The Old Playoff Grind
You hear a lot about how hard the playoff drive is for a professional athlete, particularly with sports like hockey and basketball where the teams play every other night. Nagging injuries never really get a chance to heal, and essentially, i suppose, the body starts to wear down. I dont follow basketball very closely, but i know every year at the end of the NHL playoffs you hear about some guy who played with a broken foot, or a dislocated shoulder, or a severed liver, or a really really bad papercut. You read or hear those stories, and quite frankly, its tough not want to buy-in to the old cliché that its no longer about the money come playoff time. As a sportsfan, I choose to put my cynicism aside and believe that the love of the game and a general desire to win take over come playoff time, and thats why our favorite players are able to play through such grievous injuries and ailments.
Thats all well and nice, but I'm hear to tell you that its not just the players who are sacrificing themselves on a nightly basis. In fact, I'm here to tell you that its not the players who face the toughest grind at all...
Earlier on in this the 2006 NHL playoff run, Ryan Smyth of the Edmonton Oilers took a puck in the face and lost 3 teeth. He only missed 3 shifts. When me and my friends witnessed that spectacle, we had no choice but to crack a beer and toast the motherfucker. And when he stepped back on the ice and the crowd started to chant his name, we cracked another round in his honor. "Smytty" would later assist on the overtime winner, and not just any overtime winner, but a triple overtime game winning goal. At that point it was pretty much our duty to celebrate, and celebrate we did. Responsibility and career be damned... youre gonna wake up for work every day for the rest of your life, but Smytty and the 'Oil' are only gonna take down the mighty Red Wings in triple overtime during the Stanley Cup Playoffs, once, maybe twice in a lifetime. That was a great night... but a shitty morning.
As the playoff run continues, it has become my duty to drink a certain number of beers every game... to celebrate every goal with a beer, and even to increase my drinking when the need arises to change the momentum of the game if my team starts to look unmotivated. A lot of people dont know this, but the inspiration and motivation level of a sports team is directly tied-in to the cosmic aura and energy of every one of its fans. We are all one... and therefore, my enthusiasm and superstitions will effect this universal oneness. When I cheer at home in my basement, it adds to the amount of positive energy, and somewhere, deep within the subconscious of each one of the Edmonton Oilers, they are affected by this increase in positive energy, and will actually play better as a result. You dont necessarily have to believe this, but its why we scream at the TV screen during sporting events, its why we curse at referees, and its why we yell out coaching strategy with no chance of ever being heard by anyone who could implement our sage-like advice. And contrary to popular belief, none of these things are done in vain.
And that is why when Steve Staios blocked a puck with his balls the other night, I shotgunned a beer for him and bellowed my approval and sympathy in the general direction of the tv screen. If you were watching closely, he looked right at the tv camera on his way off the ice and thanked me for my approval sympathy with an all-knowing glare. It was as plain as day if you knew what to look for.
So, I think we can all agree... As a diligent fan, i dont have any choice but to stick with what works... if the Oilers win when I drink, Ive got no choice but to drink... and if the Oilers need me to head down Whyte Avenue after every win, drunk as a fish, screaming and chanting, I'll do it, but I'll be damned if it isnt starting to get to me. In an attempt to get up for, and drink the appropriate volume of booze every game, i am starting to break down... I cant remember the last time I felt this completely worn out and unhealthy. Between the booze, the lack of sleep, and ofcourse the buffets and fast food required to fuel the booze-filled sleepless nights, my liver and heart have both officially filed for workers compensation.
The professional athlete pushes his body to limits he or she didnt know they had in times like these. I know my body's limits, and we're way fucken past them. Will I continue on this path of destruction? Ofcourse. I'm sue as hell not going to be the one that cost the Oilers the Stanley Cup. We all have to do our part. Thats what the playoffs are about. Sacrifice.
