The Boston Bruins concluded their home schedule way back on April 13. Within days, the ice was melted, the water drained, and the lights extinguished at TD Banknorth Garden. There it has remained, dry and dark ever since. Yet, eight weeks later, the NHL has yet to coronate a champion in an annual ritual more exhaustive than Mr. Trump's search for his next Apprentice.
Here in New England, we were once a feared lot. One of the Original Six, a perennial contender, hosts to the most memorable goal in the Stanley Cup's storied history. Now, all that remains of those days are the 16x20 framed photos of a flying Bobby Orr still adorning the walls of every neighborhood sports pub. And under that image of the iconic Orr with his arms outstretched and stick raised after beating St. Louis Blues goalie Glenn Hall for the Cup winner, some commemoration of the date is often set into the frame or written on masking tape affixed to the glass. May 10, 1970.
As unimaginable as it sounds, NHL seasons once wrapped up on May 10.
This season, the anniversary of Orr's goal found Carolina and Edmonton halfway through their second of four playoff rounds. On that night, each was victorious by a 3-2 score. The Hurricanes' win gave them a commanding 3-0 lead over the Devils. For the Oilers, it was their first against San Jose in a series they still trailed, 2-1. There were many miles to go before this season sleeps.
So be it, our broad hockey readership will assert. For them, the longer the better. Complaints of the enduring season are as warmly received as is quoting Nietze in the middle of Mass. If the rest of the country doesn't like it, we're invited to move on to our outdoor sports and leave hockey fans in peace to catch some cathode rays and their pallid game.
With so many other choices, why should it bother me that hockey is played in June? For starters, I want in on the Finals.
I am by all accounts a casual fan. I don't get OLN and would not subscribe anyway. I only saw Slap Shot once. I do not regard full dental work as an effeminate quality. I enjoy the game in moderation, but not enough to opine on Bruins free agent candidates or whose jersey is deserving of a final rest in Toronto.
Once upon a time, the Stanley Cup Finals were my Mecca. They brought me back to the game once a year and usually left me resigned to pick things up again in the fall. Then summer would come and I invariably lost my enthusiasm for an upcoming season of 2-2 ties. Surprisingly, this year's shootouts did not mitigate my indifference. If anything, last year's work stoppage may have expanded it. I have now grown indifferent to summer hockey.
All right, why should Hockey Fan care about my opinion? That's easy. You need me. You need my kind. And we are legion.
Yours can no longer afford to remain a secret order dedicated to preserving the esoterica of a once sacred game. You must come to terms with the fact that Bowling Night successfully replaced your sport on its former network, and the WNBA now outdraws it on its new home on OLN. Your game's next generation of fans are more apt to be the fallout who dosed off during Elk Country Journal or The Lance Chronicles and awaken to a hockey game and a missing remote. That is not a sufficient source to carry you back into prime time.
You need me to host a Stanley Cup party this Saturday night and invite four or five of my casual hockey fan buddies over to the house. It will be your coming-out party into prime time America and you need my television tuned to NBC.
Then, you need to spend time with me at the coffee bar on Monday morning, patiently explaining where the centerline went. I still see a red stripe under the ice, but it's breached more than Paris Hilton's loins. And you need to explain to my buddies how the penalty box has come to be so crowded, and why it is no longer vacant during sudden deaths. You need to pull us back for Monday night's broadcast and the next after that.
But here's the thing: we haven't seen ice in two months. We've forgotten how it feels, how cold it can be. Frankly, I don't want to think about ice. It's June and my mind is on the beach. Hockey had its window, but it closed three weeks ago as the WNBA's opened. That's where the big television audience is now when we're not on the beach.
Hockey Fan, Saturday night is your big opportunity. NBC will insist you outdraw its poker series, and you can't do it with your measly ranks. If you fail, it will not be their wallets flapping in the wind. They have a revenue-sharing arrangement that will cut into NHL coffers for the next two years. Beyond that, if expectations aren't satisfied, they may well become a League vendor. Into whose pockets do you suppose Gary Bettman will be digging to pay for airing rights? Certainly not those of the sleepy OLN viewer biding his time during a shootout so he can catch the day's bullfighting highlights before bed.
By all means, knock yourself out on your fix of 82 regular season games and four rounds of playoffs. Do it any way you wish — start in August, play double-headers, skip the Olympics. Just make Saturday night come a month sooner next year.
For now, I suppose two years is a long time between NHL games. The WNBA can wait a week. Make room for me on the bandwagon this Saturday. And don't forget our appointment at the coffee bar come Monday morning. If you don't know me, I'll be the one with the suntan.
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