game, and the antics from the game against the Canes (goalie in a football helmet), I'm gaining an insight into his contributions to the team outside of his win tallies and save percentage.

Some of you might ask, "'Mythological stance'--where did that come from?"

I'll just blame Stan Lee and his Guardian Project, http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=481144452465&set=a.481080997465.259644.61652252465&pid=6288164&id=61652252465, for bringing it up in the first place.

Even though the description Lee suggests as the hero for the Penguins--"The gritty young savior of the steel city.  Can project ice missiles from his hands and travels on a frozen ice sheet"--seems more reflective of Sidney Crosby, Mario Lemieux, and the players' blue collar work ethic, I'd like to point out that in myth, the trickster is often the hero. 

And that points not to Sid the Kid, but to the defender of the net.  

As a contributor to Wikipedia summarizes:  "Hynes and Doty, in Mythical Trickster Figures (1997) state that every trickster has several of the following six traits:^[1]  fundamentally ambiguous and anomalous; deceiver and trick-player; shape-shifter; situation-inverter; messenger and imitator of the gods; sacred and/or lewd bricoleur."

Let's take a look at the evidence.

The easiest to support:  trick-player.  HBO showcased evidence of that when the Penguins went on their road trip to Buffalo toward the end of their winning streak.  While the other players dined, Fleury and some others played a classic prank, moving the furniture out of Letestu's and Lovejoy's hotel room and rearranging it in the hallway instead.

Fleury shows his ability to shape-shift with every game he plays.  While he may not change form bodily, his flexibility allows him to make saves countless ways.  During the All Star Game Breakaway Challenge, as he also does during the Penguins' monthly Mustache Boy competition, Fleury shifted between jumping jacks, push ups, and other non-traditional goaltending forms as he stopped pucks; there's no telling what form he might take.

Lastly, I suggest Fleury as a situation-inverter.  Hockey fluctuates between being a game dominated by defense or by offense. Currently the NHL is in the midst of an offensive period, leaning toward penalty shots and overtime shoot outs.  While the goalies have rules to protect and defend them, they are the hunted.  Even so, Fleury successfully utilizes the poke check among other techniques to turn the tables, forcing the shooter to make the first move and giving himself the predator's advantage.

So even as you read the description for the Penguin, keep this in mind:  While Sidney is the more prominent and traditional hero, don't rule out the trickster Fleury.  He could just as skillfully, like Prometheus, deceive the hockey gods long enough to pry away an opponent's win, and hand it over to Penguins fans instead.

All Star Break

I will not lie.  I was not looking forward to this weekend.

Six days without Penguins hockey pushes me to the limit.  No football on top of that, and Hollie is not a happy girl.

As much as I love hockey, I haven't been a fan of the All Star Game in the past.   North America vs. the World. East vs. West.  I just never identified with it much.

But when I heard about the change in format this year, it peaked my interest.

The drafting of teams by the players themselves--that's as classic as it gets.  It takes me right back to Saturday morning pick up games, makeshift lineups depending on what players could make it, and playing for the fun of the game.

What I remember from those days was not an attempt to stack teams but to make them as even as possible.  Playing without any true start or end.  Making the long outlet pass or watching someone else lay out the goalie with a nice backhand shot.

I could tell that the players were feeling this same transport back to those less formal days as the draft proceeded.  It became apparent as Captain Staal chose his own NHL team's goalie, his brother, his rookie benchmate and his hometown boy.  Even though talent mattered, so did loyalty and camaraderie.  In a time when teams are pushing for the playoffs, it must be relieving to play a game where the consequence is bragging rights and enjoyment is everything.

My brothers still play in a roller hockey league, but I haven't picked up a stick in years.  What worries me about my upcoming return to Pennsylvania is that all my old teammates have grown up and left town.  That the ones still there might not invite me to play anymore.  That I'll continue my love of the game vicariously through my siblings, maybe through my children, and through the Penguins.

Marc-Andre Fleury and Kris Letang will represent the Penguins tomorrow in the All Star Game on opposing teams, but from their joking, I don't think they'll mind.  The format change made this separation, and some otherwise unlikely pairings, possible.

As I shared my excitement with my husband, George reminded me that this, combined with the annual Winter Classic, show how forward-thinking the NHL and this sport can be.

