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.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
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?
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?
Monday, January 24, 2011
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?
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?
Sunday, January 23, 2011
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.
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?
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