Winter Classic in Chicago – Hockey At Its Best
Hockey’s one of those sports that will never quite hit the mainstream across all of America. Seattlites at school on the East Coast, at colleges with Division I hockey programs, can’t quite understand how the NHL’s Minnesota Wild are more popular than the NFL’s Minnesota Timberwolves.
At least fights in other sports, like basketball and baseball, seem provoked by game action. A recent junior-league game between the Seattle and Portland squads (who would consistently pay $16 to watch junior hockey?) featured several comical fights. After the last few of Portland’s five goals, a Seattle player would drop his gloves at the ensuing faceoff and wait for someone to take the bait. Then the players would tangle, get in a few punches and hold each other for a while until the referees stepped in. What counts as assault outside of the arena draws cheers from the fans and ambivalence from the (awful) referees on ice.
Columnists and bloggers and all sorts of people have written maybe millions of words over the years about fighting in hockey. You can’t fault spontaneous fights in the heat of intense action, particularly when egotistical men lay their pride on the line. But orchestrated, pre-meditated punchfests don’t belong in hockey or any other sport. Wouldn’t it be stupid if Barry Bonds, late in a losing effort and without any provocation, turned around before an at-bat to club the poor catcher with Bonds’ steroid-inflated skull?
Enough about that. Today on NBA we get hockey at its best. Outside in cold weather, announced by guys with goofy Canadian accents and with two Original Six teams in original uniforms. High scoring, a bunch of foreign players with interesting names and above all, several plays that inspire audible gasps. Some “wows” even. It’s almost enough to make hockey compelling on television or in person for more than $10. Almost.
Hockey is a regional, cold-weather sport, as much as the NHL pushes franchises like the Atlanta Thrashers and the Carolina Hurricane into the Deep South. The Alabama Crimson Ice will never exist. But there’s hope that on this day of bowl games, fans all over the country can enjoy the crossover appeal of an outdoor hockey game on national television and appreciate the nuances of a truly unique sport.
And maybe, just maybe, thanks to this game, I will now name my first child Nikolai Khabibulin Anderson.
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