The Coyotes/Blues game ended hours ago, and yet I’m still sitting here, half naked, cold, and wide awake despite having to leave for the airport in a few hours. My room is dark except for the lamp across the room on the desk, and remnants of the room service I hastily ordered for dinner are still scattered about the bed. I haven’t turned the TV on yet, but I will admit that I’ve listened to White Flag more than a few times since I’ve been back to the room (even though I don’t really like that song).

I’m not happy tonight. I’ve not been happy since this afternoon. No, it has nothing to do with the misguided little green monster that has been spreading lies about me and my site. I will not address this individual again after tonight, but I was actually pointed in the direction of her website just now, and I have to say that I understand where she is coming from, and actually feel sorry for her. You see, she seems to be upset by the fact that my blog is more popular than hers. I see a lot of myself in her, but unfortunately I matured years faster. As a female hockey fan, there is nothing worse than feeling wrongly accused of being a puck bunny. The thing is you get over that after high school. I experienced the same anger that seems to be driving her insane, but I found a catharsis after I wrote Down the Rabbit Hole, and I realized that it really didn’t matter what people thought, so long as I knew the truth. A fairly simple conclusion to draw after years of research.

She is embarking upon an uphill battle. The male dominated world of sport is not easily conquered. I also learned this first hand when I worked for Maple Leaf Sports. No matter how hard I worked, no matter how early I got to the office, or how late I stayed, no matter how many lunches I missed working on a project, it didn’t matter. I worked harder and produced more than the other employees in my department, and yet when it came down to it I was labeled a possible puck bunny just because I was a girl. It was interesting because there was a girl in the office who was actually screwing half the team, but no one thought anything of her because she didn’t look the part. That seems to be the case here.

Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but this woman has actually decided to spread a bunch of rumours and promote my site as a sex blog. According to her site, I keep a blog about traveling to different NHL cities and sleeping with all the players. Have I ever given a play by play of a scandalous encounter with an NHL player? No, I have not, which means in this woman’s blind rage, she decided to put words on the page that just weren’t there. Perhaps when I write about lying in bed she assumes that I must have just been giving it to the likes of Sidney Crosby (gross!). Just like how she has grown physically upset after I blogged about “getting fat.” Another case of her putting words on the page after I commented on how I ate way too much one night in New York. I guess I should have eaten less, so I could be considerate of her feelings. Of course, this raises a very large problem for her, as this rant of hers, being that it is based on a lie and not an opinion, can be used against her should I choose to press charges for slander and defamation of character.

It depresses me how helpless she must feel that she would have to resort to mounting such a campaign because she personally feels that my blog somehow detracts from her blog. It’s comparing apples to oranges. She tells me to “get back to hockey,” but how can I get back to doing something I wasn’t doing in the first place? This was never a hockey blog. If it’s easier for you to understand, then think of it as a travel blog. This is not about what happens at the games I go to, this is about what happens to me when I go to games. My blog is very clearly introduced as a diary, it is about my life as a hockey fan, not my dime a dozen attempt to analyze the same stats that have been analyzed by thousands of sites before me.

I’m sure this woman feels like she accomplished something because she had to resort to spreading lies in order to succeed in having all of five people unfollow me on Twitter. This woman and her five were bitching about how disgusting it is that all the male hockey bloggers “drool” all over me. Well, I don’t know if they are drooling, but yes, they read my site, and yes, they respect me. So, for someone who seems to be so desperate for an audience, I’m not sure why you would want to destroy your efforts by enraging my readers.

They say you hate in others what you hate about yourself. She gives a nice write up of all my sordid endeavours, perhaps these are the same fantasies that keep her up at night. The double standards that she hurls are quite ridiculous, like, it’s OK for other people to blog about their lives, but it’s not OK for me to do it because I spend too much time around hockey. Well, I’m sorry that I grew up with hockey, wrote books/papers about hockey, worked in hockey, worked/written for hockey shows, and am well connected in the hockey community. I’m sorry that my life can’t be your life. The one I love the best is that I’m not allowed to notice having a bad hair day if I’m at the hockey rink, but I’m sure it would be OK if I noticed it down the street. Apparently, a bad hair day makes me a fake hockey fan. That reminds me of the fifteen year old puck bunnies that use to patrol the junior hockey rinks and hate on everyone who dared catch a glimpse of themselves in a mirror during intermission.

