Bleacher Report - Articles by Heather Parry

Pittsburgh—Washington Game Seven: Lost by the Caps

Heather Parry — Thu, 14 May 2009 22:24:44 -0400

As I watched Pittsburgh's third unanswered goal stroll past Simeon Varlamov within a minute of the third period last night, I thrust my beer to one side with abject despondency.

That one bottle of Leffe was making a mockery of me.

I dislike beer and always have, but I'd deemed it necessary if I was to feel the true Canadian playoff experience.

I had sat down to watch a hard-fought, intense, all-or-nothing game with a cold one in my hand and a smile on my face; what I got was an embarrassment to that very ideal.

The beer had to go.

As I reached for my usual Jack Daniels I knew it was over for the Caps—they'd barely even turned up to play.

I know all the chatter today will be about how stellar the Penguins were, but Pittsburgh did not play well. They barely outlasted an exhausting Washington team.

It'll be all about how Sidney Crosby's relentless pushing finally overcame Alex Ovechkin's flashy showboating, but, again, my eyes did not see this.

My eyes saw a scrappy goal that stumbled past a dejected Varlamov, and one that was walked into a net that might as well have been unguarded.

They also saw Ovie, the only Caps player that seemed to have any energy left at all, score a typically brilliant goal and get robbed several times by the always-dependable Marc-Andre Fleury, a man whose considerable talent has been overshadowed by the surprise of his counterpart's appearance in this season.

I'm not attempting to undermine Pittsburgh's achievement, or to claim that they shouldn't have gone through at all.

The cold truth of the matter is this: Pittsburgh didn't play particularly well, but Washington played much, much worse.

Sluggish, uninspired, and distinctly underwhelming, the Caps' key players simply didn't do their jobs, with even Ovechkin keeping one foot in the dressing room and one eye closed.

At the back, it wasn't even a battle of the goaltenders; it was battle of the glove sides.

The rumour that the Pens had cracked Varlamov's technique and discovered his weak catcher proved to be painfully true, leaving him stunned and shown up, while Fleury stood resolute with his left hand strong and his experience behind him.

All Pittsburgh really needed to do was to be patient and crash the net, while Washington crumbled before them, taking yet more unnecessary penalties and letting their frustration seal their own fate.

Not one player can take the blame for the shocking loss Washington suffered.

As the tired old adage goes, "You win as a team and lose as a team." The Capitals collectively lost their series last night.

Why I'm Hoping For a Washington v. Vancouver Stanley Cup Final

Heather Parry — Wed, 06 May 2009 22:57:35 -0400

If years and years of watching the Stanley Cup Playoffs has taught me anything, it's that miracles can happen.

And by "miracles" of course, I mean unexpected upsets resulting from hard work, determination, and just a little bit of luck.

For this reason, I don't feel quite as ridiculous as I should when I say that I'm hoping for a 2009 finals series that pitches the Vancouver Canucks against the Washington Capitals.

Yeah, yeah, I know what everyone says: the Caps will never get past "human wall" Tim Thomas and his Boston Bruins.

On principle, I agree.

Yet there's something that stirs within me watching the ever-growing strength of Washington's second and third lines, and their new-found confidence in front of the enigmatic Varlamov that says different.

Is it hope, perhaps?

Sure, they haven't even got past Sidney Crosby and Pittsburgh yet, but through my rose-tinted glasses it doesn't seem all that unlikely, even in the wake of tonight's OT loss.

It's not just that I want them to win the conference either. I specifically want them to meet the Canucks at the end.

Again, I know that the surprisingly hot Blackhawks and whoever comes out of the Anaheim-Detroit series triumphant (Detroit, surely) both stand in the way of Roberto Luongo hoisting, or rather posing with, the Campbell Trophy, but in the realm of my fantasy final that's all just a side story.

Just imagine it: Varlamov, the sprawling spider of a man who's suddenly appeared from nowhere, up against the much more experienced but sporadically inconsistent Luongo, Ryan Kesler and Alex Burrows getting shirty with the likes of Donald Brashear, and king of speed Alex Ovechkin coming up against the indefatigable Sedin brothers.

It would be hockey heaven.

It would also be a triumph of youthful vitality—the kids beating the old hands of Boston and Detroit, and pushing themselves to the very limits of their strength and speed.

Most of all though, it would be horrendously exciting; end to end, exhausting, and thoroughly thrilling.

Here's hoping.

What Is Up With the Playoffs?

Heather Parry — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 00:10:10 -0400

You would think that having ten years of avid NHL fandom behind me would give me a slight advantage over my rookie housemates in the annual Stanley Cup prediction game.

You'd be wrong.

The reason for this, I think, is that during the season all teams are relatively relaxed, and just go with the flow; they have plenty of time to make up for their mistakes.

When the post-season rolls around, however, they all sh*t their pants and go crazy.

Look at San Jose. They completely dominated the west all the way through the year, then went out in the first round in a haze of bad penalties, missed opportunities, and Joe Thornton's abject hatred of Ryan Getzlaf.

