Poultry In Motion - A Column By John Moe

I'm sure that you are all wondering about my recent absence, though none of you selfish bastards cared enough to write. Well the last several weeks have been difficult ones, my friends. In fact only now that the nightmare is over can I return to the keyboard, although while I initially resolved to return with my wittiest, most insightful column ever, I ended up being pretty busy during the holidays…

Anyway for the last two months I and many others have been consumed with grief over the NBA strike. Though for sheer entertainment I prefer college basketball, particularly during March Madness, the NBA provides us with a more complete experience. Come November we look forward to watching the superstars on TV (sadly, not an option for me), monitoring trade rumors and free agent signings and immersing ourselves in daily statistics. All this and God Shammgod too. However due to the strike we were forced to find alternate outlets for our fanaticism, so in a desperate attempt to fill the void I checked out hockey.

In the past I've tried to get into hockey without much success. While I've enjoyed the few games that I've attended, I never give the hockey scores more than a brief glance and I have never enjoyed watching games on TV. Despite the resentment this has caused among my Canadian friends I have always dismissed hockey as a "lesser sport", like soccer or luge. However, I recently attended an NHL game that changed my mind…to a point. It turns out that in the right environment, hockey can be enjoyed by anyone.

A few weeks ago, the husband of one of my coworkers obtained luxury box tickets to a San Jose Sharks game. When it turned out that their first 20-30 choices were out of town that weekend, I managed to weasel my way onto the guest list. Luckily I liked the coworkers that were going and since the invitation included free food and beer I leapt at the opportunity, even though the details were a bit fuzzy. Still, I knew the evening was off to a good start when I found myself sipping a beer in a limousine as it whisked us off to the game.

Being a man of the people I don't often get to ride in limousines. However as George, our driver, threaded his way through the game traffic allowing us to relax in climate-controlled comfort, I began develop an appreciation for the "good life" . By the time that George dropped us off at entrance I was actually considering working harder and saving my money so I too could live like this. The next day though, I decided that the lottery was still my best bet.

Once inside it was a quick elevator ride up to the "luxury level", where a uniformed concierge escorted us to our box. As we stood in the doorway admiring the tables loaded with food, she drew back the curtain and opened the sliding glass door that separated us from the rest of the arena. With the roar of the crowd ringing in our ears, we all gazed down at the glittering ice below and soaked in the atmosphere. Seconds later, I experienced another magic moment when I discovered the refrigerator full of beer.

After about 15 minutes spent cramming free food and drink into my mouth it was time for the game to start. Filling a plate with food and grabbing another beer, I settled into one of the comfortably upholstered seats located in the "viewing area". And it turns out hockey is a pretty exciting game. It's fast-paced, there's a hint of violence and the crowd gets really excited. Or at least that's how it seemed in between trips to the refrigerator.

Anyway, the Sharks were playing the St. Louis Blues, who were in first place at the time, and as the first period progressed I began to develop the true hockey fan's hatred for all opposing players. With food, beer and the right attitude, it was turning into the perfect evening. Or so I thought.

I happened to be sitting with my friend Leslie, and we were discussing hockey in general and this game in particular. While I don't follow hockey regularly, Leslie doesn't follow it at all and like most hockey dilettantes she was fascinated by the fighting. Specifically, how many fights I thought there would be.

Well, I've been to a few hockey games in my time, and I thought I remembered fights breaking out pretty frequently. On top of that, one look at the players' teeth or lack thereof would seem to provide all the proof necessary, Therefore, in an attempt to come off like an authority, I confidently assured her that there would be at least three fights.

Incredibly Leslie disagreed with my expert estimate, replying that there would not be that many. What the hell did she know about hockey? Forgetting for a moment that I also knew nothing, I ridiculed her predictions and challenged her to put her money where her mouth was. She accepted my challenge and from that point my focus changed. Sure, I still wanted the Sharks to win, but more than that I wanted them to defend themselves. I screamed for them to avenge every indignity, both real and imagined, with fisticuffs.

Well, it turns out that the Sharks are a bunch of wusses. Not only did they not fight three times, they didn't even fight once. Being somewhat of a sore loser I tried to claim that fights were breaking out left and right while Leslie was in the restroom, but the 15,000 witnesses told a different story. In fact things were so peaceful that I'm convinced all those missing teeth among hockey players are due to poor dental hygiene rather than fighting. How disillusioning. Finally, admitting defeat, I wadded up my $5 bill and threw it right in her smug little face. Well I wanted to, but since I'm a bit frightened of her I actually handed it over politely.

With my perfect evening tarnished, there was nothing more to do besides root for a Sharks victory. Or failing that, root for overtime so that I would be able to spend as much time as possible enjoying the bounty of the luxury box. Finally the Sharks scored with 1 minute left, tying the score at 3-3 and sending the game into overtime. Unfortunately it turns out that in hockey the overtime period is only 5 minutes long, but it was still 5 more minutes of free booze and that's all right. As I walked down to the limo with several beers hidden in my jacket, I thanked our host profusely and hoped that I had behaved myself well enough to be invited back.

Now that the NBA has agreed to resume play and we can look forward to games starting in early February, I'll probably desert hockey for my first love. However, for those of you so disgusted by the strike that you'll never watch another NBA game - take heart. The NHL can be your new friend. Hockey is an exciting, fast-paced game, and while the names are harder to pronounce and the fighting angle is apparently grossly exaggerated, the games still provide plenty of entertainment.

So if you're in the Bay Area and are looking for a sports fix, try going to a Sharks game. The Sharks are a young, exciting team and I can particularly recommend the San Jose Arena. I can't say that I remember many details about the game (except for the bitter taste of losing $5), but damn - that Arena treated me right.

Email Ian Cooper

Spent Cold Ones:

Cold Chillin' #6-Meeting Jackie Chan

Cold Chillin' #5-Dr. Cooper Prescribes One Big Mac

Cold Chillin' #4-Come Sail Away

Cold Chillin' #3-Roscoe's Finger Lickin' Goodness

Cold Chillin' #2-Rockers At the Keypad

Cold Chillin' #1-Jobless in San Francisco

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