Yankee is to Hockey as Football is to Southerner (& Eskimos)

I've gained a new respect for hockey ever since attending a small town minor league hockey team in Maine with my family. Wait, no. That did not come out correctly. Start over.

I've gained a new respect for the Hockey Fanaticism of those crazy, funny sounding, a bit , but still - "keeping it tight" - Mainers.

You see, Maine is far too cold a place to support a competitive collegiate football program. First, BFE is not a favorable location which will draw in the type of top recruits that will win a Natl Championship. Unless they were Eskimos, which I'm not sure if Eskimos play football. But if they did, they would be the best. Because growing up in an igloo is tough. It makes a manskimo's skin like a jacket. That's right. A thick down body hair coat like jacket. Natural. Efficient. Environmentally friendly. Green. They're hairy. Hairy like the dogs which pull their sleds around big open fields of snow. If ever a dog acts up, a manskimo slaps that dog across it's face. Then he stares into that dogs eyes until the dog looks down communicating his place and role. Sometimes, I imagine these Eskimo men ride around with their shirts off. Their chest hairs flopping in the wind. They probably scream at it to. Not a scared womanly scream though. No. A big manly scream the type that evokes fear to all who hear. A deep battle yell scream. They do it just to show the cold weather who the man is. Its you Eskimo man. Its you. These Eskimo men could sustain a Maine football team with their strength and body's resilience to extreme, but not extreme enough, cold temperatures. But this will never happen, as Eskimos prefer solitude. It's the Eskimo way. Always will be.

Back to the reason football is not big in Maine.

Second, who wants to sit outside for 4 quarters on metal bleachers that are so cold they've been documented to cause butt checks to magically freeze together. Imagine this - After consuming a hot dog, chili, and a fiery hot cup of coffee nature decides to call. Fused butt cheeks frozen like two solid blocks of ice is not a easy task to undo. The world knows not a man/woman to have the time for a defrost. Not even the Manskimo.

So if you lived where snow begins to fall just around the time you've gotten to making the much needed, but equally dreaded switching of winter for summer clothes what do you do? Do you continue investing heavily in a program with the hope of one day making a bowl game? Nah, Nat'l Championship?

Well, you would do what any other man of self respect would do: scrap it, toss it, and focus your resources on a entirely new sport. A sport of certain characteristics. One that combines the physical athleticism and aggressiveness contained in football. A sport which takes advantage of your cold, sometimes frozen, situation. A sport that transforms the unattractive toothless man into a hometown hero. You implement fighting into that sport to both legitimizes each players manhood (this applies to both genders. If you saw the ladies team picture you would understand - manhood) and prevents spectator boredom during the long periods of scoreless play. You choose a sport that where the game begins first with the Canada Nat'l Anthem then United States Nat'l Anthem. Most importantly you design the arena to be as close to the level of play as possible. A proximity so divine it makes any HD TV look like James' rabbit ears. If fans are lucky they can get hit by a puck or catch the tooth from your opponents mouth you just knocked out. Later your player can sign that tooth, pat the lucky little girl on her head, and feel good about yourself because he a manly man hero man. You make that arena small, cozy, and inviting. Next you dispatch men to walk up and down the stands with kegs strapped to their backs serving the faithful fans beer. Yes, kegs! On their backs! Every time your team scores a point the lights instantly shut off, rhythmic techno beats begins to bump, strobe lights begin to flash, disco ball appears out of nowhere, and a Canadian flag lowers over the center of the rink, swinging back and forth. Within seconds the sports arena is instantly turned into a hot crazy coked up rave party. Only at this party there's no hot chicks, just a rather large guy in sweatpants wearing a XXXL patriots jacket who has amazingly just pulled off a glorious 2 minute shouting rant in which no sentence was completed nor was anything of sence. You wonder for a moment if he was specking klingon. But then you're drawn back to his sweat pants and you remind yourself that trekies hate sweatpants. The insanity of the celebration continues so as to mock your opponent. It continues for until it seems like the crowd is worn out and ready to return to their seats. The referees can be seen deep in thought as they trace back through whether excessive celebration can be given to a crowd. But there's not. No. Oh, no. Not this time Mr. referee man. Not tonight.

The sport I'm talking about is Hockey. Seriously, I've been to one professional hockey game in my life - in Charleston, SC - and it was nothing compared to what I experienced. Crazy. It happened just like that. A little exaggeration. Just a bit. A lot of fun. Very interesting. Odd. But cool. Very Canadian.