I didn’t always love Hockey. It only took one pre-adolescent trip-up on
double-bladed skates for me to decide I should stick to sports that aren’t played
on frozen surfaces. And so my father, a former collegiate player himself,
swapped his skates for a softball glove and spent his weekends at track meets
instead of hockey games. He wasn’t offended that his three daughters had little
interest in his personal sport of preference. On the topic, he only had one
request : “Never date a hockey player”.
And so I made it through the first nineteen years of my life with very
little understanding of the sport. How many innings(?) were played in a single
game… how many players were on a roster… Which hall-of-famers played for which
NHL team… That was until, in the fashion of a stereotypical daughter, I found
myself at odds with my father’s one wish. I didn’t do it as an intentional act
of rebellion, but I started dating a hockey player.
So began my love stories with Kevin in particular and the sport of
hockey in general. Falling in love with one was quicker and easier than falling
in love with the other. One had wit and charm, blue eyes, and a cute South
Boston accent. The other had lots of rules I didn’t understand, a cold venue,
and an NHL network that always interfered with my reality TV viewing schedule.
When I started watching Kevin play, I didn’t know much about what I was
seeing. The whole experience stressed me out. I’d sit there in the Whittemore
Center Arena, clapping nervously when other Wildcats clapped, and just hoping
the puck wouldn’t go in the net.
As time went on, however, Kevin’s passion started to rub off on me. Without
meaning to, I learned about the game. I soon found myself reading plays as they
developed, analyzing the quality of shots made on net, and actually enjoying
hockey highlights over breakfast. I knew what systems should look like, and
when ref’s made iffy calls. I could match NHL-ers to their teams, recognize
different styles of goaltending, and appreciate a good, high-intensity hockey
game.
Just when I was starting to think Hockey wasn’t so bad after all, it
really upped its game and sent us on all sorts of wonderful adventures. It brought
us to Providence where Kev and I spent our engagement in an adorable East Side
apartment. Just a few weeks after our honeymoon, it sent us to la bella Italia for two
seasons. Next it landed our newly expanded family in Wichita, the land of Sunny Decembers and smoky barbecues. And then, with a
second baby on the way, it flew us to beautiful Scotland where we’ve been ever since.
It hasn’t always been perfect, nor would I have expected it to be.
Hockey comes with a lot of baggage, literally and figuratively speaking. There is
a lot of pressure and very little stability in such a performance-driven career.
There are challenges to living away from our families. There is packing. (A LOT
of packing.) There are everyday stressors magnified by being in foreign
surroundings. But even in the hardships, there are positives. As I watched
Kevin rehab from potentially career-ending injuries, I admired his resilience
and work ethic. When we needed support we would have found in our families back
home, we found it in our Hockey communities. When we struggled to balance his
schedule with our graduate programs, parenthood, and marriage… when all we had
was each other, we learned how strong we are together.
Maybe it’s just me getting sentimental as the season winds down, but somewhere
over the past eleven seasons I fell in love Hockey. I love it for showing me
places I never would have seen, introducing me to people I never would have
met. For bringing out of Kevin some of his best qualities, the ones I fall in
love with every day. For teaching me to be more flexible, inspiring my
wanderlust. And for challenging us as a couple in the best possible way.
Now, all that said…. as much as I love Hockey, I will likely be a bit of
a stress-case in the stands this weekend, feeling the pressure of a do-or-die
playoff series. I’ll be cursing the clock for going too slow if we are ahead
and too fast if we are behind. I’ll be sitting on the edge of my seat, cursing
my Hockey affection for driving me on the verge of crazy…
love can do that sometimes.
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