Hockey Matters.

Hockey matters. It does. Today, in Los Angeles, it matters more than ever. As the Kings close in on their first ever Stanley Cup, so many thoughts and emotions are swirling around in my ever hopeful mind. For those who love hockey, the feelings of euphoria and collective happiness make sense, to those who don't know a blue line from a blue ox, they are mystified (and sometimes annoyed) by the hype. I think about all the ways hockey has mattered to me over the years. Why does one love something? Not easily described or explained, love is a word that is amorphous, it is felt rather than described. The whole purpose of a blog, in my opinion, is to say things in a way that people can relate to, to conjure up feelings of yeah, I get that. It's a bit pretentious, I admit, which is why I resisted the blog bug for so long, among other reasons. Challenging to put down into words feelings that don't always have descriptions attached. Writing about hockey is one such challenge. Since I can't think of much else today, I'm gonna do my best and write about why I love hockey anyway...

My family is hockey crazy. No, they weren't born in Minnesota or Canada, most have been born and raised right here in sunny, hot (very little ice to be found) California. My niece went to hockey camp when she was nine, she was the only girl in her session, she got dressed in the women's bathroom, skipping the locker room full of boys. My nephews both played and still do. Both my sisters are rabid Kings fans. My brother and I recently attended a baby shower and probably annoyed those around us talking about nothing but hockey.  My parents had season seats to the Kings for 17 years, most of those years when they played at the Great Western Forum. For us, it's a family affair. I started playing hockey at around 40. Had been to hundreds of games before I decided to give it a try myself. The U.S. Women's hockey team were finally going to participate in the Winter Olympics and women's hockey leagues exploded onto the scene. My best friend Stacy and I decided to try it for ourselves. I am not an athlete, I did not play sports in high school, college or ever, for that matter. Unless it involved horses I was not interested in competition either. Still not, in some respects, I play hockey for mostly other reasons, much to the chagrin of some of my teammates, I think.

Hockey is a primal sport. It's fast, it's exciting, it takes a ton of skill to play well and I'm constantly amazed by the toughness of those who play, particularly in the NHL. The skating ability needed to play at that level is beyond crazy.  Hockey players are the last real men in sports today, IMHO. They don't boo-hoo when they get hurt, they pack that broken nose with gauze and continue to finish the game, they stitch up that 25 suture cut and come back out on the ice to play again. They still lose their teeth on a regular basis and they hug each other after each and every goal. How much do I love that? Hockey fans are a different breed as well. They do not tolerate rubber balls bouncing around the stands, they do not need cheerleaders to elicit cheers (most of the women I know and some of the men, hate the 18 year old Ice Girls in their tiny tops, feeling it demeans the game and isn't necessary) they know the game and will quickly call out someone who stands up in their row while play is still going on. They're a serious bunch. My mom knows more about hockey then most people I know. She can tell you who was traded for who, what year each team won the Cup, who the coaches are, what this player said about that one. We've all said we're gonna cry at the end of the this championship season, if the Kings win or if they lose, either way, there's going to be tears. Hockey matters to us, in a big, although often unexplainable, way.

Over the past ten years I myself have won championships, lost them, traveled to play in different states, went to hockey camp in Banff, met amazing women, formed lifelong friendships, cried some, watched friends break bones and felt feelings of frustration for not "being better". I love the smell of the ice, the sound of the puck hitting the boards and the concentration it demands. I've contemplated being too old to play and worried consistently about my poor tailbone that still hurts four months after falling (extremely hard) on it when someone took my feet out from under me during a game. Every time I seriously consider stopping, I get too depressed to get out of bed, despite all those things I just mentioned. So, I still play. I will never be a great athlete, I will never be the team savior, but I do the best I can most of the time and that's enough for me. I've accepted that and play for the fun, exercise and challenge. After a game I feel lighter, more settled, more relaxed, ready to take on another work week. For an hour I think of nothing else, it takes me out of my own head, where I desperately need to go and exercises my body to it's 51 year old limits. I've had concussions, bumps and bruises, and the occasional whip lashed sore neck, but no more injuries than 40 years of riding horses has brought me. Yes, I worry about being more seriously injured, I've seen terrible breaks over the years by those playing in my league, but I play for the same reason I ride motorcycles or ride horses, because it makes me feel good. Because it's so much fun. I worry more about not living, being too afraid to do anything but watch by the sidelines.

I went to both games when the Kings made their first Stanley Cup run, in 1993. I watched Gretzky break the record for the most points ever scored by a hockey player. I was there when Luc Robitaille broke the record for most points by a left-winger and I was there (and cried) the night he retired. He was always my favorite and I still miss watching him play. He also was my inspiration, he wasn't a pretty skater (even our beloved Bob Miller would tease him during shoot-outs), he didn't have a mad slap shot, but he had so much heart and willingness to get pummeled again and again in front of the net, he seemed to pop right back up again, rarely ruffled. I've been part of the collective roar in Staples Center this playoff run, stood on my chair, cheered my team as they won game after game, series after series, watching incredulous, after so many years of not even making the playoffs. I participated in many Skate With the Kings, Tip A King and Frozen Fury season openers in Vegas. I even had my wedding shower in a suite at Staples Center in the middle of a Kings game. I wore my favorite jersey and a wedding veil. My hockey girlfriends thought it was the best shower ever and my horsey girlfriends probably thought it was an odd choice. My cake had two hockey players on it and was designed in black and purple Kings colors. I have talked hockey with many a stranger in the supermarket, at the vet's office or on a street corner. I have a jersey signed by the entire team that went to the Stanley Cup in '93, a book signed by Gretzky and a picture of me and Luc that I adore from 20 years ago. My sisters and I have pics of ourselves with various Kings over the years, we love to pull those old pics out and talk about remember when.  This is why hockey matters to me, it is memories shared with others over twenty five years. Memories of a thousand games, a million cheers and a few tears. Memories that sustain me through more difficult times of uncertainty. Memories that make it all better when nothing else seems to be going right.


Soon after my near fatal car crash in 1989 I went to a Kings playoff game. I still had my tracheotomy and my jaws wired shut. I got lots of stares but I remember walking the "loop" at the Forum feeling relief, feeling happy and inspired. I remember wanting to go to that game so bad, just to have my life feel normal again. Wanting to be part of it, relieved to still be around and able to walk among 19,000 other people, dressed in my favorite Kings jersey. That game mattered, I still remember those feelings as if it were yesterday. My friend Amy describes it this way "We've felt that sense of belonging to a diverse tribe bound by a common goal, we've suffered through long winters of discontent. At times, we've drawn everything from solace to salvation from the eternal spring of hope that comes from looking beyond ourselves and putting our hearts into a team from year to year, win or lose. From talking in terms of "we" and not "they", I step back sometimes and think how crazy it is to invest in a group of people playing a game, but for me a big part of it is connection". Yes, it's always about connection; to others, to having fun, to living a worthwhile life. Like my Dwight Yoakam music and my horses,  hockey has been a consistent source of happiness for me over the years. The Kings did not win the Cup last night, but I believe that they will. And when they do, it will bring an incredible energy,  a collective happiness, it will be a fitting tribute to 25 years of connection in my life and I will be among the happiest of all. Because hockey matters. It does.