My trip was supposed to be very fast paced. I’d arrive the afternoon before the Coyotes game, eat, sleep, see the game, and drive out. Originally I was going to the Winter Classic, and from the Winter Classic I would drive to Minny. But my ticket fell through (only to become available again the day I was leaving), which is kind of lucky because the delay in start time would have made getting to the Wild/Coyotes game impossible. I did, however, attempt to maintain that I was still going to Pittsburgh where authority figures were concerned. Just like when I went to Europe, but said I was in Pittsburgh for the Flyers series. This time, the truth was in the cards. I’ve mentioned before that I have “readings” done before every road trip as a superstition. Well, that was my biggest mistake this time around. For who should show up in the cards, but none other than that pesky Arizona Boy, “Why is Arizona at that outdoor hockey game” “Uhh *panics* I don’t know…” The Coyotes schedule was then consulted, “What’s the Wild and where do they play?” And the cat was, as they say, out of the bag.

Minnesota raised some weather condition alarm bells, and I was forced to leave a day earlier. Perhaps if I had left as scheduled, I would have not been faced with the complications I was met with at the border…again. Luckily, I still have the option of seeing three Canadian teams because it may or may not be difficult for me to get to American games now. I get sent for further interrogation probably once every trip. If I don’t get it on the American side, I’ll get it on the Canadian side coming back. No one believes that a female would legitimately be traveling for sports by herself. They also seem to think, as a woman, I wouldn’t be able to afford my independence without a husband or boyfriend paying my bills. Red flags all around. In Buffalo, they have a big profile on me, so they know what I’m up to, but over at the Bluewater Bridge in Port Huron, they do not. I may or may not need to provide other documents that prove that I am not attempting to start a new life in the States. So, I’ll have to look into that. It may be nothing, but at this point I can’t risk buying tickets, booking hotels, and/or flights just to be grounded in Canada. How many countries am I gonna get banned from in my lifetime?!! Don’t think for a minute that I’m above fraudulent documents! I should definitely marry an American now just to spite the American government.

Anyway, I had a nice long drive to think about what to do next. The crazy thing was a fourteen hour drive didn’t feel long to me at all. I don’t know if this is because I drove to Dallas and San Antonio last year, or because of the lengthy flights to and from Asia, but Minnesota felt like child’s play. The drive went off with no problems minus a couple hours of fog North of Chicago, and one missing shirt while driving through a toll booth on the I-90 in Illinois. I couldn’t figure out why the guy was talking in such a pervy tone with me until I realized I had ripped open every button on my shirt out of discomfort about an hour before. Whoops. On the way home, I decided to drive through every toll while playing Sweet Transvestite and giving the workers menacing glares. Small things amuse me on the road.

During the drive I was thinking that I should check the schedule to see if the Wild had a game that night. But then I thought with my luck they’d definitely be playing Nashville if they were playing anyone. And sure enough they were. I decided, despite feeling like death, I would shower up and go to the game anyway. This time I had to sit in the lower bowl because I simply couldn’t justify upper bowl seats. In New Jersey the Devils offer $10 seats in the upper bowl, but in Minnesota it’s only a $25 difference between the second row and the very last row. So, why wouldn’t I pay it?! Don’t worry I was sitting on the Wild side and I don’t think the evil one saw me. I tried to ignore him, so I don’t really know, but I’m optimistic that I was invisible.

Sadly, the game was a bit of a bust for Wild fans. I was really looking forward to seeing this “cult” of hockey fans (as they are known) go crazy when the team is winning. Unfortunately, the Wild would only score once, and in the last two minutes of the game no less, so the excitement level wasn’t quite where it should be. What was really insulting was that the Wild let in not one, but two empty netters. I was really feeling for the fans after that happened – major ouch! What I will say about the fans based on this game alone was that the attendance really impressed me. The organization decided to have a 5PM start time for a Friday game. Sure it was New Years Eve, but that’s not a mandatory holiday. I could understand them wanting to move it up so people wouldn’t feel they were missing out on New Years Eve parties, but they ran the risk of isolating the fans that still had to work a 9-5 job that night, and those having to commute from neighbouring cities. But, the arena was packed. The attendance was even higher than it was for the Coyotes game two days later, and people still managed to make it in for the warm ups, too! Well done, Wild fans!