Despite having one of the best goaltenders in the league, they lose to Anaheim who've been battling goalie inconsistencies for a while.

Surely no one saw that coming.

It's the same with New Jersey.

Their 'boring', or as I prefer it, 'solid' style of play is perfectly suited to post-season hockey, hence why they consistently make the playoffs and have won Lord Stanley's mug three times in the last 14 years.

Brendan Shanahan is back with the boys and Brodeur finally broke Patrick Roy's record for the number of career wins just six weeks ago - giving rise to the awful phrase 'winningest goalie' which I'm sure isn't proper English, but I digress.

With all that in mind who would have predicted a few weeks ago that they'd allow two goals in 90 seconds to bomb out in the first round?

Not me.

Then there's the whole Rangers/Capitals debacle.

Laughable up until Tortorella's appointment, and then laughable again for their signing of league goon and general idiot Sean Avery, the Rangers never even looked like they were in contention for most of the season.

Washington, on the other hand, have been getting better and better. Building a core group of young players around the explosive Alexander Ovechkin has paid off, and even their problematic goalie situation has seemingly begun to resolve itself in the form of enigmatic rookie Simeon Varlamov.

So how did they get taken to a tense game seven by New York?

About the only result I could have guessed right was the Boston-Montreal series, and even then I would have thought that Koivu's crew would have put up a little more of a fight.

So it looks like my well-thought-out predictions are already screwed, and I'm going to lose out to rookies, leaving me with enough egg on my face to leave me completely unrecognisable, which will be useful to hide my shame.

The playoffs are crazy.

Crosby Vs. Ovechkin: Youth and Young Manhood

Heather Parry — Mon, 09 Mar 2009 21:06:56 -0400

The recent Pittsburgh-Washington games have dragged up the overdone yet always entertaining Sidney Crosby versus Alexander Ovechkin debate.

The media loves nothing more than to pit these two against each other, and the fans gladly follow, because it's fun.

What's striking me lately is not how different the two are, but how similar they're becoming. You only had to see Crosby's laughable attempts to rough up his Russian counterpart a couple of weeks ago, and the subsequent snub from the latter, to see how the rivals are rubbing off on each other.

Yet, there still seems to be one defining difference between them: how they deal with their age. At 21 and 23, its obvious to all—including themselves—that they're still growing as players.

Together, they may well have achieved more than any pair of youngsters in the show has managed to, but the fact still remains that they are still kids. Yet, one seems to see youth as his enemy, whereas the other sees it as his friend.

Watching Ovechkin play is always an exercise in how to be young.

With the energy of a 4 year old, and a recklessness only found in those young enough never to have injured themselves, he makes every other player in the league look like Chris Chelios, not to mention the fact that every goal he scores could be his first. At the occurrence of a goal, his happiness is extremely intense.

He embraces his youth and is loved for it. Would a more mature player have convinced Evgeni Malkin to dress him up like an idiot on ice for the All-Star skills competition?

No.

Despite all the fevered joy of his game, it's his immaturity that's keeping him from moving forward.

He'll be the kid of the Caps until his game gets more serious and his highs and lows plateau to a more comfortable but much less exciting consistency.

Crosby, on the other hand, is mature enough for the both of them.

The youngest team captain in NHL history, "Sid the Kid" has been a serious game player from his first game—a situation that probably arises from having the expectation of Canada on his shoulders since he was 14.

It makes him a solid player rather than a thrilling one, and ensures that we'll probably never see him falling out of a shady club with a skinny blond in the postseason.

Yet for all this, he's still only just old enough to drink in the U.S.

In all respects, then, his age works against him—he wants to be much older than he is.

Like everything repressed, though, when it sneaks out, it comes back with a vengeance.

His inability to take a hard hit, his abject despondency at losing games, and his infamous complaining to the officials are all a result of his otherwise well-hidden youth breaking free from its cage of false maturity in sporadic bursts and vandalizing his reputation as much as possible.

In time, however, Crosby's control over juvenile outbursts can only get stronger, allowing his game to become ever more stable.

It's Ovechkin's youthful vitality, then, that seems destined to wane, leaving his future uncertain and his fans somewhat nervous.

What really sets the league's best young players apart is their difference in ideals, and while Ovechkin's love of young might win at the moment, maybe the fact that Crosby strives for young manhood will make him the player of the near future.

Vesa Toskala: Worst Goalie In The NHL?

Heather Parry — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 22:29:40 -0500

As a pseudo-Torontonian, I know the list of excuses spouted by Leafs apologists like the back of my hand.

They're in a tough division; they've just lost Sundin; they're laying low for the draft picks; they're in a transition period.

The last of this list I've heard every season for the past ten years.

Despite these excuses, everyone has their own opinion on the Leafs' biggest problem, whether it be coaching, defense, or the fact that their 'star' player is Nik freakin' Antropov.

If you ask me, however, its the goaltending.

No other team in the NHL manages to have three goalies who, between them, can't equal one half-decent puck-stopper.

