In Praise of Lord Stanley

Once, I proudly wore the mantle of my sporty family. But then, when I went to university, I developed new tastes and became an artsy snob. I mocked my family's love of sport and trivialized my sportswriter dad's living. I admit, I turned my back on hockey in favour of drama classes, a campus radio show and pub night. When Hockey Night in Canada came on, I was out the door to see an indie movie with pals. I just didn't "get it" anymore.

But like all prodigal daughters, I eventually returned to the fold. It was the new male in my life, Grant, who nudged me back into watching hockey, albeit on a part-time basis. Like many, he's a seasonal play-off hockey junkie; the regular season bores him. So, for the last few years, I've started to dip back into the world of sport; first it was CFL football, then play-off hockey.

"You're watching hockey?" jeered my disbelieving mother over the phone one Saturday night. "I thought you hated hockey."

"Well, I've had an epiphany, mum. It's fun and it takes my mind off paying bills and my nagging case of hypochondria."

"Good for you, my dear. It's good to have a balance."

And she's right. When I think about it, hockey has put more balance back than almost any other cure. Here's why:

1. Austen antidote

Watching play-off hockey gets me out of my artsy gal costume drama rut where Sense and Sensibility re-runs on Bravo seductively lull me into an Austen-induced post-winter stupor. At this jaunty time of year, anything has got to be better than straining to hear the mumbling of Hugh Grant in a formal drawing room as he competes for attention with the noisy swish of ornate silk dresses.

2. Justified procrastination

What I'm really looking for is psychic refuge from the domination of a home office. One glance at my desk and I'm faced with a pile of unpaid bills, receipts that need calculating and the grim reminder of the inflexible deadlines I've committed to in order to feed myself and the media maw. At the end of a protracted winter of mercenary writing, I'm in need of a good distraction. Anything, really, to help free me from work's manacles. What I really want is a pressing reason to set aside the plodding prairie novel I'm reviewing for money, and hockey is the perfect justification. For three short hours, I can relax my brain and live in real-time with the pitched battle that is Stanley Cup play-off hockey.

3. Garden obsession respite

Hockey also distracts me from my manic spring planting and weeding obsession. We manage a massive country plot that rivals a market garden operation and tending to it has become my other unpaid "job." Gardening, reading and writing are all monastic, toned-down activities that relax and rejuvenate me, but none of them provide the stimulating jolt of a dramatic breakaway or a tense penalty shot.

4. Male bonding venue

Hockey also brings me closer to the men in my life. For years, my sportswriter father left his family behind, loaded up his typewriter and headed off to cover "the game." Now that he's retired, he finally has time to talk about hockey with me. His favourite hockey story is about how the superstitious former Maple Leafs coach Punch Imlach found seagull poop on his trademark fedora and refused to clean it because it was considered good luck. Imlach won four Stanley Cups, so he must have been onto something.

5. Hypochondria salve

Watching play-off hockey also keeps me away from my shameful hobby of amateur medical diagnosis. It's the only cure that works for my hypochondria. Who has time to rifle through the medical dictionary, or surf the Mayo Clinic's website with vague symptoms, when they've just pulled the goalie?

My grass needs mowing, the dandelions have taken over, the medical dictionary is gathering dust and Jane Austen will have to wait. Even though the sun is shining and summer evenings beckon, I'm guiltlessly glued to the tube until a victor is declared. It's time to heat up the barbeque, stock the cooler with beer and invite some pals over to watch the play-offs. No more Sex and the City re-runs for me, it's all Don Cherry, all the time.

Patricia Robertson is a Saskatchewan journalist. Read more of her work at LaptopFarmers.com.

Related Tyee stories: Jon Azpiri reveals the science behind the hockey pool, Jhenifer Pabillano and Vanessa Richmond wrote about longboarding hockey culture in Vancouver, and Gary Engler wrote a serialized novel called The Meaning of Hockey.