If ever there was the perfect time for the second part of Rocket's 2,300 word game story from a club hockey game in North Carolina between UNC and Duke, today was that day. In case you missed it, here was Part I. Rocket? -------------------------
Yep, I'm not even halfway through the game. Here's part two of this needlessly epic post.
2nd period
The rink has a few small sections of stands on one side of the ice. It is one of those cozy rinks that is much more about playing the game than it is about watching the game. When I came in at the beginning of the night I staked out a territory where I figured I would pretty much be left alone to watch the game in peace. Through the first period, I have more or less gotten what I have wanted, despite the fact that the minimal seating has meant that even the sparse crowd has been a little cozier than what one might expect. Additionally, with the exception of standing for the intermission break so I could stretch my legs, I have stayed in my personally designated area. Yet, between the first and the second, for some reason that is undoubtedly not worth speculating upon, a group of four college-aged women came and sat a little closer to me than they should have. I am too old and married for this sort of development to excite me anymore. In fact, the opposite is now true. I know full well that I'm going to find this situation to be, at a minimum, annoying …
… And here we go. I'm not the kind of guy who is going to openly advocate for class warfare, I'm just the kind of guy who is going to understand and probably encourage it when it happens. I am also the kind of guy whose second greatest arch-nemesis is the overprivileged college kid (don't worry, you're still number one in my book, Stu). As far as I'm concerned unearned, undeserved smugness and ignorant youthfulness are the bleach and ammonia of personality traits. And it is growing increasingly clear that at least one of these ladies cannot help but belch forth the noxious fumes of that deadly mixture. At one point, she turned to her friend and quarter-jokingly (it wasn't even half-jokingly) asked, "Where are the club seats?" I guess there was a pea under this princess's metallic bleacher. A little later she turned to this friend again and asked, "Are we staying the whole game?" "Please don't," I wanted to reply. Of course, no mistake should be made about the situation. These were hardly the only two random comments that came out of this woman and her friends. Apparently the specter of a moment of silence so terrified these women that they became English language bulimics, constantly gagging themselves with whatever inanities that would keep them vomiting up undigested words into a puddle of garbled, unappetizing conversation that was seemingly meant to keep the spooky poltergeists of loneliness and self-loathing away.
I guess what I am trying to say is that they talked a lot. Honestly, most of it was white noise, but the "club seats" and "whole game" comments stuck with me like a couple of meat hooks swung directly into my brain. Despite the ceaseless chirping from the stands, they did continue to play a game on the ice. That is until a stray puck got dislodged from the netting during play. All of the sudden there were two pucks floating around during the game. I am happy to report that even in the South folks realize that this is a problem and play was quickly stopped.
About five minutes into the period Duke broke the seal and took a 1-0 lead. Less than two minutes later UNC tied it up. It started a little slowly, but like any good contest between two ancient rivals the intensity is continuously building. I just might get a good game out of this experience yet …
Obviously there is not a world of talent on display at this game. But passion and hard work have a way of making up for all kinds of other shortcomings. None of these kids has any sort of future in hockey as players. Sure, some – or perhaps many or most – will find their way into an old man league of some sort, but it won't be quite the same. All of these kids are wearing the last meaningful jersey they're ever going to wear as players. I don't know if any of them have consciously thought about it, but something inside each and every one of them has to know this is true because I can see it on the ice. They care and they're playing hard and it is a joy to watch. One of the greatest things about sports is that they provide an opportunity to give yourself over to a cause greater than yourself without many of the messy complications that often come along with such an act. It feels good to contribute to the betterment of the whole and these kids know it and are living it. Dance while you can with this one boys, 'cause she ain't the marryin' kind.
