A FAN’S NOTES

Men’s Olympic Hockey

Is there any other Winter Games sport? Hockey, provided it’s played well, is the most exciting sport on Earth. Non-stop action, skill and violence at high speeds in a confined space. “Quicksilver ballet” is the slickest and most glib descriptor I’ve ever read about the game in any sportswriting; memory fails – I cannot cite its coiner. “Firewagon hockey” was the definitive hyperbolic phrase describing the style of “the Flying Frenchmen” – the Montreal Canadiens in those black and white radio days before I was born (although I can’t imagine “Rocket” Richard keeping up to Conner McDavid). Canada’s preliminary cruise through an admittedly weak 2026 Group A in Milano has been something akin to both to behold. There are words: elan, panache.

The New York City-based National Hockey League always chirps about growing what Canadian journalist Peter Gzowski called The Game of Our Lives. Because its involvement in marquee international events is intermittent, “growing the game” is marketing code for two strategies. In the United States the NHL is the perennial fourth league, possibly the fifth behind souped-up cars turning left, or NASCAR. While the US remains the league’s largest market, the 1980 Lake Placid “Miracle on Ice” probably did more to grow the sport’s audience (and participation) south of 49 than anything the NHL has ever done unwittingly or not. And peddling expensive official fan gear can be lucrative.

The debate whether professionals should be permitted to participate in an Olympiad is dead. When the NHL elects to participate in the Winter Games it encounters a paradox. Its macro product shines on the global stage while casting an awfully dark shadow over its micro North American product. When Canada plays Czechia or Slovakia plays Sweden in a February tournament, fans see what hockey can and should be. They will not see the same sport when Columbus plays Utah on an October Tuesday night even though ticket prices are comparable. A bloated league with an endless and meaningless regular season inadvertently lays bare its woeful shortcomings to its home audience.

It's important to differentiate a love for the game from a love for the NHL. The world’s best league does not embody the sport’s ideal. It has diluted the game. I believe most NHL fans are like me. They love one franchise, despise another and don’t care about the other 30. The last time I was in New York City, the Nashville Predators were visiting. I thought, “It might be fun to see a game in Madison Square Gardens and the Rangers have good uniforms.” And then I thought, “Why bother?” In Las Vegas the following winter I looked into Golden Knights tickets. The St. Louis Blues were in town. I thought, “St. Louis Blues: possibly the best marriage of a city and nickname in all of sports; still, why bother?” Twice a few hundred $US to the good. Admittedly, had one or both of those games included Montreal, I’m there; so there for the belt notch and the war story – I think.

The Milano quarterfinals get underway this morning. Hockey at this level is like an advertising shill. It doesn’t come around often. And accept no substitutes.            

Dispatches from the Crooked 9 has been your most unreliable, unbalanced and inaccurate alternative source of everything since 2013. Sunset Oasis Confidential is still out there languishing in multiple formats. Visit my companion site www.megeoff.com for links to your preferred retailer. Of Course You Did is still print. Collect the set while this exclusive offer still lasts! Accept no substitutes!