--------------------------------------------------------------------------
  OK, I realize that HOCKEY-L is now but a shadow of its glorious former
 self, but there are certain hockey-related traditions that just shouldn't
be allowed to die ... The HOCKEY-L "Ode to Joy" was a little bit of whimsy
  that always made me smile, and I enjoyed posting it to the List on St.
  Valentine's Day each year.  I couldn't get into the spirit these past
 few years, but this year, well .... Let's just say I've had a change of
    "heart," and so here it is again for your enjoyment in the light-
 hearted spirit I'd always intended.  For all you HOCKEY-L veterans: Try
  it Again, For the First Time :-)  For all the newcomers .... Enjoy !!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

  For many years the Boston "Phoenix" would publish a special section on/
around St. Valentine's Day that chronicled reader testimonials of Cupid's
hits and misses.  The following excerpt appeared in the late '80s, and was
sent to me by a friend in Boston whose first date with his future bride in-
cluded a UNH hockey game (an 11-5 Wildcat thrashing of Army; the perfect
way to get a hockey-centered relationship off on the right skate :-) and
who together still plan their winter social calendar around the Wildcat
icers.  I think we ALL know people (of both sexes) who could have written
the following:

  "I blame it all on a goddamn college hockey game.  Oh, sure, you're
thinking, maybe I should blame myself.  Well, the hell with all of you.

  The light of my life, she was - or so I'd convinced myself over the
space of the three weeks we'd been taking the same political history
course.  Our eyes met during a lecture on Grover Cleveland, and I was
hooked.  I asked her out for a beer after class; she mentioned that she
had an extra ticket to that night's game against St. Lawrence.  At the
time, I understood less about hockey than I did about Grover Cleveland,
but so what ??  I would be with HER ....

   That night, I learned that the St. Lawrence icemen are known to one
and all as the 'Larries'; for all I knew, there could have been a bunch
of Moes and Curleys down there too.  The problem was .... *she* knew.
Worse yet, she CARED.  And she was appalled that I didn't.  Which is why
she then launched into a lengthy and aggressively condescending discourse
on the subtle differences between cross-checking, spearing, and aggravated
assault, intermittently punctuated by her emphatic observation that the
referee was, as she put it, a 'blind motherf***er.'  All hope vanished at
the moment she realized that I didn't count Snooks Kelley as one of the
five greatest inspirations of my life; her lips were silent, but her eyes
said 'wimp city' ....

  Dreams die hard - but none so hard as those shattered by a bunch of
hyperthyroidal Canadians with knives on their feet and sticks in their
hands.  Goddamn college hockey game.  Maybe I'll become a priest ...."

  Well, I'd *still* like to meet her .... !!!

Jim Love (*grin*)
Go 'Cats Go !!!