Sportin' life
Jan. 4th, 2010 02:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pallas_athenaWhen I am in Britain, I care about sport. I care, specifically, about the England football team. I care about them losing as severely as possible so that they'll be knocked out of whatever tournament they're in and I won't have to deal with buses, Tubes and streets full of aggressive, loutish fans. This is the extent of my involvement with UK sport.
Being in DC is a-whole-nother ball game. My Dad is a huge sports fan, and I grew up going to games with him. So when I come back here to visit, Quality Dad Time includes sporting events. This is actually a lot of fun: my Dad has in-depth knowledge and a gift for clear explanation, which makes him a very fine commentator.
However, the Gods Of Athleticism laugh at DC. They spit on us. They void their bowels in our general direction. We have the losingest football team in the league. Our baseball team will be emerging from their losing streak... oh, any century now. Our basketball team? Well, let's just say "guns in the locker room" and leave it at that. (Our basketball team used to be called the Washington Bullets. After DC had spent a few years as the homicide capital of the USA, it got changed to the much-less-badass Washington Wizards. Our star player, Gilbert Arenas, seems to prefer the old name.)
So basically, DC sports are a vortex of suck-- except for our ice hockey team. They are the lords of the league. They are awesome. They are... well, Canadians, mostly. And a Swede and a Czech and some Russians and... what, you thought Americans played hockey? Please.
Hockey reminds me of medieval warfare: it's all about heavily armoured guys slamming into each other, wielding their sticks like weapons of war. The fact that they're on ice is just an extra bonus. It's such a fast, demanding game that every couple of minutes, a new group of four players will come in and replace the four exhausted ones coming off the ice. The coaches' genius lies in knowing which of these miniature armies to pit against each other. And of course, at least once per game, they down sticks and start throwing punches. Hockey is awesome.
DC hockey, in particular, is awesome because of our star player, Alex Ovechkin, the Michael Jordan of the puck. He likes to play on the same line with our other Russian forward, Alexander Semin. We've got a Czech named Fleischmann who, for his speed, is nicknamed "Flash" (the team uniform is red, which makes me really happy).
Last summer, my British baritone colleague Peter came to DC and saw a hockey game-- and being an excellent aesthetic judge of gentlemen, quickly picked a favourite player. So for a holiday gift, I got him a souvenir jersey from the team's shop. I think he will be pleased to find that I got him a shirt with Semin on it.
What, you want to know about the actual games I saw? We lost. A lot. Our star-studded hockey team played like they were hungover and got trounced, and the basketball game... at least none of our players shot each other. (They'd only have missed, anyway.) I think I finally understand how England fans feel.
Being in DC is a-whole-nother ball game. My Dad is a huge sports fan, and I grew up going to games with him. So when I come back here to visit, Quality Dad Time includes sporting events. This is actually a lot of fun: my Dad has in-depth knowledge and a gift for clear explanation, which makes him a very fine commentator.
However, the Gods Of Athleticism laugh at DC. They spit on us. They void their bowels in our general direction. We have the losingest football team in the league. Our baseball team will be emerging from their losing streak... oh, any century now. Our basketball team? Well, let's just say "guns in the locker room" and leave it at that. (Our basketball team used to be called the Washington Bullets. After DC had spent a few years as the homicide capital of the USA, it got changed to the much-less-badass Washington Wizards. Our star player, Gilbert Arenas, seems to prefer the old name.)
So basically, DC sports are a vortex of suck-- except for our ice hockey team. They are the lords of the league. They are awesome. They are... well, Canadians, mostly. And a Swede and a Czech and some Russians and... what, you thought Americans played hockey? Please.
Hockey reminds me of medieval warfare: it's all about heavily armoured guys slamming into each other, wielding their sticks like weapons of war. The fact that they're on ice is just an extra bonus. It's such a fast, demanding game that every couple of minutes, a new group of four players will come in and replace the four exhausted ones coming off the ice. The coaches' genius lies in knowing which of these miniature armies to pit against each other. And of course, at least once per game, they down sticks and start throwing punches. Hockey is awesome.
DC hockey, in particular, is awesome because of our star player, Alex Ovechkin, the Michael Jordan of the puck. He likes to play on the same line with our other Russian forward, Alexander Semin. We've got a Czech named Fleischmann who, for his speed, is nicknamed "Flash" (the team uniform is red, which makes me really happy).
Last summer, my British baritone colleague Peter came to DC and saw a hockey game-- and being an excellent aesthetic judge of gentlemen, quickly picked a favourite player. So for a holiday gift, I got him a souvenir jersey from the team's shop. I think he will be pleased to find that I got him a shirt with Semin on it.
What, you want to know about the actual games I saw? We lost. A lot. Our star-studded hockey team played like they were hungover and got trounced, and the basketball game... at least none of our players shot each other. (They'd only have missed, anyway.) I think I finally understand how England fans feel.