on hockey
I know, I haven't been around. I've been busy.
The Boston Bruins won the Stanley Cup.
My funny, unlikely team full of rookies and old guys and spare parts is the last team standing in the National Hockey League. The season started in October. The playoffs started in April. And last night, the Bruins won the last game in the last series.
I missed a game here and there -- illness, being out of town, whatever -- but for most of those home games, I was in my seat at the arena. My home away from home.
Even before they won, it was a fun season. My goal after surgery was to make it to opening night, and I did. I even climbed to my seat with my crutches. It was a promise kept to myself.
The team had some great stories this year: a 42-year-old veteran who'd won the Stanley Cup twice before and wanted one more, a teenager whose heart seemed to break when he was drafted second instead of first, a rookie who scrambled to make the team and ended up as one of its leading scorers. There was an aging goalie coming off a bad year who stole the starting job back from his talented young teammate. There was a coach hoping desperately to hold on to his job. It was constant, fascinating drama.
There was also a star player recovering from a severe concussion sustained the season before. When he finally came back, he took an awkward bump to the head and hasn't played since. He will probably retire because of post-concussion syndrome. This is the darkest piece of the season for me. He was, is, my favorite. I wore his jersey to every playoff game.
People think following sports just means following the scores. I don't follow scores. I follow a team full of men with individual lives and loves and problems and dreams. Since they won, I've been imagining the victory through the eyes of each player, and what it might mean to him personally.
This is why I watch sports.
Congratulations to my team. I am so proud of you. You don't even know.
The Boston Bruins won the Stanley Cup.
My funny, unlikely team full of rookies and old guys and spare parts is the last team standing in the National Hockey League. The season started in October. The playoffs started in April. And last night, the Bruins won the last game in the last series.
I missed a game here and there -- illness, being out of town, whatever -- but for most of those home games, I was in my seat at the arena. My home away from home.
Even before they won, it was a fun season. My goal after surgery was to make it to opening night, and I did. I even climbed to my seat with my crutches. It was a promise kept to myself.
The team had some great stories this year: a 42-year-old veteran who'd won the Stanley Cup twice before and wanted one more, a teenager whose heart seemed to break when he was drafted second instead of first, a rookie who scrambled to make the team and ended up as one of its leading scorers. There was an aging goalie coming off a bad year who stole the starting job back from his talented young teammate. There was a coach hoping desperately to hold on to his job. It was constant, fascinating drama.
There was also a star player recovering from a severe concussion sustained the season before. When he finally came back, he took an awkward bump to the head and hasn't played since. He will probably retire because of post-concussion syndrome. This is the darkest piece of the season for me. He was, is, my favorite. I wore his jersey to every playoff game.
People think following sports just means following the scores. I don't follow scores. I follow a team full of men with individual lives and loves and problems and dreams. Since they won, I've been imagining the victory through the eyes of each player, and what it might mean to him personally.
This is why I watch sports.
Congratulations to my team. I am so proud of you. You don't even know.