My ongoing, and somewhat existential, hockey crisis

Another season has closed.

I'm sad to see hockey put to sleep for the summer. But my anger, frustration and joy can use the break.

I'm a reasonably rational and self-aware man. Yet, I allow myself to rise and fall with the highs and lows of my team. I realize this is silly. I understand I don't  actually play for 'my team'. I'm old enough to know loving hockey is absurdity of the highest order. But I still love it. I still want to watch it. And I know heartbreaks will continue to outnumber ecstasies.

This means, I'm periodically forced into a crisis of understanding myself, my choices and my love of this game.

When I was younger, hockey taught me lessons. Some were valuable, most were trivial, few still apply. Those lessons about character and resilience are still useful, when I remember them. But, as a much wiser man told me, "Life is a game of remembering and forgetting". And I forget far more than I remember.

Why do I continue to put so much energy into this game? Is it simply habit? Am I the product of Canadian indoctrination into a culture of hockey nostalgia? Am I just too lazy to find a new sport to love?

All of this is a little true. But, hockey still soothes and angers me because it is continual practice for life. I'm not comparing hockey joys and sorrows to life's keystone events. But, hockey (any sport really) lets me understand those feelings, during a time when thinking cannot be clear. When my Dad passed, I knew the rush of grief would be followed by an empty, dull and grey vision of the world for a time. Hell, I'm a Canucks fan. I know about losing. When my sons were born I knew that a rush of joy, pride and accomplishment would be followed by a period of questioning whether it was worth it and the perception of emptiness as I came down from the peak.

Hockey connects me to my friends, family, community and country. This is all well established stuff. But hockey also connects me to my feelings. As a guy, especially a sensitive lad who spent much of his life hiding and controlling his feelings, this provides real value to my world. Hockey is safe practice for my heart.

As I, metaphorically, live and die with my team I practice for real life and death.

Melodramatic? Sure. But, I need some justification for a love with such paltry returns.