All these years I thought I was resisting going to my brother's hockey games because I hated hockey. Well, actually, to be truthful, I thought it was a combination of hating hockey and being a selfish brat who couldn't be bothered to support my brother in my childhood and adolescence. I would go to extreme lengths and make up outrageous excuses.
But his team was playing Carleton today, and I was short on excuses and figured I was probably over being a spoiled brat, so I went. And I think I figured it out.
I don't hate hockey. I hate hockey rinks.
They smell like a refrigerated gym sock. They are full of obnoxious ads for car dealerships. They blare out of date music between plays (Blink 182?? Seriously???). The stands are occupied by puck bunnies with platinum blond highlights and frosted lipstick and middle aged white men with Bob and Doug Mackenzie accents clutching cups of Timmies and yelling things like "Deke! Deke! Deke! Deke Joe! Hit 'em hard!"
No wonder when I'm silently panicking about something I imagine a hockey buzzer going off over and over in my head.
Anyway, I managed to actually follow the game itself. I think dodgeball may have awakened my inner sports fan. Too bad my brother's team (U of T) played like the living dead and lost 3-0. There were actually times when I was tempted to yell "Try passing, you hosers!"
Please don't make fun of me about the hockey buzzer thing.