NHL Winter Classic: What Winter Means to Me

Hot chocolate, snow banks, newfound kindling, fighting through a blizzard across a choppy pond, bringing shovels to the rink, and remembering what winter means in the first place.

That's what the NHL Winter Classic was all about.

You heard Sidney Crosby holler like a four year-old who'd just learned to get the puck off the ice when he scored the shootout winner.

You chuckled as you listened to Jim Hughson, one of the premier sportscasters of our generation, compare the game to "a giant afternoon of shinny."

You were envious of how Ty Conklin could withstand the temperatures without any head-coverings, or any noticeable layers beneath his pads—though I guess when you've already played in minus-30-degree weather on an Edmonton evening, midday Buffalo feels like Bermuda.

That's what the Winter Classic was all about.

You watched as the players looked helpless chasing the puck around the choppy ice, and laughed when you thought of those times in the backyard when you looked just as silly.

You wondered how the NHL's first outdoor escapade could have a name like the "Heritage Classic," while this year's version was stuck with "AMP Energy Winter Classic."

(Was "Pond Hockey Classic" taken?)

That's what the "Winter Classic" was all about.

You wondered what would've happened if the Buffalo Bills had had a playoff game this weekend, because Gary Bettman had the Bills written off on September 17th with no contingency plan, and it took 10 days to set up the rink.

Then you wondered, "How many days is it going to take them to get this thing down?"

That's what the "Winter Classic was all about.

You wondered how two American NHL teams were able to sell 71,217 seats and fill a football stadium full of hockey fans.

Then you wondered how many of the fans were obligated to be there—players' wives, kids, etc.

Then you wondered how many of them actually came from Canada.

That's what the "Winter Classic" was all about.

You wondered if Georges Laraque and Ty Conklin are just going to keep jumping from team to team, to remain the only players to ever play in all of these "Classics."

Then you wondered if Ryan Miller is jealous that his role in the "Cold War" was never as hyped as this.

That's what the "Winter Classic" was all about.

You asked yourself why there wasn't a game featuring past stars from both teams before the main event. Then you wondered if you'd really want to sit through Mario Lemieux and Pat LaFontaine playing one-on-one for two hours.

That's what the "Winter Classic" was all about.

You tried to keep track of all the rule changes.

Then you got confused as the buzzer sounded at the 10:00 minute mark of the third, and the 2:30 mark of overtime, not knowing exactly what was going to happen.

That's what the "Winter Classic" was all about.

You wished that the game were played in Tampa, so those cute girls who scrape the ice would keep making appearances.

You also hoped those girls that wore bikinis to Lambeau Field last weekend would brave the cold of Buffalo.

That's what the "Winter Classic" was all about.

For the first time in your life, you actually thought the ice surface looked small, and for the first time in their lives, the players wished they had windshield wipers on their visors.

That's what the "Winter Classic" was all about.

You forgot your loyalties. The game became enjoyable and fun for its own sake. The multimillion dollar players acted like multimillion dollar kids, in a good way.

You felt that either team could win and you'd be fine with it, because you'd just watched hockey in its purest form—a form that a four-year-old child or a 78-year-old man could enjoy.

That's what the "Winter Classic" was all about.