Showing posts with label Stanley Cup. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stanley Cup. Show all posts

Saturday, June 29, 2024

Vinegar Lips

I love salt and vinegar potato chips. I also love sports. One day the twain did meet, though not necessarily in the best way.

My oldest son was about two and a half years old, and I was trying to watch the Stanley Cup playoffs. Being a momentarily bad dad, I did not want a distraction. So I sat in my recliner eating salt and vinegar potato chips as I was also supposed to be watching Charlie.

I did watch him, kind of. I glanced over occasionally as he played with his toys while I watched TV. Regularly, he would toddle to my perch, and I would give him a couple chips or let him grab some from the bag I held on my lap, to keep him at bay. It was a divine match. We both got what we wanted; he could play, and I could watch hockey. Cool beans.

After an hour or so of this, Charlie, again, toddled to my recliner for more chips. And I gave him more. Only this time I turned and looked at him. His lips were white. White as sheets, white as ghosts. And it occurred to me that the vinegar was causing that.

So I let him have two more chips and I put the bag away, hoping his mother would not notice the change in his facial anatomy (thankfully no, as his lips had returned to normal by the time she was home). But I think he likes, or did like, salt and vinegar chips himself. I wonder if he still might.

Wednesday, May 1, 2024

Hockey History

On our visit to Toronto this past weekend, me son Frank and I went to the Hockey Hall of Fame. There were lots of good things there, although it did seem to be mostly team jerseys. Still, it was an interesting look at the players and all who made the game what it is today.

As we looked over a display about hockey dynasties, I told my son about how the Edmonton Oilers might have had one more Stanley Cup to their credit if it hadn't been for an 'own goal' in the 1986 playoffs. Edmonton scored against itself on a bad pass from defenseman Steve Smith, and the Calgary Flames bounced the Oilers from the Conference Final that year. "I remember watching it on TV, and I was as shocked as everyone in the arena," I told Frank. If you're interested, Here it is  

Lo and behold, we came across a video screen playing 'the ten worst blunders in hockey history' and what was number one?

Steve Smith's own goal. 

Serendipity. Unless you're Steve or the Edmonton Oilers.

Monday, February 6, 2017

White chips, white lips

I love salt and vinegar potato chips. They make your lips pucker in such a delightful way, and are another reason I love Canada. I discovered them there. I also love sports. One day the twain did meet, though not necessarily in the best way.

My oldest son was about two and a half years old, and I was trying to watch the Stanley Cup playoffs. Being a momentarily bad dad, I did not want a distraction. So I sat in my recliner eating salt and vinegar potato chips as I was also supposed to be watching Charlie.

He played with his toys as I watched the TV. Regularly, he would toddle to my perch, and I would give him a couple chips or let him grab some from the bag I held on my lap, to keep him at bay. It was a divine match. We both got what we wanted; he could play, and I could watch hockey. Cool beans.

After an hour or so of this, Charlie, again, toddled to my recliner for more chips. And I gave him more. Only this time I turned to look at him. And his lips were white. White as sheets, white as ghosts. And it occurred to me that the vinegar was causing that.

So I let him have two more chips and I put the bag away, hoping his mother would not notice the change in his facial anatomy (thankfully no, as his lips had returned to normal by the time she was home). But I think he likes, or did like, salt and vinegar chips himself. I wonder if he still might.

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

White lips

I love salt and vinegar potato chips. They make your lips pucker in such a delightful way, and are another reason I love Canada. I discovered them there. I also love sports. One day the twain did meet.

My oldest son was about two and a half years old, and I was trying to watch the Stanley Cup playoffs, and I did not want a distraction. So I sat in my recliner eating salt and vinegar potato chips as I was also supposed to be watching Charlie.

He played with his toys as I watched the TV. Regularly, he would toddle to my perch, and I would give him a couple chips or let him grab some from the bag I held on my lap to keep him at bay. It was a divine match. We both got what we wanted; he could play, and I could watch hockey. Cool beans.

After an hour or so of this, Charlie, again, lumbered to my recliner for more chips. And I gave him more. Only this time I turned to look at him. And his lips were white. White as sheets, white as ghosts. And it occurred to me that the vinegar was causing that.

So I let him have two more chips and I put the bag away, hoping his mother would not notice the change in his facial anatomy. But I think he likes, or did like, salt and vinegar chips himself. I wonder if he still might.

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

I feel jobbed by sports playoffs

The Major League Baseball Playoffs began yesterday, and I began to watch them but ended up tuning into NCIS instead, a few minutes ahead of the first pitch. Lest you think this is Marty backing away from his ardent support of America's Pastime, I will let you know that I haven't watched the last two Super Bowls (and little of the NFL Playoffs leading up to them) nor very much of the last three or four Stanley Cups. The older I get the more I can't help but feel that we, the fans, are getting jobbed by sports playoffs in all their forms.

With the exception of American Football, which is by its own tacit admission too brutal for such tests of endurance, we find long seasons which are supposed to be so important leading into a relative handful of games which actually determine champions. They're just something silly about that, if not downright ridiculous. Play all these games, and if you win a lot of them, well, you have to play just a few more to prove you're really that good. It's simply dumb, the more I think about it.

Make teams do it to show how they perform under pressure? All right, there's something to that. Maybe. But maybe also all it does is allow overall weaker teams to shorten their benches and appear stronger by what is little more than slight of hand. But that hardly strikes me as fair to the better overall teams. And if sports are supposed to be about the best man/woman/team winning, I think playoffs may in fact lead to situations less than ideal for such outcomes. Were the New York Giants really the better team than the New England Patriots the year the Pats went into the Super Bowl 17-0? Nope. Yet they were the NFL Champs.

I realize that without the allure of playoffs many teams and their fans might quit on the seasons without the promise of something more. And I get that, so far as it goes. But I also get that if you can't survive the trial you shouldn't earn a mulligan for it either. Further, a good team ought to be put on the field first if it wants support. It's really no different a concept than expecting a business to put out a good product or service before it merits patronage.

As we all know, it actually just comes down to the money. Extended playoffs mean more cash for the games and the industries which surround them. I'll admit up front that there's nothing wrong with that per se. But I also think that an honest assessment of the situation should conclude that it is less than ideal for the integrity of our sports and games as sports and games. It teaches whether it means to or not that excitement is more important than the best team winning. Excitement on its own isn't wrong either of course. Yet I just can't help but feel that excitement when it comes more naturally is deeper and more thrilling than when it is manufactured by groups and persons who don't care about my allegiance so much as they do my money. That more than anything else is when I feel jobbed. I think sports fans in general should feel the same way.

To be sure, I'll watch some of the upcoming baseball games as the next few weeks pass. I admit as well that I would watch more ardently if the Detroit Tigers were involved. But my attention will only be half present as I do. Sparky Anderson said it best: the best team in baseball in a given year is the team with the best regular season record, not the World Series winner. He's spot on with that assessment, and I wish more sports fans would think so too.