They Don't Play Hockey in Costa Rica

Well, I have returned from my week long winter vacation in the wonderful Costa Rica.  And after nine days in the Central American country, after seeing numerous wildlife, including seven foot iguanas, poisonous frogs (see facebook pictures), I have made the following discovery:

They don’t play hockey in Costa Rica.

Not that I never assumed this beforehand, but it is now confirmed.  Okay fine, so I just revealed the obvious, but let me explain what I had to go through in order to discover this extraordinary piece of information.

January 1st, while the Chicago Blackhawks and Detroit Red Wings were battling it out in Wrigley Field in the second annual Winter Classic, I was on an airplane looking at the Gulf of Mexico.  When I arrived, the first thing I wanted to do was find out the final score of the game.  Three days later, I discovered another secret about Costa Rica: there was a lack of internet.

So on January 4th, while on a safari down the river in the jungle, and after getting crapped on by a white-faced monkey, my first thought was, “I’d so rather be watching the Winter Classic.”

My fears were allayed when I discovered it was an unbelievable game, and I took consolation in the fact that I had taped it.  Thank god for technology.

I discovered a few days later that the Flyers were in first place in the Atlantic Division for the first time, and I jumped for joy.  Little did I know that I was a few days behind, and the Rangers had already re-taken the lead.

Next, while in the Paradisus hotel, playing water polo with numerous other tourists from every country imaginable, I discovered that you get more injuries playing water polo and pool volleyball than you do playing hockey.  One knee twist, one arm scratch scar, one branch-ter (like a splinter, only bigger), and numerous drinks to take the edge off (drinking age=eighteen) later, I had discovered another thing: I missed hockey desperately.

As I took a volleyball in the gut from a 16-year old girl who was surprisingly more powerful than I expected, I felt three things: First, disgust that I was in pain from a girl younger than me.  Also known as wussiness.  Two, angry for revenge, which I got when I spiked the ball on her head.  I’m good at this girl stuff, by the way.  And three, the feeling of wanting to just sit back on the couch and watch a hockey game.

The last night, as I pretended I was playing hockey, only to have some girl walk in and look at me like I was crazy (which of course, I am not), I stood there in my Alexander Ovechkin pose, praying that she would go away (I don’t need to pray to make the ladies avoid me, don’t fret, Bleacher Creatures).  Also, watching the BCS National Championship game in Spanish was hilarious, hearing the announcer yell, “Senor Tebow!!  GOOOOOOOOOOALLLLLL!!!!!”  Classic.

Don’t get me wrong, the trip was fantastic, I loved it, and I would go again in an instant.

But they should learn the game of hockey.

Ah, how I have missed my Bleacher Report…

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