He's right; hockey evokes the game's roots, shows its relevance in the present, and secures its continuation into the future.  And I'm sure there are other fans, like me, that thought about passing it up, but now have a renewed energy and will be watching to see how it all plays out.

Less Likely to Lose

Would you say that most hockey players are superstitious?


At least when Crosby refrains from shaving a mustache, makes sure he has his lucky hat, and warms up by doing hand-eye coordination drills, he has a good reason for it.


When the players exercise their superstitions, they're really just performing a routine, aren't they?  It's no different than what people who are not athletic professionals do to ready themselves to perform their jobs.  After all, if you're prepared and in the proper state of mind, won't you be more likely to succeed?


What doesn't make sense are superstitions carried out on the part of the fans.


I, for example, will not wear a Penguins shirt on a game day.  Only the day after a win.  The exception, to the first statement, however, is if a game day follows the day after a win; then it is okay.


There is nothing logical about that.  What I wear does not impact how my team plays.  Does it?


Yet I can't stop myself.  I try always to be cognizant of when the team is playing because if I do wear my Pens gear and they lose, somehow I feel responsible.


Even though I can't affect the team's play, I've noticed that when I follow this rule, they're less likely to lose.  So, like any player with hockey sense would do, I play the percentages.


This means that I also talk to the players through the television screen, try to avoid seeing my Uncle Rodney on any Pittsburgh game day (including when my cousin Jason got married--somehow my husband and I got lost on the way to the wedding, during which time the Pens won their playoff game, but we did make it to the reception.  Sorry, Jay, it truly wasn't intentional, I swear!), and follow the mantra that ice cream is always lucky during second intermission.


I was thinking about the idea of superstition this morning as I was reading up on the practice of burying statues or medals of St. Joseph, which is supposed to help when selling property.  My supportive friend Linda, in an  attempt to help us sell our house and move to Pennsylvania, gave me this statue, and I wanted to follow directions.


This idea would have struck me as idol worship even as few as ten years ago.  I mean, I've always referred to the fabled hockey gods, but only in jest.  But my religious growth has led me to no longer limit God's power, but ask, "What can't be done?"


The website http://www.fisheaters.com asks, "Is this custom superstitious? It is if one doesn't believe in the intercession of Saints and the good of making outward signs of prayer."


I guess it just shows that if you have the belief your actions will get results, it's faith, not superstition.  And what's to say if that applies to life, it can't apply to hockey too?

The Road from the Cup

Speaking of forming wonderful memories in Pittsburgh, we had a very memorable trip back from visiting the Holy Grail of hockey, as I mentioned previously.

The exhibit stayed open late, and after three hours of waiting, we were hungry and tired.  And so were the children.

George and I anticipate stopping at an Eat 'n' Park whenever we're in Pennsylvania, and this night was no different.  We hoped to swing by, hopeful the kids might sleep the rest of the way back to my dad's house and through the night.  Tomorrow, afterall, was Easter.

As soon as we cleared the city, the check engine and thermometer icons lit up the dashboard.  Neither my brother, my husband or I were familiar with the terrain, as my family lives south of Pittsburgh, but we did pull off at a nearby exit--the one that looks like a road up into the hills and features one lonely streetlight (I exaggerate--maybe there are two).  It's probably the one you've passed by and thought, "I hope I never get stranded there."

My brother Evan is the one most likely to know something about cars and how they work.  He popped the hood while I got out the owner's manual.  It happened to be missing the section we needed.  Even so, I read out the instructions, and all three of us started giggling and laughing at the way it was worded or at the way it I read it aloud or at the general bad luck of the situation.  

The car cooled for at least ten minutes and we set out again.  I ordered my husband to crank the heat, a trick my dad had taught me to divert it away from the engine.

We made it as far as the next exit before those darn lights came back on.

George pulled us into a closed gas station and raised the hood once again.  My brother called Dad to see what he suggested.  My dad was not happy and just wanted to come get us. Meanwhile, our tired hungry children wailed in the backseat as I checked with AAA about the soonest tow available.

Don't ever get sidelined on Easter Eve.  It is brutal!  It turns out no one wants to work the night before a holiday.  (And by no one, I mean the AAA dispatcher, since we found out later that the tow would have gladly taken us what was now becoming the early hours of Easter morning.)

