Hilliard Graves and Me

I have followed hockey my whole life. You would think a life of hockey watching might lead a man to develop some insight into the winter sport that is played on the flat surfaces rolled on by flat track roller derby girls in the summer months. I do not know shit. Before the NHL season begins hockey people like to ask one another who is going to win the Stanley Cup. I told everybody pretty much the same thing, "How the fuck do I know? It's a fucking 30 horse race." Last year I predicted Pittsburgh would win. That is as close as I have gotten to predicting the winner of the Stanley Cup since '94. There was no fucking way the Canucks were going to eliminate that Rangers team.

I was there in '72 but I cannot remember much of the Russia/Canada series. In '72 I was almost a teenager, already a long hair mess of dope, booze and multiple concussions. I was not such a mess to have become a Canuck fan however. I cannot remember Hilliard Graves. I remember the goalies. The Canucks have signed some crazy motherfucking goalies over the years.

Sometimes us hockey people talk about how the game could be improved, how can it be made more entertaining. My old punk rocker answer to that should come as no surprise. It is the crowds at hockey games that need to make the game of hockey better by providing more entertainment themselves. Entertainers feed off crowd energy. The best punk rock shows had the best audience, the best rioters. Until the people who show up at the rink start sneaking absinthe and speed into the rink we are all going to have to get by on appreciating the diamonds that unexpectedly come along in a 2500 game season of shit.