You’ve all heard of people forming romantic unions despite the fact that their “his and hers” hand towels have different NHL logos on them. Although I’m sure Rangers, Oilers, and Leafs super fans can’t possibly fathom falling in love with the likes of an Islanders, Flames, or Sens fan. Game time would likely become a violent brawl for possession of the TV remote and control of what game is watched that night. And taking them to the rink would likely be an embarrassing scene with your man or lady friend sporting enemy colours. However, team rivalries are really small potatoes in the grand scheme of things. As I’ve learned the hard way, anyone dating an “enemy fan” should be kissing the sky that they managed to shack up with a fellow hockey fan at all. Some of us have not been so lucky…
In Korea *heavy sigh* sometimes we make some bad choices. As my guy friends say, Buddy* struck at just the right time. I was fresh off the latest boat from Canada, and therefore “vulnerable.” I suppose that was somewhat true. Maybe not so much vulnerable as it was uninhibited. Back home I was more the private type when it came to romantic affairs. This was partly because I wanted to have the chance to save face if things ever went bad. I didn’t want to have to explain to friends and family why I’m not seeing this guy or that guy anymore. After all, it takes a special type of man to be willing to love a psycho. Anyway, in Korea I didn’t have to worry about any of this. In fact I was lucky that this guy wasn’t really known in the foreign community despite being in town for seven months already. Though, that obviously changed when people started asking me about the tall blond guy they would always see me with.
Buddy first struck on my birthday, so I won’t lie, alcohol played a large role in this union. He was the stereotypical American. Stereotypical in that he was the red, white, and blue, apple pie, football, basketball, and baseball type. He had absolutely no idea what hockey was or any interest in it, although early on he claimed to be “getting into hockey” because of me. I’m sure that had more to do with the fact that I’m “aloof” in the early stages when I’m not sure if I want someone around or not, and he was simply trying to butter me up, and had identified that hockey was my crack.
Before knowing me he had all of one hockey reference, and of all things it was the Sean Avery “sloppy seconds” incident. He thought Avery was hilarious and seemed really interested in finding out if I had ever banged him. See, guys can be puck bunnies, too. After I did the Paul Bissonnette interview, he also decided that he was a BizNasty fan, but that was really the extent of his hockey appreciation. It didn’t seem like a problem at first, however having to explain the whole history of a team or a player just to mention something that happened in a game or around the league goes from cute to tedious pretty damn quickly. I couldn’t even show him hilarious Don Cherry segments without first having to explain who Don Cherry was! That’s practically blasphemy! Since I have a one…well two…track mind, not being able to talk about hockey really limited the conversation to the realm of the less interesting. A girl can only listen to the same Les Grossman quotes so many times, and it can get really annoying when someone is serenading you with I Just Died in Your Arms Tonight while you are trying to sleep.
It was bad enough that I was isolated from hockey by simply living in Korea, but I personally can’t handle hockey being absent from every area of my life – especially the most fun area. One weekend, Buddy was bedridden, and wasn’t I the lucky one that it was my bed he had hijacked. For entertainment, I busted out the Slap Shot DVD in hopes that it would turn him onto a real sport. I heard him laugh once, and then the room was flooded with his snores. It didn’t seem possible that even a non-hockey fan could fall asleep during that movie, but I suppose there is a first time for everything. I tried to brush it off, and chalk it up to the fact that he had been throwing up all day, but I knew deep down that this wasn’t going to last. As I laid there rubbing his stomach while his snores drowned out Paul Newman’s witty remarks, I couldn’t help but feel just a little bit dirty.
*No, Buddy is not his real name. I’m just Canadian…