After the game, I was back at my hotel room for some room service, TLC, and one of the loneliest New Years Eves ever! I was tired though, so I barely made it to midnight. I couldn’t help but remember one fateful New Years Eve many years ago. I was always very involved in hockey, but that night during the New Years of 2002-03, after watching Team Canada play Team Finland at the World Juniors, something monumental happened that changed the way I saw the game forever. Four days later I had tickets for a hockey game. I was sitting in the fourth row. The evil one, as he would later be known, was playing for the visiting team in that game. Four months later we would meet randomly, and the rest is history.

Top Photo: Pre-game shot. After 30+ hours of no sleep, and strung out from the road. Can you tell? Or am I just that good at what I do?

It was late 2006 or early 2007 when my path last crossed with the Devil. It’s kind of funny that I would see him playing the Devils for the first time in years because I pretty much refer to him as Satan or “the evil one.” There was something about him that sparked unspeakable fear in people he didn’t even know. I had friends that wouldn’t be caught dead in his presence, and some couldn’t even look at a picture of him without covering their eyes. People felt that he was genuinely evil, and to tell you the truth, I probably agree with them. But I suppose these are favourable qualities in a hockey player.

Attending this Preds game wasn’t premeditated. Meaning: I didn’t plan a trip around this game. I just went to this game because I had planned a trip to NYC, and they just happened to be the team playing in New Jersey that night. I opted not to go for my usual glass seats because, although I doubt anything would happen if I was seen at the game, part of me still doesn’t want to be recognized by him. Michelle was up in the press area, and Nick and I were up in the cheap seats. He was cracking jokes about New Jersey, and I was busy devouring the biggest sundae the Prudential Center has ever put together (you bet your ass!), while trying to stop myself from throwing my boot onto the ice.

Although I pretty much had to say “eww” or utter a grunt of displeasure of some kind whenever his skates hit the ice, the truth was I don’t actually hate him or care all that much about what happened in what seems like another life now. He wasn’t the first hockey player, and he wouldn’t be the last either, but he was the one who really changed my life. He sparked this desire in me that I couldn’t ignore. He made it so I basically had no choice but to become the person, the seeker of truth, that I am now. So he will always be very significant to me even though, years later, it hardly even feels like I ever knew him in the first place.

“He’s the one you wrote about, isn’t he?” Nick asked sometime during the second period. It was true. Down the Rabbit Hole was written because of him, and the creepy sequel, the one where I seem to have predicted my future, my affair with the Coyotes, and even my own death, was written about him. As we would later discuss, sometimes events happen in our lives that take us to a point where we can no longer return to the person we were, or the life we had before. Of course my life changed a lot because of this man, but what changed most of all was my reality as a hockey fan.

I remember the purity of the time before. I remember writing down every Leafs game in my school agenda. Blue highlighter meant it was a home game, yellow meant road, and pink, the most important colour of them all, meant that I had tickets to the game. I remember baggy, beer stained hockey jerseys, and staying home on Saturday night to see what Don Cherry had to say that week. I remember looking up to the players and seeing them as awe inspiring idols. I remember loving my team no matter what because I was oblivious to the entire culture of the sport. I remember experiencing the game the way most of you still experience it, and, from the bottom of my heart, I promise you that I feel a great deal of sadness because I will never be able to return that place again. The devil-Predator introduced me to something, a world, I didn’t want to know. What I found there touched my soul, and made it so that the innocence I once knew could never be reclaimed. Hockey to me has almost become an abusive relationship. When we’re in love, it’s great, but under the surface a resentment still bubbles over the things I cannot change in its bitch-mother of a subculture. The strange reality is that now I actually need this culture to enjoy the game. I need to be watching not just the game, but everything around the game when I’m sitting rink side. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but perhaps just proof positive that sometimes you just can’t go back to square one and start over.

Top Photo: Pre-game. The green eye shadow means A) yes, I’ve been in Korea, and B) who’s evil now? Take it!

Tonight, after all this time, I was able to extract most of the files and documents from the wasteland that was my old PC. I flew into a mild rage because most of my pictures didn’t make it. I was actually hoping to see some old snap shots from back in the old days of my early hockey road trips. Oh well! I guess we’ll never know what really happened! Anyway, I was browsing through some of the files, and there were a few gems hidden away in my “My Received Files” folder. Apart from some excellent jams that I hadn’t heard in years, I also came across a couple pictures of some current NHL players like you’ve never seen them before. Don’t get excited! These aren’t scandalous pictures by any means, they are just pictures you wouldn’t find doing a routine Google Images search.

