Trapped

That's what I will be until the actual Stanley Cup is presented, done and dusted.  Right now, we're in "the playoffs", but in my world, it's not the playoffs until the final six games unfold.  And even then, I don't really perk up until the cup is in the building, ready to be presented.

(Note to Gary Bettman:  Stay away!!)

My only hope is that Connor McDavid finally gets his moment in the sun.  The best player in the world deserves it, after languishing with the dismal Oilers for so many hopeless years.

A few years ago, we went to an open house at Olympic Park, where Gordie Howe and a few other ancient luminaries did a little skate around meet-and-greet.  The Keeper of the Cup, Phil Pritchard, was also there -- complete with his trademark white gloves to protect it.  Guarding the 121-year-old cup has been Pritchard's job for 25 years; it never leaves his care. 

Phil Pritchard with his charge -- gloved as usual!

The damage to the cup happens when each member of the winning team is permitted to take it to his hometown following victory.  Pritchard is always there too, but victors are allowed to take it to parties and bars, fill it with booze and now and then drop it.  This has happened eight times, with varying degrees of damage.  Oops!

Waiting for B at the bar of the local 'Earls', I started to chat with the bartender -- as usual.  Hockey came up.  "Do you follow hockey?" he asked.  "Not really, but I am trapped watching it because my husband loves the game," I wearily replied.  We then began trading facts, stats, anecdotes, my two NHL boyfriends and player skills to which he exclaimed, "Boy, for someone who says she knows nothing about hockey, you sure know a lot."

I put it down to osmosis.  Obviously, it's seeping in.  Can't wait 'til the end of June.....sigh.