Curtis Joseph, at 41, should have taken his bow several years ago. During his mid-90s glory days I was a huge fan, but difficult as it might be to accept, this dog has had his day.

Justin Pogge, on the other hand, has the opposite problem.

Solid with the Marlies and brilliant in his first game in the big league, he's suffered from instability. His confidence seems to wane with every un-winnable game, despite the fact that he's playing at least as well as Joseph and Toskala.

Vesa Toskala, however, has no such excuse.

He consistently starts games, and he's consistently terrible. He's not over the hill, or still a baby. He's just crap.

Harsh, I know, but its not even the amount of goals he lets through that bothers me—its the fact that he doesn't seem to be trying at all.

When Ryan Miller lets in a goal, he's splayed out like Stretch Armstrong, but accepts the fact that he still got beaten.

Toskala, conversely, might have dropped to one knee and extended his blocker, but still reacts to the fact that someone found one of the 75 holes in his stance like a petulant little child.

Yet still, he plays the majority of Leafs games.

Yes, I've heard the 'why get rid of him?' debate. Keeping him to the end of his contract, losing badly, and then getting a good goalie in the draft pick is supposedly the 'big picture'.

That doesn't help those of us who have to sit and watch him disgrace the fine art of goaltending every game.

So what, I hear you ask, is to be done?

In an ideal world, I'd draft in Steve Mason and Roberto Luongo and let them fight for starting privileges, but we all know that the Leafs organisation is not an ideal world.

Instead, I'd bring Pogge up from the AHL for good, drop Toskala, and let Cujo enjoy his well-earned retirement with a decent thirty-something goalie in his place.

If that's not an option, then perhaps permanently dropping the goalie for the extra attacker might actually be a better idea.

At least it would wake the defense up a bit.

Martin Brodeur's Return: Blessing Or Curse?

Heather Parry — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 22:13:09 -0500

Like all New Jersey Devils fans, for the last few years I've lived in perpetual fear of the day when Martin Brodeur finally decides to hang up his skates.

Having watched him carry the team for the last fifteen years, many of us couldn't imagine what would happen when he wasn't there to do so any more.

Unfortunately, a torn biceps tendon brought that fateful day to us this season, leaving us Brodeur-less and hopeless for almost four months.

I was more than a little afraid.

With famously slack defense, youngsters up front, and a "boring" style of play, I wrote off this season as soon as we lost the big guy between the pipes.

Yet, something miraculous has happened.

While I've been bitching about how bad we are without Brodeur, the Devils have crawled up to the top of the division, third overall in the conference.

Evidently, losing Monsieur Brodeur hasn't been that much of a bad thing.

It has forced coach Brent Sutter to reassess his team's strengths and weaknesses, and pushed Travis Zajac, Patrik Elias, and Zach Parise to run amok in the offensive zone.

It has allowed both Scott Clemmensen and Kevin Weekes a significant amount of ice time, building both skill and confidence out of the shadow of the NHL's best goalie.

It has made the defense sit up and work harder, as they don't have the usual brick wall behind them to cover their mistakes.

It has meant that the team on the ice of the Prudential Center are the New Jersey Devils, not Martin Brodeur and the New Jersey Devils.

So, just as we're taking back our original lamentations, Brodeur is training again and, I imagine, is raring to go.

But is this such a good thing?

It seems to me that things can go one of two ways:

He could come back, light a fire under everyone else's ass, and help them ride a hot streak right into the postseason.

On the other hand, he could come back, give the rest of the team enough confidence to stop working so hard, and let them limp through to the playoffs, crashing out in the first round.

Let's hope, for all our sakes and for Brodeur's deservedly stellar reputation, that it'll be the former.

NHL All-Star Absentee Suspension: Warranted or Bettman's Arrogance?

Heather Parry — Sun, 25 Jan 2009 23:49:14 -0500

The NHL All-Star weekend seems to have been the most controversial weekend of the season, and most people's gripe with the '09 All-Star Game has been the players involved.

My gripe, however, is with how they're dealing with players who aren't involved.

Gary Bettman, commissioner of the NHL and general cock-up artist, has presumably tired of having his enormous ego dented by individuals who don't want to be involved in the weekend's proceedings.

Thus, Bettman has implemented a new rule that players who miss the All-Star game but played in the game before it are to be suspended from their team's next game.

Now, don't get me wrong; I love the All-Star Game as much as the next guy.

I tremble with anticipation when Ovechkin takes the ice in the skills competition, and seeing the league's best take on the league's...Other best is never going to be dull.

However, I can see the game for what it is—a money-making gimmick.

With tickets fetching around $700 on the Internet and more media coverage than you might think possible, Bettman is, of course, going to want to put on the best show he can. It's "for the fans," after all.

Yet, I can't help but think that if a player doesn't want to risk injury, or worsen an existing injury, playing in a game that is seemlingly not important, then that's more than understandable.