Most people’s high school yearbook pictures come back to haunt them, but I think you’d have to agree that Nashville Predators D-man, Kevin Klein, looked a lot better in twelfth grade…when he had hair. Yes, kids, this photo was straight from the pages of the 2001-2002 St. Michael’s College School yearbook. That’s an ALL BOYS school in case you were looking to get hot ‘n’ bothered tonight, and yes, they had to wear THAT uniform. P.S. I used to bust that tie out for the “jocks and school girls” parties on campus. (Un)fortunately, photos from said parties were not saved.

During the 2004-2005 NHL Lock Out, the players had a lot of time on their hands. Many opted to make use of this time by experimenting with blond hair dye. Nashville Predators forward, Jordin Tootoo, my buddy, Corey, and Phoenix Coyotes winger, Scottie Upshall. I actually remember these pictures! Unfortunately, this is the only one that made it.

My friend and I at the 2004 OHL Championship game at the Hershey Centre in Mississauga. We actually witnessed the J. Ross Robertson Cup being hoisted that night. I have yet to see another holy grail of hockey being awarded live again. Also, apparently blond highlights were all the rage, eh? I’m rocking them, too.

Of course, the hockey content I retrieved wasn’t JUST pictures. My hockey related writings all made it over as well. Not only is the original manuscript of Down the Rabbit Hole: A Guide to Puck Bunnies safe and sound, but so are the several chapters of the sequel! I had attempted to do a spinoff of Down the Rabbit Hole, and tell a fictitious story about the life of a puck bunny. I wrote several chapters, but stopped because the content was actually beginning to terrify me. Don’t believe that it scared the crap out of me? Here’s a sample from Chapter Eight (2004),

My quest for victims was successful beyond my wildest dreams. I began to refer to Ryan as my first kill. He paved the way for other members of the Heathburg Coyotes. I devoured their team like a lethal swarm of locusts. I branded many of them as I did Ryan – like pigs being marked for slaughter.

Wow. By the way, how fucking insane/creepy is it that I named my fictitious team the Coyotes back in 2004? I actually just really freaked myself out. SERIOUSLY! I just about died when I read that. Apparently, I was also quite fond of the term, “pig” even back then! HAHA. Anyway, I also came across a poem that made it into an anthology at the University of Toronto. We had to submit Canadian content, so naturally I chose hockey. Again, this poem is from around the same time period, a time when I was reluctant to sugar coat the hockey world the way that I do on Psycho Lady Hockey, and, therefore, it is equally fucked up. I turned bright red when I read it again for the first time in five years tonight, but whatever. Feel free to try to analyze it, though, keep in mind that I was a teenager when I wrote it, so it might not be as complex as you make it out to be. Enjoy!

Blueliner (2004)

On the blueline
dies the man,
borne again patriot
whose jagged blades and crooked spears
defend glory, land and leaf.
This knight’s armor
hides his truth,
twilight’s loveless passion,
illegitimate peewees, and
an amber addiction.

On the blueline
glides the beast,
an angel fallen for
two minute sins: pride, lust, and greed;
a national idol.
This wolf has eyes –
predacious,
on a ruthless hunt with
cannibalistic hungers for
blood and sweat, flesh and skin.

On the blueline
stands a boy
who grew too fast,
and carried the weight of
his father’s unfound fantasies
upon padded shoulders.
On the blueline
lives his dream
of victory,
and the quest for precious medal
to adorn his frozen
heart.

Warning: Another LONG and crazy entry ahead!

Is Adoni a word? My spellchecker and my brain say it isn’t. I was trying to invent a plural form for Adonis, you know, the Greek guy. The point is the Anaheim Ducks have this delightful glow about them, and they reminded me of a group of Bronze Adoniseseseseses. I have been referring to them as such since my first game back at the Honda Center this season. But let’s not talk about the game. There are far more interesting things to discuss like the death of the Coyotes, and what is to become of me, my love, and the Arizona Prophecy.

I have to admit that I was beside myself over ditching the Coyotes if not for any other reason but the Arizona Prophecy. I had obviously invested a great deal in this gamble of faith. I dropped everything and went chasing a speedy white rabbit down various bunny holes across the league. If I was so sure about the prophecy enough to put my life on hold the way that I did last March, and nearly screwed myself over in most facets of my life in the process, then how could I just turn away now? It was kind of like that really bad movie that you just can’t walk out on because a small part of you is hoping that there will be a surprise twist at the end, and the film will somehow be worth that $9.95 you paid for the ticket. However, then the screen goes black and you’re left with nothing more than a hole in your pocket where your ten bucks and your dignity used to be.