We drove the car one last time (no whammy, no whammy, stop!) as the GPS directed us to the nearest Eat 'n' Park.  By now the kids were mostly asleep.  We ate more out of habit and light-headedness than hunger at this point.

And AAA finally informed us that we would not get a tow until morning.  They provided us with a phone number for a cab company and the name of a hotel so we could use out travel emergency benefit.

That cab never came.

As we paid, some local police officers heard our sob story.  I'm so thankful for their compassion as they loaded four of us into the back of the police car (George got to sit up front).  The lack of seat belts or any separation between the seats confused my son.  And my daughter alternated between clinging to me, sleeping, and crying as we slid and bumped into one another whenever the car turned.

We were also thankful for the hotel staff, who got us quickly into our discounted room, now that it was after three in the morning.

My brother and I got the kids into bed while George took his own wild ride with a cabbie to Giant Eagle to get "contact cases and solution".  I'm sure I was asleep long before he got back to our room.

And in the morning, just as we were about to leave the hotel room to check out, room service delivered two Easter baskets that the Easter Bunny had left in the night.

We walked down the hotel's steep drive to a McDonald's at the bottom and ate our holiday breakfast.  Gregory and Olivia played on the playground until the tow truck picked us up.

Between my warranty on my car and AAA, we incurred very little out of pocket expense for the breakdown.  I look back on this and am able to laugh at our adventure on the way home from seeing the Stanley Cup (I don't think George is quite to the point where he can think of this and laugh yet).  After that climactic moment, everything went so wrong that it felt like we'd stepped into a bad movie.

But wouldn't you believe that this is the Easter that Greg and Olivia talk about, one of the best yet?

City of Champions

I love the city of Pittsburgh.  Always have, always will.

When I was a kid, I loved it because it meant seeing my cousins.  And my aunts and uncles.

Arriving at the city from the north, the cityscape would come out of nowhere.  Even then it would take my breath away.  My brothers and I looked forward to driving through the Liberty Tunnels, the point where we'd lose the radio station because we were so far underground, and holding our breaths as long as we could.

Even though I didn't want to leave the city, I could still watch for my favorite sight, the Heinz ketchup bottle that looked like it was emptying, and then would instantly be full of red-light ketchup again.

Now I'm older, and the city still gets me every time--like wandering the North Shore by the stadiums and Vietnam Memorial; or exploring Oakland's Cathedral of Learning then eating at the Original Hot Dog Shop; or catching the trolley dowtown to crowd onto a bridge and watch the Fourth of July fireworks display at the Point.

Seeing the Steelers win the AFC Championship tonight makes me so proud of this city.  I can't wait to go back there and to take my children too.  I want them to be amazed by the skyscrapers and bridges, to appreciate the sports teams, to be impressed by the massiveness of the rivers, and to feel the history of the place.  Most of all, I want them to form wonderful memories of Pittsburgh, just like I did.

Last week the Penguins had their Terrible Towel on display while they competed with the Bruins, and right afterwards the Steelers defeated the Ravens.  And of course last night Fleury showed some solidarity as he displayed the Steelers helmet and Terrible Towel both during their game against the Hurricanes.

I'm thrilled that my teams support each other, rather than acting like jealous siblings.  Might as well enjoy the good times, as our legacy of winning continues.

Now what are we going to do about those Pirates?

Inconceivable

Last night the Pens lost to the Devils.

This might not seem like much of a big deal.  We had plenty of practice losing to them last season (a six game series swept by that pesky team, if you don't recall).

But this season is a different story.  Since they've racked up more than twice as many losses as they have wins, who isn't beating this team?

I tried to predict what the outcome might be statistically.  

For example, Crosby and Malkin would both be out injured, and so this could hinder our production.  Our team, though, boasts of depth this year, and players like Staal, Talbot, Rupp, Letestu and Connor might rise to the occasion.

In the six games while Crosby had been out, we had only scored 15 goals.  Even so, the Devils this year have scored an average of two goals per game, and so we should come out ahead.  

As to goaltending, both Fleury and Johnson had GAA of just over 2 goals per game.  Brodeur, even though he's nearly forty years old and is still bearing the brunt of the games, hasn't had the best stats of his career because the Devils aren't the defensive team they've always been.  

I could could build on that comparison of the teams' defense, and point out the Penguins' stats on the penalty kill, or maybe bring up Kovalchuk's plus/minus stats, but this arguing with myself over who logically should win the game feels a little out of the "Battle of Wits" scene in The Princess Bride, doesn't it?  

