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.

The Great Equalizer

True confession:  I didn't get hooked on hockey only because of excitement of the game; the players aren't so bad to look at either.


(I'll apologize to any men reading this in advance, and it shouldn't happen again.  You can keep reading, though--there's a chance I might bring it back around.  Think of it as payback for all the commercials I've sat through with the Labatt Blue Light girls; it's been more than my fair share.)

As a freshman girl, of course I noticed which players were good-looking.  My favorite in the beginning was our goalie Ken Wregget.  Even though my dad would argue that Barrasso was the better and more statistically sound goalie, he could also euphemistically be referred to as the more private of the pair; at least Wregget didn't alienate himself from the media and fans.

My neighbor and his son, my brother and I drove to Ohio, where a local mall was hosting not only a sports card and memorabilia show, but also featured Wregget signing autographs.  When my turn came, he attempted to make small talk.  I couldn't ask him about his children, Courtney and Nicholas; I couldn't compliment him on any of his best saves;  I couldn't even discuss the weather because it all came down to this:  I couldn't even remember my name.  Needless to say, I did not walk away with a personalized message.

Obviously, not every player is visually appealing.  But even Evgeni Malkin gets a little sexier with each goal scored, every time he stickhandles through four opposing players, or with each shot he rips from the right circle.  The combination of strength and skill and agility can have the same effect.

Appreciation for the players doesn't mean I don't have an appreciation for the game.

One of my coworkers who follows the Flyers referred his team ending the Penguins' winning steak earlier this season.  He pointed out that our teams were sure to have more ugly encounters before it was all said and done.  "At least we have Sidney's scoring streak," I told him.  "Sidney Crosby..." I began, but he cut me off.

"Sidney Crosby is your future husband?" he finished for me.

"No," I said.  "Sidney Crosby is just a kid (and I am by no means a cougar).  What I was going to say was, 'Sidney Crosby is going to be hard to stop, and the team that ends his streak will likely need to shut out the Pens to do it.'"  When it did happen, of course, the Islanders handed us a 2-1 shoot out loss.

On a final note, regardless of looks or skill, an equalizer does exist among the players, goalies aside.  Simply put:  headgear.  Once they're strapped in, you can't tell if they have hair or not (except for players like Scott Hartnell--I'm not sure how he fit all that hair under the helmet; I thought he might be striving toward Polamalu-like stature, until he finally chopped it in October); once mouthpieces are inserted, can you really tell who's missing teeth?

And the greatest equalizer of all?  The lovely smell of hockey gloves and pads.  Facewash, anyone?

Introducing...Me

I'm that weird girl from your high school who could ramble off a hockey player's statistics, who always knew when the next Penguins game was and what time it was being televised, and who used the Public Speaking class to explain off-sides and two line passes.

While my love of the game has by no means decreased, I finally feel that my classmates have finally caught up to me (about 10+ years later) in their appreciation for hockey too, which I can deduce by their Facebook profiles pictures and status updates.

I started watching as a freshman in high school.  I'm not sure why I stopped the TV station on the game, but it caught my attention.  It was action-packed, even if I wasn't entirely sure what was going on.  You see, in gym class hockey, you couldn't even take your stick off the ground without getting a penalty; you'd end up running around all hunched over, and it always felt so awkward.

I studied my Encyclopedia Britannica to learn the rules.  Mike Lange, with his colorful commentary, was my professor.  "Welcome to the Jungle," "Cotton-Eyed Joe," and "Come Out & Play" constituted the soundtrack.  And the obsession began.

To me, it was like learning a new language.  I had to figure out who else could communicate with me...starting with my family.  Then figuring out which neighbors were fans.  More males than females could speak hockey, though it was not a completely gender exclusive topic.

Now so many more of the people I grew up with are fluent.

Hockey, as passionate as I am about it, is not my life.  I also love photography, reading, cooking, and gardening.  And more than any of those--my family.

My husband George actually hated hockey when we first dated, and now he is a convert.  He is a musician, aspiring to be a CEO, and the ultimate family man.   He also continues to challenge me and helps make our lives an ongoing adventure.  One day he'd like to run for public office.

My son Gregory, 7, is the least interested in the sport, and that's perfectly fine.  He has special talents for diagramming how things work, for math, for drawing.  One day he's into legos, the next it's Pokemon, and the day after it's insects.  When he grows up he'd like to be a baby-sitter.

My daughter Olivia, 3, refers to hockey as "pockey," which I can only imagine is a combination of "puck" and "hockey."  She wants to be my "pockey girl."  She is a princess in galoshes.  She loves cats, tea parties, and "chocolate milk in white milk."  She is our Olivia Pie.

Our dog Flower, 7, is a purebred Treeing Walker Coonhound.  She is the sweetest dog ever.  Gregory thinks it's hilarious that Fleury's nickname is the same as our dog's name.

We are also active members of our church.  What is life without faith?

We are actually concentrating on moving right now.  We've been displaced fans for seven years now and anticipate moving to Pennsylvania to be nearer to extended family.  I look forward to the day that I can watch my team play on regular cable programming, rather than through NHL Center Ice, though it has been a godsend.

Following the Pens helps me eliminate stress.  Well, at least when they're winning.  I'll be honest that I sometimes get a little cranky during a losing streak.

And I look forward to talking a little hockey with you, and sharing how it influences my life, and how it brings my family together.

Let's go, Pens!