It is also interesting that, as an aspiring writer, she doesn’t get the concept of writing for a specific market. My market is not your market, what I do has nothing to do with your work. I know you thought up a hypocritical feminist argument against me, perhaps looking for someone to blame for your lack of success as a snarling hockey blogger, but I assure you that your failure has nothing to do with my success. Also, as a “feminist” you seem to hate any woman doing better than you, and you make an interesting selection when choosing to call me a “vagina.” Essentially, you were insulting me by calling me a woman – interesting – seems counterproductive to your fight. Calling me ugly, fat, or assuming that I’m a whore because people like me more than you, doesn’t seem very liberated. If I call a woman a pig (short for female chauvinist pig), or a bimbo with implants, it is because I have actual grounds to do so, like a leaked sex tape, or losing her jobs for slutty photographs. Not that that’s necessarily correct, but I’m entitled to my own opinion, and if you don’t like it you can either kiss my ass, or do the big girl thing, and not read it.

Anyway, I’m not in the mood to humour this woman with maturity issues and delusions of grandeur. Are you proud of yourself because 5 people read your blog and unfollowed me? One guy even says he had never seen my site but unfollowed me anyway. Yeah, because you told him I run a sex blog, I would unfollow that person too. I’ve spelled out which legal lines you have crossed, it is up to you to cover your ass, but perhaps a bigger motivator would be if I told you that spreading rumours that I have sex with hockey players and blog about it is only going to attract more attention to my site, which is apparently the major threat to your very existence. Unfortunately, those people will be disappointed once they get here. Grow up, it’s time. Look at me, I’m so grown up that I wasn’t petty enough to post your site or twitter account in an effort to get my readers to isolate you to the point of insignificance.

But enough about this person, she will no longer be granted the privilege of having a voice on Psycho Lady Hockey. I just find it hysterical how some people will look for ANY reason to label someone a puck bunny. My Halloween special Top 10 about destroying hockey wives was meant to be festive and funny to those with a sense of humour. I needed to pick SOMETHING in the hockey community to “kill” and quite frankly, my Paint skills, while impeccable, are nowhere near capable of producing a Top 10 ways to destroy a hockey player. I guess some people take things far too literally. Oh well, she’ll be miserable her whole life. You can either be a hockey fan, or make yourself sick trying to prove to others that you are one. You seem far more artificial than me, and that right there, is the very definition of a puck bunny – I should know, I wrote the book, remember?

So, back to the game. Obviously, I’m not going to stop living my life because people don’t like it for whatever (jealous) reason. Like I said, I was not happy at the game. I was sitting smack dab in the middle behind the Coyotes bench and the Blues bench, and I was more confused than ever. Time is running out for the Coyotes, and every remaining moment is needed to decide on which team I need to follow next if it’s not the Coyotes.

Unfortunately, while I thought I had received a major sign on Tuesday night in the form of a business invitation, tonight there was a sign that made me think otherwise. Perhaps, I’m just shell shocked from being led on a seemingly wild goose chase last season, and I am now more willing to see the potential ominous side of every apparent act of Divine intervention. It felt a little too familiar tonight. Like how I felt when I was in limbo with Philly for so many months just waiting for the Arizona Prophecy to come about. It feels that way now, a switch is imminent. Is it me? Is it you? Is it a job relocation? Is it a trade? Something brand new is on the horizon, and now I can feel it.

I sat between the benches at Scottrade Center (which, by the way, I pronounce totally wrong apparently! It’s Scot-trade not Scott-rade! The bellman at my hotel was looking at me like I had five heads. I don’t know, I think my way rolls off the tongue nicely), and I felt like I was in between worlds. I looked to my left, the Coyotes sat there, except the team felt unfamiliar to me now. Last March, the Coyotes didn’t feel wrong. I felt like I fit in with their fans FAIRLY well, but something changed, and now I feel like an outcast.

For some reason, I felt a sense of belonging with the team to my right, the Blues. This was kind of strange because St. Louis wasn’t even on my radar as a possible new team. I could do a whole lot worse! The Blues fans are some of the loudest fans I’ve ever heard. Their team was shut out, and yet they were still screaming their faces off. They proved to me that the locals were right when they kept insisting that STL was a big hockey town. I have a suspicion, though, that my sense of acceptance with the Blues had a lot to do with the wealth of OHL talent on the team from my generation.