That the Devils won is almost inconceivable.

Martin Brodeur truly played a great game.  He may have done a little playacting at one (or more) points.  But he managed to stymie the Penguins' opportunities, produce a win, and earn a shut out.

If individual players couldn't change an outcome of a game like this, what would be the point?  We'd have the hockey game decided on paper in advance, or someone would simply run the figures through a computer and come up with a calculation.  

This is why the game must be played:  you can compare what should or might or could happen until you're blue in the face, but until you let those players get out there in the test tube that is the hockey rink, you won't know what actually will happen.

Maybe we should change Vizzini's final line in that scene to, "You fool! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders - The most famous of which is "never get involved in a World Junior championship game against Russia" - but only slightly less well-known is this: "Never go against a Brodeur when shutout is on the line."

The Road to the Cup

You've heard it all before:  to get to the Stanley Cup you need to win 16 games, but every champion's road, despite this similarity, is a little different.

My family's road to the Cup was memorable, to say the least.

We had the good fortune that our trip to Pennsylvania for Easter coincided with the Heinz History Center hosting the Stanley Cup and various other hockey trophies.  How's that for timing?

Since it would only be on display for a limited time, we couldn't turn down this opportunity.  Normally, I might not bring my then two and six year-old to a museum event that started so late and which might include a long wait; all I could think, though, was someday when they were older, they might ask why we hadn't taken them too.  My brother Evan came along; nothing would let him miss this chance either.

The wait, of course, was incredible.  For a substantial part of it, we weren't even inside the building.  Once inside, the line snaked back and forth through the lobby area.

The Heinz History Center has an interior marked by exposed steel beams and brick.  Clear panels hung between those columns tease you by giving you a preview of what's inside, before you've even paid your admission.

What they might not have thought of, though, in the placement of those panels, was that a two year-old that's been waiting fairly patiently for hours to get in might squeeze through into the museum, where its parents couldn't get to it.

And then, said toddler might climb into a World War II Jeep on display, even though it's been roped off.

Oh, the looks that child's parents got!  Thank goodness Gregory could fit through that same hole!

Once finally admitted, the queue wound further through the museum.  We opted not to explore the other sights, but to keep our eye on the prize.  It led past the other trophies with their cue cards pointing out the Penguins winners.  Gregory even posed in front of them, either trying to look like he was modelling the trophies, or trying to make the illusion that he was holding them.

And then finally, without ceremony, we arrived at the Cup.

We gathered around.  They were arranging us so quickly for our group photograph that we barely could appreciate its silvery sheen.  Thinking back, I remember heat, from the people, from the lights, from the pride of being there, from the reflection of it's polished surface--shiny despite being touched all day and all night.

Alas, Lord Stanley's Cup!


(This is our Road to the Cup, but the story won't end there.  Stay tuned for The Road from the Cup, which is yet to come.)

Retaliation

Last night my family got home after me.  When my son came in, he thanked me for turning on the garage lights for them.  “I knew you’d be here, and you’re doing yoga.”

I’m not sure if it was the relaxation apparent on my face or that I was sitting in the middle of the living room rug that brought him to this conclusion, but he took a quick look at the television and revised his story.  “Oh, it’s hockey.  Olivia was right that it was on.” 

That’s my girl!

When George carried her inside the house, he also was surprised that Olivia was right.  She ran over to me, jumped in my lap, and deposited some silly-sounding kisses on my face before watching the Penguins leading the Red Wings by a goal.

“How was your day?”  I asked her.

“Good, but Gregory made me be bad at Grandma’s house,” she said heatedly.

I explained to my three year-old that you always have a choice in how you act.

“Olivia, sometimes hockey players pick on one another.  When that happens, that player needs to choose whether to hit back or whether to let it go.  If he lets it go, the team might get a power play.  Do you understand what you’re going to do next time Gregory picks on you?”

She looked up at me and said, “Hit him back.”

Sigh!  Maybe I should’ve explained that a penalty is a lot like a time out, except without the apology at the end.

I gave her a hard look. 

“Hit it out?” she tried again.

“Do you mean the puck?” I asked.

“Mmm-hmm,” she said.  “Hit the puck out.”

Close enough.