So when I look over in the gridlocked traffic during the 8:30am-late-for-work weekday rush, and see a pale and sickly hungover guy in the car next to me, drinking water and slugging back tylenol with a beer stained oiler jersey draped over the passenger seat... i'm salutin' that motherfucker.
Drunk and loyal fan... it is you that is the true unsung hero of this years playoff run. Godspeed brother. See ya at the unemployment office.
Thats all well and nice, but I'm hear to tell you that its not just the players who are sacrificing themselves on a nightly basis. In fact, I'm here to tell you that its not the players who face the toughest grind at all...
Earlier on in this the 2006 NHL playoff run, Ryan Smyth of the Edmonton Oilers took a puck in the face and lost 3 teeth. He only missed 3 shifts. When me and my friends witnessed that spectacle, we had no choice but to crack a beer and toast the motherfucker. And when he stepped back on the ice and the crowd started to chant his name, we cracked another round in his honor. "Smytty" would later assist on the overtime winner, and not just any overtime winner, but a triple overtime game winning goal. At that point it was pretty much our duty to celebrate, and celebrate we did. Responsibility and career be damned... youre gonna wake up for work every day for the rest of your life, but Smytty and the 'Oil' are only gonna take down the mighty Red Wings in triple overtime during the Stanley Cup Playoffs, once, maybe twice in a lifetime. That was a great night... but a shitty morning.
As the playoff run continues, it has become my duty to drink a certain number of beers every game... to celebrate every goal with a beer, and even to increase my drinking when the need arises to change the momentum of the game if my team starts to look unmotivated. A lot of people dont know this, but the inspiration and motivation level of a sports team is directly tied-in to the cosmic aura and energy of every one of its fans. We are all one... and therefore, my enthusiasm and superstitions will effect this universal oneness. When I cheer at home in my basement, it adds to the amount of positive energy, and somewhere, deep within the subconscious of each one of the Edmonton Oilers, they are affected by this increase in positive energy, and will actually play better as a result. You dont necessarily have to believe this, but its why we scream at the TV screen during sporting events, its why we curse at referees, and its why we yell out coaching strategy with no chance of ever being heard by anyone who could implement our sage-like advice. And contrary to popular belief, none of these things are done in vain.
And that is why when Steve Staios blocked a puck with his balls the other night, I shotgunned a beer for him and bellowed my approval and sympathy in the general direction of the tv screen. If you were watching closely, he looked right at the tv camera on his way off the ice and thanked me for my approval sympathy with an all-knowing glare. It was as plain as day if you knew what to look for.
So, I think we can all agree... As a diligent fan, i dont have any choice but to stick with what works... if the Oilers win when I drink, Ive got no choice but to drink... and if the Oilers need me to head down Whyte Avenue after every win, drunk as a fish, screaming and chanting, I'll do it, but I'll be damned if it isnt starting to get to me. In an attempt to get up for, and drink the appropriate volume of booze every game, i am starting to break down... I cant remember the last time I felt this completely worn out and unhealthy. Between the booze, the lack of sleep, and ofcourse the buffets and fast food required to fuel the booze-filled sleepless nights, my liver and heart have both officially filed for workers compensation.
The professional athlete pushes his body to limits he or she didnt know they had in times like these. I know my body's limits, and we're way fucken past them. Will I continue on this path of destruction? Ofcourse. I'm sue as hell not going to be the one that cost the Oilers the Stanley Cup. We all have to do our part. Thats what the playoffs are about. Sacrifice.
So when I look over in the gridlocked traffic during the 8:30am-late-for-work weekday rush, and see a pale and sickly hungover guy in the car next to me, drinking water and slugging back tylenol with a beer stained oiler jersey draped over the passenger seat... i'm salutin' that motherfucker.
Drunk and loyal fan... it is you that is the true unsung hero of this years playoff run. Godspeed brother. See ya at the unemployment office.
What's this hockey you speak of?
Posted by
Doc Thirst |
Tue Jun 20, 08:14:00 AM PDT