If you're a professional sportsman with his team's best interests at heart, then of course you're not going to put yourself through the stress of travelling to Montreal, dealing with all the press, coming up with some impressive moves for the contests and wowing the crowds in the final game if your heart really isn't in it.

If you're a husband and father with a young family whom you have to leave at home on a regular basis, then you should want to take advantage of some time with them mid-season.

If you're a nine-year All-Star veteran who's a key player on his team, and not as young as you used to be, surely a spare weekend should be spent resting up and re-energizing.

My point is this: There are more important things in life, and in sports, than the NHL All-Star game.

Mr Bettman, though, doesn't seem to share this view.

He claims that fans should be able to see all the stars, but how do you define 'star' in a way that only includes a small percentage of NHL players?

And does losing a couple of picks really bring the game down that much?

Though he claims to be acting in the interests of the fans and the game, Bettman should realize that for some players, missing the All-Star game is the better choice.

His highness, however, doesn't like to be disobeyed, and every time his judgement is questioned his ego takes it personally.

With that in mind, here's what I think really needs to be changed in the All-Star game—Bettman needs to stop taking it so damned seriously

It's just a game, Gary. Just a game.

The Curse of Leafs Nation: Why Toronto Marlies Are Criminally Under-Supported

Heather Parry — Sun, 04 Jan 2009 04:45:59 -0500

I've only lived in Toronto for three months.

I've never had a poutine, I don't own hockey skates, and I still pronounce the last 'T' in the city's name. In short, I'm still a foreigner in these here parts.

So why, in a hockey city of five million people, am I one of only a few who seem to appreciate the Toronto Marlies?

It's the fault of the Maple Leafs.

Let's look at the facts:

- The Marlies are currently sitting at fourth out of seven in the AHL North Division, eight points shy of the division leaders.

- They won their division and came second in their conference last season.

- They're 19-14-0-3 in the season, and 7-2-0-1 in their last 10 games.

- Their goalie was called up to start for the Leafs a couple of weeks ago and pulled out a more convincing performance than either Vesa Toskala or Curtis Joseph had managed in months.

- You can watch them play for 10 bucks.

In contrast, here's how the Leafs are doing:

- They are currently fourth out of five in the Northeast Division, 24 points away from the Eastern Conference leaders, Boston Bruins.

- They are five points shy of a playoff spot.

- They last won their division in 2000, and haven't made the playoffs since 2004.

- They're 16-17-8 this season, and 5-5-0 in their 10 most recent games

- They have two goalies both over 30, one of whom is over 40, and who can't produce a consistent run between them.

- You have to shell out $100 and sell your soul to a broker to get tickets.

Despite this, the Maple Leafs' average attendance is fifth best out of 30 NHL teams, while the Marlies' average sits only two places from bottom in a 29-team league.

So why the hell are the Leafs selling out the 18,000-seat ACC while Ricoh Coliseum sits half-full every weekend?

My buddy suggested to me that Torontonians are just spoiled for sport.

Between the Jays, the Leafs, the Raptors, the Argonauts, and the glory of HNIC, people can't be bothered to sit freezing in the Ricoh watching lower league hockey.

My own situation makes me think there's a lot of truth in this.

Having been a hockey fan for 16 years, and lived in a country where the vast majority of people don't even know the sport exists within their borders for all that time, I jump at the chance to watch live games whenever my bank account allows.

I am amazed that I can see the Marlies play at the level closest to the NHL for half the price of a Elite League ticket back home—a league where ex-NHLers are scarce and infamous, despite the fact that they're clearly past their best (Theo Fleury made quite a splash in the lockout season).

But maybe its not just the prevalence of the Leafs that has left the Marlies out in the cold.

Has the relentless frustration of supporting NHL's most valuable franchise made Torontonians cautious and mistrusting of potential success?

Has the craving for disappointment become the curse of Leafs Nation?

If that's the case with you, here's the cure:

Buy a Marlies ticket instead of a Leafs one, and with the money you've saved buy a beer, once every period, at the Ricoh Coliseum once a weekend.

That'll perk you, and the Marlies, right up.

Don Sanderson: Let's Not Turn A Tragedy Into A Farce

Heather Parry — Sat, 03 Jan 2009 09:34:41 -0500

Yesterday morning, a 21-year-old Ontario hockey player died following three weeks in a coma.

Don Sanderson played for Whitby Dunlops of the OHL, and fell into the coma after hitting his head during an on-ice fight.

Waking up to this news on Friday left me with a sense of despondency not only because of the death of a promising guy who was younger than myself, but because I could foresee the knee-jerk reaction that could potentially change the game I love for no logical reason.

The media backlash did not disappoint.

Almost every piece of coverage implied that changes to the rules of professional hockey were not only warranted, but desired.

In terms of logical thought, this is ridiculous.

First of all, hockey is a dangerous sport.

It is full-contact, played on ice, and necessitates skate blades, sticks and dense pucks of vulcanised rubber.

Not one single person enters into this sport thinking he or she will not get hurt: that's a given. They also know the risks involved, even the unlikely ones. Hasn't everyone involved with the game seen the Clint Malarchuk video a thousand times?

