Me Like Hockey...

That title is for my husband.  Steven is a hockey fanatic.  To him, it's the only real sport.  He has respect for football and can mildly tolerate baseball.  Basketball is something he has had to endure due to Duke's run to the Championship and my family's love for the Devils in Blue.  But Hockey is his gold standard.  You'd never know he grew up in the heart of the ACC, the land of round ball, a place very south of Canada.  (eh?)  

So, over time, I've come to love hockey too.  There are few things better than going to a Hurricanes game (even sitting in the nosebleeds) and getting the roasted, sugared pecans.  Oh, and watching the game.  Though, let's be honest, that might be second to the pecans; they're that good.  (Do you see why I needed a "life change?")  

One of the coolest things is that Steven plays.  He's a part of an adult roller-hockey (wheels instead of blades) league that plays once a week.  And I like to go watch.  I'm not a screamer.  I don't get in people's faces or throw my hands up at bad calls.  Mostly, well, because I have no idea what they're calling.  I'm new to this game from the Great White North.  It's going to take me some time.  But I still love to watch.  

It's been a while since Steven played.  Around the time we got married (October 24th, 2009 in case you wanted to mark our annivesary on your calendars--ps, we were registered at Bed, Bath and Beyond.) he was missing more and more games because of stuff we had to do to get ready.  So he took a few seasons off.  Now he's back.  And essentially, I'm back.  Back in the stands.  Back watching my man.  Back in the most horridly smelling atmosphere ever created.  

That's right, folks.  It stinks like hell in there.  It's the kind of smell that sets off automatic gag reflexes.  It stirs your lunch.  It is the only place in America where the BATHROOM is the best smelling area available.   

Tuesday night was the first time I had been back in a while.  But that smell, oh it was waiting for me.  It slapped me on the back as I walked in as if to say, "Hey, friend, where ya been?"  And after about ten mimnutes, you begin to get acquainted again.  You get used to it like you were before and you start to think, "ok, it's not so bad."  And then it happens.  Some child (or group of children, as was the case with me) skates by or stands by you fresh off the rink after their game.  Hockey stink is pure stink.  And the players are testament to that.  You know how chicken smells after it's been in the trash can for too long?  Yeah, you do?  Nasty, right?  This foulness that I am referring to makes the chicken smell seem like no big deal. 

So there I stood, waiting to grab a seat once the parents from the game before Steven's cleared out, when a group came and stood right beside me.  I gagged.  I stepped away.  My eyes watered.  But the smell persisted.  And after they'd left, I thought I would be safe.  So I sat and watched the game.  I got through two periods when the goalie for the team playing after Steven skated by in his full gear.  Good Lord!  Don't these people ever wash this stuff?!  (I know they don't.  Steven thinks Febreezing is washing.  Guess what, my friend, it ain't!)  The stinking goalie sat beside me.  I had to get up.  He probably thinks I'm a jerk.  Well, I think he smells like pure as--er, not nice things.  So there!

After the game was done I was so happy to see Steven and head outside--into the fresh, pollen-filled air--and sit with him and the guys for a while.  When we got home, Steven's hockey stuff got laid out in the garage.  I'm sure it's keeping the critters away.

ps--Steven scored a short-handed goal and had two assists.  That gave him three points for the night.  I'm so proud of my stinky, hockey player.  :)