By “my generation,” as I tried to explain to the guy sitting next to me, I mean that these players played in the O at the same time that I was calling that league home. Jay McClement, Carlo Colaiacovo (scratched – what a shocker, eh Leafers?), Cam Janssen, and Brad Boyes were all guys that I haven’t really seen play live since they were donning Battalion, Storm, and Otters jerseys. I remember quite clearly the first night I saw Erie play at the Kitchener Aud. I was sixteen years old, and it was the first night that my friend and I actually sat in GOLD seats. We thought that was a major step at the time. We were so used to getting our tickets from Sunrise Records, that we hadn’t realized that we didn’t have to be confined to the dreaded Reds any longer. My friend actually cried when we got the tickets, and she likened her excitement to acquiring front row Backstreet Boys tickets – I wouldn’t know anything about that business LOL!

Anyway, that was really the only instance of innocent puck bunny-like behavior that I can ever remember engaging in. I had a bit of a thing for the Brad Boyes. His picture may or may not have been in my locker. Unfortunately, the young Brad Boyes was far more appealing to me than the current man Brad Boyes. Ah well, they can’t all grow up to be Dilves. Anyway, Bradley had two goals that night, and he was the first star. The game replayed on the local Rogers station later that night, and I could be clearly heard screaming Brad’s name. It’s probably the only hockey game that I’ve ever been a name screamer. I remember when he got the first star, my friend and I were yelling so loud that when we turned around the Kitchener fan standing there was just staring us down!

We got a little carried away being Catholic school girls and all. Over post game Timmy’s we discussed various ways Brad could score a third time that night! I am proud to say that neither of us lost our virginity to Brad Boyes that night. Naturally, I had to include this anecdote to personally offend the above mentioned pig and her minions. Anyway, the memory of this game eight years ago managed to make me smile.

My sadness in the first period came on suddenly, and I could feel myself losing control. I’m not sure what caused this sudden onset, but I was struggling to make it through the first twenty minutes. I was batting my eye lashes like a motherfucker trying to keep the tears from falling. After the first period I retreated to a dark corner in the concourse texting for some reinforcement. I was tempted to go home, just walk out on the game. So, you can imagine how unstable I felt if I was thinking about doing that after I had traveled so far specifically for the game. It had nothing to do with the Coyotes, or anyone playing in that game – as the pig has theorized. I was just simply overwhelmed.

I took some time off in the second and tried to get it together before returning to my seats seven minutes into the period. I felt a little better, but not much. The problem with Phoenix and I is that they bore me. It’s like when you go on vacation and decide to see the Panther’s play whoever is in town while you’re there. You can have fun, but it’s not the same as when your team is on the ice for battle. Phoenix was never really my team. You all know the story about the Arizona Prophecy, and know how I switched teams to see if there was anything to it. That didn’t seem like a problem at the time. Since, I’m a road fan, I’m going to follow a team one way or another, why not do something crazy and select a team this way? Unfortunately, knowing what my intentions were with Phoenix, I never completely assimilated with their fans. The games became less fun. It’s like seeing two of your non-teams night in and night out. Maybe it’s time to finally move on.

By the third period I learned the secret of the Blue Notes Lounge and the free beer and food that should have been coming to me for hours. Of course, I’d find out about this AFTER I paid ten bucks for a beer. The final twenty minutes of regulation were about double fisting, and trying to decipher what had caused me to be so upset. Something in the air, perhaps?

Anyway, I’d like to find a team, whether it’s Phoenix or somewhere else, where I can really get into the games as a fan. As much as I have a grudge against the Leafs, I still get obnoxious when I see them play on the road. When you find YOUR team, it’s in your bones. I had that with Philly, too. But there is just so much drama with Phoenix, and I’m having trouble seeing past it. While I still have a few games left to decide, I’m starting to wonder if it’s worth the wait to see if this daily blog creeping will eventually lead to a man upping.

I stared blankly as I walked through downtown St. Louis on the way back to my hotel. The rain had finally stopped, and it was a beautiful night. I returned to my room to the scene I described above to you. I sat on my bed, for hours, in silence. Watching nothing, seeing nothing, and deciding nothing. I will return home to Toronto for all of four days before embarking on my very last scheduled Coyotes adventure on Tuesday. Next week is when I’m hoping some form of magic will happen -a lightning bolt telling me that this is the right way or the wrong way. If I don’t get some sort of clue, then I might be taking a month long hiatus. As I mentioned, I will be test driving a new team on the 5th and 7th of November.

Anyway, that does it for this week’s road blog. Stay tuned for my Colorado adventure on Tuesday. Wouldn’t you know that I’m booked for yet another 6 AM flight! I guess there are some things I’ll never learn.