I'm not in any way trying to imply that if a player gets injured it is their own fault; my point is that in such a volatile sport, people know injuries will occur, and yet they still enter into participation.

Injuries simply are part of high-impact sports, some serious, and if players were entirely uncomfortable with this, they would not play.

Fighting in hockey is the same; players known the dangers, and they do it anyway.

Secondly, it is wholly irrational to change the way a sport is playing because of one incident.

Think about how many fights occur in the NHL; lets say, for the sake of averages, that there is one per game. So two players engage in roughing for every game that is played in the NHL. That's at least two guys having a scrap almost every night in a regular season.

How many NHL players then have died as a direct result of an on-ice altercation?

One.

Bill Masterton of the Minnesota North Stars died in 1968, two days after a check which floored him, causing him to hit his head on the ice.

This was a decade before the 1979 draft, when helmets became mandatory for any new player in the league, and since then, no other NHL player has died in such a way.

In fact, in the whole history of the NHL, only four players have died of head injuries sustained whilst playing; Owen McCourt, Edgar Dey, Bill Masterton and Paul Fendley.

In contrast, the National Hockey League has lost a total of 29 players to car accidents.

In effect, if we're trying to reduce the number of players killed, it would make more statistical sense to ban hockey players from driving cars than it would to ban fighting.

Finally, and most ludicrous of all, is the fact that the league in which this young man played has already implemented the rule that is being called for: fighting is not allowed.

Many people who are new to hockey ask me why roughing occurs in games, and I often have no better answer than "it just does".

Hockey is an intense, physically and mentally demanding sport, and intimidation has a large part to play in on-ice strategies. Sometimes this spills over into a fight, and more often than not, causes merely a bruised hand and a bruised ego.

Most things, when subjected to a ban, simply become more desirable; fighting in hockey might well be the same.

The ban on fighting in the OHL didn't stop the fluke death Don Sanderson from occurring, and so this incident just proves to me that no change in legislation will alter the amount of violence in hockey.

Evidently, changing the rules cannot change the sport entirely.

So why do people want to remove the violence from hockey?

They don't.

I have never spoken to a hockey fan who does not love the intensity of an on-ice tussle.

Even following the death of Don Sanderson, a Sportsnet.ca poll showed that 82 percent of respondents wanted to keep fighting in the game.

Clearly, then, common sense does prevail amongst hockey fans.

Its just a shame that in their attempt to sensationalise everything, the media not only misrepresents the unlikely death of a promising young hockey player, but does a disservice to the fans of that sport too.

Let's not let reactionary journalism turn a tragic death into a farcical situation.

Turning to the Blue Side: How Leafs Nation Got Me

Heather Parry — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 04:52:24 -0500

Since moving to Toronto just three months ago, I've been fairly ambivalent about the Toronto Maple Leafs.

As a New Jersey fan, and longtime NHL-watcher, the Leafs have always been something of a comedy team for me.

Their apparent inability to bring home anything of worth in the last few decades has provided me with an unlimited stream of heckles with which to taunt my Leafs-fan buddies.

That's not to say that they're not talented, but it's just too much fun to rinse my friends whenever the opportunity arises—and when they're Leafs fans, it arises often.

However, the potent love of the team that penetrates most areas of Toronto life has been swaying me ever since I arrived.

The attitude of most Torontonians is this: Yeah, they suck—but we love 'em.

I perhaps didn't realize the extent to which this had been affecting me until I stumbled on some Leafs-Devils tickets for Dec 16. And by "stumbled upon" I mean "lopped my arm off and sold it to medical science to get."

The big question was this: Who am I supporting?

I had bought a cheap vintage Leafs jersey a few weeks previously, with the excuse that I just like collecting shirts, and living in Toronto and not owning one is obscene.

Evidently, the jersey meant more to me than I had first imagined.

Leaving my blood-red Devils shirt at home, I found myself sitting in 318 in the blue and white cheering for no one in particular. I half-heartedly applauded the Devs in the first period, mainly as no one around me seemed to be bothered either way.

After a couple of goals and a couple of fights though, things began to change.

Taking the cue from their team's second goal, the ACC crowd suddenly woke up and started making some noise even when the overlord of the arena didn't tell them to.

"I love you Tomas! I love you Tomas Kaberle!" That was persistently screamed from behind me, and the Leafs, if not Kaberle himself, fed off this appreciation and paid it back threefold.

By the time the Devils evened up the score at 2-2, the Leafs looked electrified, Toskala was on fire, and I actually felt excited for the Leafs on every breakaway, no matter how unlikely a goal seemed.

I was definitely not a neutral bystander.

Overtime came and went, and I finally realised that the atmosphere had got me: I wanted the blues to take the game in the shootout.

The teams seemed even in the first few attempts, but Jason Blake's do-or-die spin move, that thankfully "did", and ended up as the GWG, left us all, and especially my friend at his first NHL match, wide-eyed in disbelief and deafened by the sound of a Leafs Nation finally having something to cheer about.

