I have watched a lot of hockey.
I come from a hockey family; both my brothers played, my Dad played and we watched Hockey Night in Canada every Saturday night.
Hockey-watching newbies think the game is in the bag if the home team is up a goal or two with a couple of minutes left to play.
I don’t feel that way.
I have seen the home team loose with seconds left in the game.
Case in point, the Olympic gold medal game between Canada and the U.S.
We were up a goal with a couple of minutes left and while my husband was confident, I was holding our son a little more tightly than was necessary.
And at the 30-second left mark, what I fear will happened, happened.
The U.S. scored, tying the game and pushing us into overtime.
And then I cracked.
I don’t need that kind of stress in my life. So my son and I went home, played, had dinner and a bath.
When I heard the door open about a hour later, my heart sank.
‘Well?’ I asked.
We won.
Phew.
Later, while watching the highlights, I remembered the other reason I don’t need to watch hockey any more.
The other goalie.
Perhaps because my older brother is a goalie, my heart goes out to those who play this position.
And when I watched the U.S. goalie fall to his knees after letting in Canada’s winning goal, my heart broke.
Hockey watching just isn’t for me.
