Girlfriend's Guide to Hockey

Introduction Hockey in the BedroomIce hockey has traditionally been a male domain -- from fans to players to coaches, "a guy thing." But the last few years have seen a surprising demographic shift. More women than ever are watching -- and playing -- hockey In the words of Chatelaine magazine, "the secret -- jealously, guarded by boys and men for close to a century -- is out: hockey is the most fun going."It's true, and I should know. I'm one of those newly drafted female fans. My passion for hockey didn't light up the sky immediately. I had a healthy hatred of the game to overcome first. Newfoundland humorist Ray Guy called hockey a pestilence that was "nasty, boring, pernicious, deadening, silly, obnoxious, tedious." Televised hockey, said Guy, "turns a large proportion of the population into gibbering idiots for six months of the year." I couldn't have agreed more.Then hockey invaded my bedroom.When I first met Bruce, I thought I had discovered the perfect mate: sensitive, caring, artistic, sexy. He was a metalsmith like myself, he believed in equality, he even had a ponytail. We fell in love and everything was wonderful -- until one fateful evening in spring.I called Bruce and asked if he wanted to take a romantic stroll along the riverside. "I'd love to," he said. "But I can't. The playoffs are starting.""The playoffs?""Montreal and New York. Opening game. Why don't you grab some beer and come over?"I was horrified. It was like discovering your best friend was a spy for the other side. Instead of spending a quiet evening awash in romantic ambiance, we sat in his room, watching a hockey game. As Bruce yelled at the refs and knocked back the beer, I asked myself -- as thousands of girlfriends and wives ask themselves every year -- "What's the big deal about hockey?"To me, the game seemed chaotic. Nothing made any sense. The referees were constantly blowing their whistles, the puck skidded along a random path, and then -- for no obvious reason -- a fight would break out. It looked like the stupidest sport on earth.A few months later, Bruce asked me to marry him. Instead of simply being ecstatic, I had some reservations. One of them was a season ticket for front-row television viewing of testosterone-driven hockey players charging up and down the ice. It chilled my enthusiasm."Bruce," I said. "About this affection you have for hockey.""Greatest game on earth!" he said, as if that was all the explanation needed.I knew then I had a choice to make. Bruce would never give up hockey and I would never give up Bruce. Either I was going to spend a lot of time clenching my jaw and muttering under my breath, or I could learn something about the game. But when I set out to teach myself the basics, I was soon disappointed. There were no books that explained the rudiments of hockey in terms that an average uninitiated adult -- or a woman with a mission -- would understand.But, I persisted, and after wading through dozens of bulky hockey encyclopedias, watching countless games, and faithfully reading the next days' sports pages, I slowly began to understand how hockey works. I also enlisted the help of my dear friend Will Ferguson, a writer and a hockey afficionado. Will and Bruce had been holding hockey round-table discussions (which I usually daydreamed through) since we had met. The more the three of us talked about the games we watched, the more I enjoyed and understood them. I could now spot a bad call or a delayed penalty. I could tell a clean check from a dirty one. I even understood the blue-line rule -- something a lot of die-hard fans still haven't figured out. What I had been dismissing for years as a "guy thing" revealed itself as an iSpencer, Teena is the author of 'Girlfriend's Guide to Hockey' with ISBN 9781552096406 and ISBN 1552096408.