It also put the last nail in the coffin of my Leafs pessimism.

I was wearing the shirt, I was cheering the goals, and my heart was thumping for a Leafs win over my much loved New Jersey Devils.

Despite all my best efforts, it seems I've turned to the blue side.

So they'd better start winning.

A Beginner’s Guide to the Blue Jays; or Why Baseball Isn't As Bad As You Think

Heather Parry — Thu, 04 Dec 2008 14:04:07 -0500

11 years ago, on her first visit to Toronto, a young Heather Parry sat in her hotel room with her dad, watching a Blue Jays game on the TV.

Not really understanding what was going on, and seeing nothing to get excited about, they roundly decided that baseball was crap, and they should probably stick with hockey.

Just over a decade later, that same Parry daughter finds herself back in TO, this time to live for as long as they’ll let her stay, and she’s changed her opinion on this most peculiar of sports.

It was the lure of $7 tickets that ensnared me into attending my first Blue Jays game, a little more than a week after I arrived in glorious Ontario.

With nothing much else to do in between finding ourselves places to live, a few friends and I set off to the venue formerly known as the Skydome (surely a far better name than the corporation-ass-sucking current one) to see the Jays in action against Boston Red Sox (although we’re not sure why a team would be named after an item of clothing).

We weren’t prepared for what we were about to see.

After reaching our seats in the nosebleeds, we settled down into what must be the most relaxed sporting atmosphere in the civilised world.

No one complained when we walked in late and had to constrict their view to get to our seats; people chat away pleasantly while keeping a cursory eye on the game; the guys next to us didn’t even mind when the foreigners had to ask them what exactly was going on.

Several of the sportsmen in front of us were bordering treacherously on the "overweight" line, and the pace of the game left a lot to be desired.

Yet after a while I find myself enjoying the whole scene. You get a beer, have some peanuts and catch some rays without having to worry about someone scoring while you’re looking the other way.

As soon as something interesting happens, the crowd lets you know, and you have chance to focus on the play before the batter finishes his run or someone catches the ball.

Strangest of all, though, is the crowd’s willingness to participate.

They may sit quietly the majority of the time, but when asked to stand and sing along with the laughable song and accompanying graphics on the screen….they do! They play ridiculous chants, and the crowd sings along. They start a Mexican wave, and everyone joins in.

The whole time I don’t hear a heckle, or an abusive call, or someone complaining about the fact that the Jays go the whole game without getting a home run or doing whatever else it is that’s positive.

What’s going on?

The bottom line seems to be this: it’s not about winning; it’s about having a good time.

The message that Phys Ed teachers drilled into Torontonians at primary school planted a seed that has now bloomed into a whole sporting philosophy, and though Jays fans, Leafs fans and Raptors fans the city over might bitch and complain when their team yet again fails to win anything of significance, the truth is that it doesn’t matter—they support these teams not really for their abilities, but for the sheer love of engaging with sport.

And so, my enlightenment is complete: people don’t go to the Blue Jays to sit on the edge of their seats, panicking about the ticking clock and the lack of scoring ability in their team.

They go to sit in the sun, enjoy a cold beer, and have a relaxing time.

I can appreciate that; who wouldn’t?

Open Mic: Hockey Players Could Beat Up My Dad

Heather Parry — Fri, 20 Jun 2008 23:05:35 -0400

I guess everyone whose friends like different sports has had this conversation before.

Its kind of an adult version of the 'my dad could beat up your dad' idea: Which sports players are really the best?

I'm as resolutely biased in this game as I was in the kids' version: hockey players are the ultimate sportsmen and my Dad could totally take yours.

However, I think I'm slightly more justified in championing the athletic prowess of the Gretzkys and Messiers of this world than I was in believing in the decidedly lacklustre fighting skills of a certain Mr. Parry.

To start, hockey players prove their worth—and prove it often.

Not only is the Stanley Cup the hardest sporting trophy to win in terms of playing hours if nothing else. In the climax of the playoffs, a team can be playing four games a week, with the possibility of extensive overtime making that mountain ever more difficult to climb.

This makes the soccer world's week between final legs seem positively pathetic.

It's not just the post-season either. From September to April, the schedules look almost as gruelling, with the struggle to fit in 82 games throwing up some hectic months.

And not just that—they're tough.

Though I've never actually been hit by a Canadian brick wall moving at speed, I can imagine that it is neither pleasant nor trivial. Yet these guys react most of the time as if they've merely had a small pillow thrown at them.

Even when the force of the hit is too much to be denied, they still carry on.

For a brilliant example of this resilience, check out the video of Sami Kapanen getting sent into orbit by Darcy Tucker from a few years ago. He was laid out to the point of unconsciousness and with little to no idea where he was. Kapanen still managed to drag his mangled frame to the bench, allowing Forsberg to swiftly replace him and score.

It's a far cry from most sports stars, who throw themselves to the floor screaming because someone looked at them harshly.

Yet this toughness isn't enough.

