Yawn

So, the Anaheim Mighty Ducks won hockey's Stanley Cup the other night.

And, in more interesting news, Afrin Nasal Spray is currently on sale at Rite-Aid.

Does anybody really care, except for the 20,000 or so fans who were in attendance down there in Orange County? Allegedly, the late night celebration was so ferocious that three people called in sick for work on Thursday.

I, for one, am happy that this trophy finally made it down to Southern California. And that no Canadian team has won this since the early 90s. Take that, Nuts to the North. You don't bother to help us with our border controls and half your country speaks French. Strike one and strike two.

But, other than that, the Ducks' victory is...........ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

Despite making some inroads in its American popularity in the late 70s and early 80s, the National Hockey League now has virtually no relevance in this country. When Americans were paying attention, it wasn't exactly a golden goose, but more like a silver parakeet. Effectively, though, the year-long strike that the players waged two years ago pretty much killed both of those animals. America learned that, when they didn't have hockey to watch, they had about a million other things to enjoy. And that would include re-sorting cans of vegetable in the pantry and using a Dustbuster to vacuum lint from their navels.

I actually spent about ten years of my life as a hockey fan and three of them as a partner in season tickets for the New York Islanders! I had never followed the sport before, because, frankly, I couldn't follow the sport. But, when I showed up at Fordham University, I fell in with a gang of bad influences, namely New York Ranger fans. So, as if I had been confronted by Jim Jones, I was a likely target for conversion and, before long, I was kneeling at the altar of Ron Greschner. I even got sucked into one of those Ranger Fan Club bus trips to Montreal, which was probably one of the worst two day periods of my life. On this 8 hour ride to Canada from NY, I got to watch one of the Ranger fans suck down a gallon jug of white wine purchased at the 99 cent shop and then vomit all over the bus. Then, when they stopped the bus and tried to clean up the mess, some of the industrial cleaner got into the eye...of the guy who had chunked up the floor in the first place. I would have been more horrified, but said upchucker was actually one of the people in my group. I had to look concerned, but distance myself all at the same time. But, I digress...

I wound up drifting to the Islanders, so I could be different in my early doctrination to the sport. And, of course, it was ultra-exciting that my team actually won the Stanley Cup several times before the Rangers ever did. They apparently hadn't won the Cup since before Macy's had balloons in the parade.

But, then, a funny thing happened. As soon as I was out of college and saw these people less and less, I grew to care about hockey less and less. The sport for me was probably akin to dating somebody you didn't really like, but you did so because everybody else was in a couple. I realized that I no longer needed hockey as a validation for why these people should be friends with me. And I discovered that I didn't give a rat's puck about Wayne Gretzky or any other non-American interloper that became a revered star in the sport. I didn't really give a second thought to the Rangers' finally winning the Cup in 1994, except to make sure that I wasn't going to be celebrating anywhere near that same guy who threw up on the bus.

I think I'm not the only one. This is not a sport you can fall in like with. Yes, there are super-passionate hockey fans in this country. They own season tickets and go to every game. They marvel at the skating prowess of this one and the pinpoint stickwork of that one. But, beyond those folks, it's a hard sell. You don't find too many casual hockey fans. When you have nothing to do one night, you suddenly don't turn to a friend and say, "Gee, I wonder if the Kings are in town tonight."

I actually tried to come back to the sport a few years ago. I took a friend in LA to a Kings game as part of a Christmas present. We got great seats next to the penalty box and we could hear every grunt, groan, and curse. A guy with the same last name as me scored the first goal for the Kings, and it was tons of fun. I remember turning to my friend and saying, "Hey, let's do this a couple times next season."

The turkeys went on strike about three weeks later and didn't come back for over a year. That was officially the last minute of play for this sport in my life.

I wish it were an easier sport to embrace. But it does move too fast. And the players all have beards and are missing teeth. So, when they hold out for more money in a misguided labor move, it becomes very easy to erase them from your personal memory banks. Indeed, the Ducks' victory could be a solid marketing ploy that the league could and should exploit. But, you know they'll miss that power play as well. Because, as far as this country is concerned, the ice melted a long time ago.

Dinner last night: frankfurters and salad.