Wednesday, November 24, 2004

Miracle on Ice?

Tuesday night, 12:21 a.m. Hmmm, let's see what the movie stations have to offer. (OK, technically, it was already Wednesday morning, but I don't believe the next day starts until you wake up).

Ah, HBO's Pornucopia series is on. But, wait there's only three minutes left. Not worth it. Oh, lookee here, Starz West is serving up two hours of Herb Brooks. So I sat down and watched "Miracle."

It was fantastic. Scared that I might be softening my stance on my hatred of hockey, I did the only thing that made sense. I threw back a shot of rum. Then I realized hockey players are all alcoholics, so now I was really confused.

How could I like a hockey movie when I thoroughly despise the thug sport (it's worse than Rappin' Ron Artest)? Is the NHL lockout making me secretly miss those eight minutes of hockey I watch each season?

Up until this tumultuous Tuesday night, my three favorite hockey moments were, in order:
1) The episode of Beverly Hills 90210 when Brandon Walsh is at hockey practice and loses a race around the rink to a female figure skater who later fell in love with Brandon Walsh for an afternoon or two because he bought her a burrito.
2) Rich Pilon coming off the top rope with a high-cross body to level Dale Hunter seconds after he leveled Pierre Turgeon.
3) The kid who goes into the batting cage after Adam Sandler in "Happy Gilmore."

My world is in disarray right now. North looks south. Apples are oranges. New Jersey has redeeming qualities.

Lord, help a troubled soul.

Why did I enjoy this hockey movie? The rationalizing began immediately.
* Kurt Russell's wig was pretty funny.
* Kurt Russell's accent going in and out like Andy Garcia in "The Godfather Part 3" was even funnier.
* Kurt Russell's clothes left me with a strained spleen from laughing so hard.
* "Pav on Whoever-ov" is a tremendous movie quote.
* Every now and then, Kurt Russell becomes Gene Hackman. Watching the transformation to and from is compelling.
* I don't like Russians not named Sharapova.
* Well, at least Mike Eruzione is Italian.
* It was just Hollywood pulling out the cheap emotional tricks and I let them do it to me.

O Canada, please let there be some truth to these irrational rationalizations. It was just one quick shot. I'm clearly not under any influence.

What in the name of Uwe Krupp am I doing even writing about this f-bombing sport? Especially so close to the holiday season? Am I trying to excise myself off people's Christmas lists?

I'm tempted to call the library at Newsday right now (3 a.m.) and demand them to pull out the newspaper clippings from that monumental day in 1980 so I can read the accounts on microfiche.

I am afraid to go to sleep because I might wake up with long, straggly hair and two teeth missing. Oh crap, I already have the long, straggly hair. Looks like Stylist friend Claudette is getting a phone call Wednesday morning.

Thank God "Miracle" was on Starz West and not regular Starz because there's no telling what I'll do if I watch the movie again tonight. I might go online and buy skates, then drive to my parents' house and dig up my 1985 Brian Trottier edition Mylec stick and start flicking pucks all over the neighborhood.

Please, Gary Bettman, DO NOT end the lockout on Wednesday. I'm having a moment of weakness and I just might buy tickets to a game if you start your league again soon.

For the love of Pete, please let there be a good basketball game on television Wednesday morning. I'll even settle for the seventh-place consolation game of the Maui Shootout.

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