There's a name for players who rely solely on physical presence in the game and its very telling. These 'goons' lack the intricate puck-handling skills needed to reach the very top.

To succeed in hockey, you have to cradle the puck like a particularly ill kitten, play with it gently, then send it into warp speeds milliseconds later.

If you can do this while deking through defense like a warm knife through butter, then score while you're on your back and facing the boards—that's just peachy.

The glue that holds these opposing attributes of strength and gentleness together in the perfect cadence is intelligence. A good hockey player not only pulls tricks and lays people out, but knows when to do which.

This intelligence shows itself in their public appearances and post-match interviews. I'm not saying they could explain the theory of relativity, but they've got grey matter where its needed and their vocabularies tend to extend somewhat further than the phrase "at the end of the day".

All this is held together by a gentlemanly conduct that necessitates respect and gives it back in equal measure. It's a cliche now that "what happens on the ice, stays on the ice", but it's one that is thankfully still around and for the most part, still true (with the notable exceptions of Patrick Roy and Sean Avery).

However, the thing that really raises hockey players in our esteem is their ability to do all this with a sense of fun and a pure love for the sport.

The things they might have to do aren't always easy, but like all good dads, they make it look like a walk in the park.

In fact, age and rational thinking have overturned my original, naively but strongly held belief.

In the cold light of day, it's true, though it may be difficult to say: hockey players could definitely beat up my dad.

New Jersey Devils: Has Martin Brodeur Lost His Mojo?

Heather Parry — Sat, 29 Mar 2008 03:22:16 -0400

With their team currently sitting at a comfortable fourth in the conference following a minor end-of-season slump, New Jersey Devils fans might now be considering their chances for the post-season.

To all intents and purposes, things look pretty good—having sat at the top of the division for most of the latter half of the season, some might even say it’s the Devils’ year.

However, this Devils fan can’t help but be a little more sceptical, and though it pains her to say so, it’s because of Monsieur Brodeur.

In his 13 proper seasons with New Jersey, he’s established himself as a leader both on and off the ice; the one player, especially since the departure of Scott Stevens, who fans can have complete and total faith in; the backbone of the team.

Indeed, most look to the day he retires as if it was the apocalypse, so vital has his reliability been to a team that has always been a bit shaky in the defense department.

It says a lot, in my mind, that the only phrase my flatmates have picked up from my obsessive playing of certain NHL video games has been “and Brodeur makes the save…”—and this pretty much reflects the last decade of Devils history. He’s led the team to several Stanley Cups and consistently given the fans peace of mind and confidence in his abilities. Odd man rushes weren’t quite so worrying with Brodeur in net.

This season, he was meant to take a back seat, to give Weekes a few more starts—to start winding down his career, if you will. Due to his enduring competitiveness, and New Jersey's reluctance to give him up, that hasn’t happened, and the stats would suggest that he’s been as successful this year as ever. After all, a GAA of 2.19 and save percentage of .919 are not too shabby in anyone’s book.

Yet, I find myself not quite having the confidence in him that I used to have. Sure, on a one-on-one, he’s still the person I’d most like to have in the net. He’s still the person I’d pick to start every game. He’s even kept his place on my fantasy team.

However, too many average goals are slipping through in regular time—goals that someone of his calibre should be all over like a bad suit. On a shoot out, he’s still one of the best, but every lacklustre shot that passes him highlights the inescapable fact that he’s just not impenetrable any more.

Have the rest of the league finally sussed Marty, or is age just taking its toll on his long-revered reflexes?

Thankfully, this isn’t quite the crisis situation it might have been in the past, as the Devils have stepped up their offense in the last few years. Zubrus, Parise and Zajac have brought a relative youth and a flair up front that’s long been lacking. In fact, it’s probably their scoring ability that’s allowed the D a little room to breathe – and perhaps it’s also done a lot to cover up Brodeur’s growing inconsistency.

Having said all this, and having reluctantly tainted my own opinion of my favourite player, I still wouldn’t dare to suggest that the Devils’ number 30 isn’t one of the best in the business. He will forever stand as a firm fan favourite, and his ten All-Star picks and thirty franchise records speak for themselves. Hell, there’s no denying that he’s still a great goalie, and undoubtedly one of the best in the NHL.

Nevertheless, I find myself flinching a little more when the other team shoots these days, and I look to the Playoffs with trepidation rather than confidence. If the Devils are going to go all the way this post-season, Marty is going to have to pull something special out of the bag.

Can he do it? I'm not so sure.

But, man, do I hope he proves me wrong!

The Real Reason Alexander Ovechkin Is "Better" Than Sidney Crosby

Heather Parry — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 05:21:01 -0400

The hockey community has been split ever since those commercials showed Alexander Ovechkin ordering tons of room service in the name of Sidney Crosby—who of these two prodigies is really the best?

The typical line, and the one that has to end most drunken discussions before a fight breaks out, is that Ovechkin is the flashy goalscorer while Crosby is the reliable (and ultimately more valuable) playmaker.

