Love song for hockey

The first thing I remember of hockey is my father.

Unlike other Italian dads in the neighbourhood, my pa didn't follow il calcio - soccer, football, or whatever you want to call it. My father watched hockey. Never one for forced enthusiasm, my father wasn't trying to 'fit in' - no, Serafino Palanca truly loved the pace and ardour of hockey. Still does. If you've ever heard his chuckle when some poor rookie pays the price for going into a corner with his head down, it's fairly obvious.

I remember him sitting in front of our basement television, clenched and occasionally exploding verbally at the screen. It was a visceral experience for him - and for anyone else in the room that tried to discuss what was happening on the screen. Funny this is - he's never been a Montreal Canadiens fan - even more not so when I started watching hockey and my love of the Habs became a new thing to tease me about.

"Hai visto come ha perduto le Canadese ieri sera? I Bruins l'hanno fatto mangiare la claque!"*

I decided to try watching this hockey-stuff one random night when I was in the sixth or seventh grade. The Habs were playing the Minnesota Stars, who were remarkable only for their fluo lemon-lime uniforms that lit up the TV screen like fireflies.

It was confusing. I didn't understand much - especially why anyone should get a penalty for passing a puck across two blue lines - doesn't that move the puck faster? But my dad liked it, and I was going to watch it until it made sense.

And then one day it made sense. And soon after that, I started to lose my sense, developing enough pre-game superstitions to put a French-Canadian goalie to shame. I still scream at that TV with an abandon that sees no reason...

But when you love hockey, it's crazy Fatal-Attraction love - there's no other way!

What wasn't there to love about hockey? Even when the Canadiens were losing badly, there was still this sense - as there is with every hockey game - that at any second, that cursed hunk of black rubber would slip between the goalie's pads and make this a whole new game!

I had a Russ Courtnall jersey (partly for his speed, partly for his cute). In 1989, during the finals against the Calgary Flames, we forced our teachers to include the Habs in our morning prayers. Lunchtimes, we picked at our sandwiches and discussed stats and players with passionate detail.

We even wrote naughty poems about our favourite players.**

As the Canadiens get their centennial season rolling, I count myself fortunate to have these hockey-infused memories to enrich my past. And hope to count a few more Stanley Cup parades in the years to come. Go, Habs, go!

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*My father also spent 40 years working on construction sites, and thus knows a surprising variety of Quebecois-flavoured swear words that he can slip in at different moments. It's as cute as heck!
**Out of female solidarity, we decided long ago to keep these under lock and key. Don't ask to see them.