Thursday, or Thereabouts - June 13, 2013

I had to make a change in the lineup for my Thursday posts. "Thermals" had had an acceptable beginning, but dissatisfaction with its performance grew in my gut week by week and for the past two weeks quite frankly, the player has been on waivers. I put sleeplessness to good use last night and bounced replacements back and forth in my head much like the puck in the hockey game I stayed up to watch. Like that Stanley Cup Final, this game went on for far too long before the winning goal was scored and "Or Thereabouts" finally lit up the lights.

Now what about that real hockey game - my oh my, what a game! As exciting as it was, as great as it was, I do hope the rest of the games between the Hawks and Bruins don't go all the way to a third overtime, but whatever happens, I'll be watching.

I'm loving this match up between Chicago and Boston, two teams from the 'Original Six' of the NHL I knew as a child. Then as now,  I was a Chicago Blackhawks fan through and through. The likes of Bobby Hull, Stan Makita, Chico Maki, Pierre Pilote and goalie Glenn Hall filled my dreams of triumph and greatness.

The best Christmas of my childhood, the most memorable was the one (1962 or '63) when I got not only a hockey stick and gloves, but also an official Blackhawks sweater (they really were sweaters in those days, not jerseys). I well recall the surprise, the absolute joy that rocketed through my body when I tore open the package from Auntie Lilian, to discover not yet another dress (blech!), but the red and black wool of the hockey sweater. I was in seventh heaven and couldn't wait to get out on the street for a game of road hockey with the boy across the street. He'd be Johnny Bower to my Bobby Hull, or Stan Makita.

I had hockey dreams. There was just one problem. I couldn't skate. Try as I might I could not master those bright white slender figure skates. They tripped me up every time; the damn picks dug in and sent my flying far too many times. Back then, figure skates were the only option for girls, after all every Canadian girl on the ice wanted to be Barbara Ann Scott (1948 Olympic champion), didn't she? Well no, at least not me. I recall my Dad considered buying a pair of real hockey skates like his, but Mom wouldn't hear of it - those were boys' skates!

No matter, road hockey worked the magic and in winter on our quiet street there was often enough snow pack to use my real NHL puck and stick handle my way up the road rink to face Johnny Bower between the posts.

She shoots! She Scores!

The crowd went wild.

And that's it for this Thursday or Thereabouts. Just one more thing...

Go Hawks! Go!