But, to be honest, I think there’s a little more to it than this.

Take this year’s All-Star skills competition and Sid’s absence.

Was anyone really that disappointed? Sure, it was a shame, but would Sid really have flung the puck into the air and attempted a baseball swing at it?

It’s a testament to Sid’s work ethic and apparently innate talent that he made Penguins' captain whilst still in his teens, and is regarded by anyone with half a brain as one of the best players in the league, while becoming the poster boy for everything NHL.

To suggest that his playing is substandard in any way would be bordering on ludicrous.

However, it was Ovechkin who walked into the league with a bang, scoring two goals in his first ever game.

It’s Ovechkin, not Crosby, who has Gretzky staring and shaking his head at replays of his goals.

It’s Ovechkin who leaves you laughing incredulously at his sheer love of playing, even when his goal has just sunk your favorite team.

It’s Ovechkin who’s even got you desperate for the Caps to make the playoffs.

Perhaps it’s the underdog syndrome that’s got me—something I’ve inherited from my dad—and Sid’s comparatively easy upbringing that doesn’t tug the heartstrings as much as Ovie’s struggle to be allowed to play at the age 7.

Certainly, from over here in Britain, with limited access to live games, it’s the Russian who commands the most adulation, and he's who I’m more likely to sit watching videos of on the internet when I could be doing something productive.

From an outsider’s perspective, Crosby certainly seems to be the straight-laced to Ovechkin’s joker; the Wise to Ovie’s Morcambe; the nerd to No. 8’s classroom clown.

Maybe it's true that Sid has the staying power and the greater overall value, and maybe it’s true that Ovechkin eventually will crash and burn. But isn’t it better to live one hour as a tiger than a whole lifetime as a worm?

Ok, so no one in their right mind would put Crosby in the worm category, and there’s no denying that he’s destined to be thought of as one of the all-time greats, but the point remains the same—slow and steady might win the race, but where’s the fun in that?

Lord Stanley Would Be Proud: the British Playoff Finals Come Round Again

Heather Parry — Wed, 26 Mar 2008 13:46:17 -0400

To our cousins across the pond, playoff time means sold out arenas, best-of-sevens, and general hockey mania. Over here in Britain, it’s not quite so extravagant.

A far cry from the format of the NHL playoffs, the Elite League culminates in one weekend of 3 (meaningful – sometimes there’s a 3^rd/4^th place game that’s largely pointless) games – semifinals on the Saturday, final on the Sunday – in Nottingham, a city in the midlands. It’s not quite the postseason climax that you kids get.

Of course, a league that’s comprised of Brits and Europeans as much as North Americans is never going to be as skilled as the Show, and accordingly will never command the same media attention. Add this to the fact that the majority of Brits will never be dragged away from their Saturday afternoons on the ‘soccer’ terraces and the subsequent evening’s binge-drinking and casual violence in the pub, and the future looks pretty bleak for British ice hockey. Teams are slowly but surely moving to smaller (but newer) venues, and the rise of the sport in the nineties has been followed by a definite slump in the noughties.

And yet, for the rare breed, the British hockey fanatic, playoff weekend is something to look forward to as much as gathering round the TV to watch the finals series on NASN, or watching Manchester United lose, and that’s because not only is the quality of hockey the best we get all year, but the hockey community is brought together for 2 glorious days.

Unlike the finals in the US and Canada, the very nature of the Elite league playoffs means fans from each of the ten teams (yes, just ten) buy their tickets in advance, hoping that their team will make it – and if they don’t, the fans go along for the banter, the drinking, and to cheer for whichever team is playing their biggest rivals. With every single team in the league – and several from lower leagues – represented, the city is turned into a veritable hockey town, with every other person sporting a jersey from somewhere and the local Hooters packed to the rafters.

However, British hockey differs from soccer in that this doesn’t necessitate a heavy police presence, or forced division of fans in the stands. On the contrary, one of the biggest pulls to this weekend is the opportunity to mingle with fans from all over the country – and this usually means drinking with, not fighting with.

Sure, Sheffield fans and Nottingham fans might hate each other with all the intensity of a Leafs-Habs rivalry when the game is on, but after the match the abuse melts into a gentle chiding over a pint. Yes, there's banter aimed at each group – Belfast fans being the typical Irish drinkers, Sheffield being the arrogant ones, Coventry’s fanbase being 90% ‘chav’ – but its all taken in a light hearted manner and given back in the same way. Even the players join in the occasion, with those knocked out on the Saturday often partying that evening, and the winners on Sunday painting the town their team’s colours (metaphorically of course) on the closing night.

The next morning, everyone goes home, goes to work, and the rest of the country can go back to not even realising the sport exists in this country. Sure, there’s no real media coverage, no 20,000 seater arenas and certainly no Don Cherry, but there’s the best of British hockey and a damn good party, and that’s just about enough to tide us over til the NHL playoffs begin.

It’s all very British, very understated, and very good fun. Lord Stanley would be proud, I’m sure.