Pucker Up
A Florida native’s first encounter with professional hockey.
This question goes out to all you Florida hockey fans out there: What the hell is your problem? Look around you. Look at that palm tree. You’re living in the literal Sunshine state. It has no winter because that is the will of the Lord. We have no business playing hockey, and we sure as hell don’t have any business being good at it.
And yet, there I stood in front of the Kia Stadium, shoulder to shoulder pad with a few thousand other Floridians who were there to watch Florida take on also-Florida to defend or honor or perhaps avenge a significant NHL title, if I remember correctly. There I sat in a packed arena, watching everyone twirl their standard-issue Tampa Bay Lightning cheer towels while all the dudes down there clacked their sticks around and stuff.
As you can probably guess, going to a big, loud stadium to watch the sport men do the sport isn’t my jam to begin with. For one, I’m jumpy around loud noises because I am secretly a small prey mammal. Two, I never have any idea what’s going on, despite my partner’s best attempts to explain, and it’s only a matter of time before my mind starts to wander. How long does it take to freeze the basketball court? Do you need a license to operate a zamboni? Are these players locally sourced or do we import them from the north? Do the guys on opposite teams get along outside of work? How do they decide what number to put on their shirts? Wait, why is everyone cheering?
But I was no less entertained, I think, than the avid fans all around us—my attention was just directed to everything that wasn’t the game. I wasn’t expecting there to be such a strong community focus, but nearly every pause in gameplay was used to highlight a student athlete, or a veteran, or a dog.
Easily my favorite thing was watching people lose their minds when they see themselves on the JumboTron. There’s a rhythm to it;the initial candid cheering, the moment of recognition, and then a huge frenzy of pointing and waving wildly. To whom? Themselves? Us? Who cares? Nothing means anything when Florida is good at hockey.
We decided to duck out at the end of the second period because it was a “boring game,” which I think means there wasn’t enough fighting. Still, it was an educational experience for me. I learned that white is a really hard uniform color to follow on an ice rink. I learned how to spin the towel without getting it wrapped around my hand. I learned that there’s a hockey version of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” that’s sung by Canadian John Denver and could stand to be about 30 seconds shorter. I learned that someone, somewhere, gets paid to play the organ between plays, and I hope that guy’s having a good day.
Most importantly, I learned not to judge a puck by its pucker.