When I decided to believe the school of psychics and my own intuition and go off on a quest in search of this mystery man, I had to leave the realm of the logical, the plausible, and the realistic behind. I’ve been living in a kind of fantasy world where meaning was drawn from every seemingly mundane dream or happening. While some things seemed clearer than others, I really started to go crazy (particularly this season) with having to sift between the “Divine” and the unimportant. I always tried to keep an open mind. If the prophecy was right, then it may manifest in some strange unforeseeable way. Perhaps the point of all this was not to find my “true love” after all. Perhaps it had to do with this website, the TV show, a job – who knows?

I know this can be both hard to read and believe, especially for those who do not have experience with this type of thing, but I always thought it was an interesting story, especially when you consider that as a hockey addict, my supposed “destiny” would be linked to the game I love. Of course, you skeptics may be right, and maybe this is leading me to nothing more than a very stressful adventure, but I guess we’ll see one way or another. Anyway, that’s why I opted to write about it in the first place because it IS connected to my hockey adventures, at least, right now.

There were various reasons for why I started to grow apart from Phoenix, and so, I decided to try and find a new team, and I came up with the Show Me A Sign campaign in hopes that fans across the league could show me where to go next. Within a couple days, there were whispers coming from Southern California that the Ducks fans wanted to get in on the campaign with a sign of their own. When I heard this everything clicked, and I remembered part of the prophecy that I had forgotten months ago. For over a year, psychic after psychic was telling me about the Arizona boy, but then, just a matter of days before the trade deadline, something change. Now there were two guys, and I had the choice between the two of them. On the one hand, there was the Arizona guy, but on the other hand was a guy linked to SoCal. I had never been to Arizona OR California, so this was strange to me. Anyway, when the switch to Phoenix finally happened, I decided to make a very last minute trip to Anaheim (I booked the flight like twelve hours before takeoff) just in case there was another guy there.

I had determined that the other team was Anaheim because the psychics had mentioned birds and I interpreted that as “ducks,” but, at this point, I’m more than willing to give the Kings a shot as well. Anyway, on that trip last season, strange things kept happening. My flight on Expedia wouldn’t book. Not even the travel agents could get it to work. The problem was being reported as my flight out of Buffalo, so we kept changing the departure (eight or nine times), hoping one of them would book, but to no avail. Finally, the travel agent gave up and told me that I could keep trying on my own, but she was doubtful that it would work. I decided to give it one last try, and of course it didn’t work, but this time something popped up on the screen. “Are your dates flexible? Fly back a day later.” I didn’t think this would matter considering that it was my departure that was the problem, but I decided to give it one last shot, and, of course, it booked. At the time I remember thinking that this was very meaningful. It was almost like I was meant to stay in Cali longer than I wanted to. Normally, on my hockey adventures, I want to get the fuck out of town as soon as the game is over, but in Cali I really enjoyed just hanging out. While my plane was hovering over LAX, this time around, I looked out the window, and I felt like I had finally returned home. Weird.

My flight wasn’t the only strange thing that wouldn’t book last season. I had problems with my hotel and game tickets too. The tickets in my usual sections would vanish before I could buy them. Once again, agents on Ticketmaster, StubHub, and TicketExchange could do nothing to help me. Finally, I was forced to settle for tickets in a crappy section. The weird thing was the SECOND I purchased the tickets, the ones I had previously scouted MAGICALLY reappeared. Again, was I meant to sit in those seats? As a result of me sitting there, the Coyotes ended up driving their first of many very large nails into their coffin of my hate. It was by far the worst game of my life, and I was forced to cope with it by making a horrible life choice after the game…four times…accidentally.

I was feeling the Ducks/Coyotes stress even last season. I was so confused; I didn’t know what to do with myself. While going through my mail one day, I came across a bumpy letter from some food company. When I opened it there were two Stanley Cup pins inside. I was kind of horrified. I couldn’t help but feel a little paranoid that some company I had never heard of knew the way to my heart. I casually brought this up to one of the psychics I know, and she revealed that she had the pins sent because there was a voucher for it in her box of popcorn, and it made her think of me. She told me she thought I would get some “sign” when the pins showed up, and immediately asked me if Phoenix was the one that I got. “Umm NO Phoenix has never made it passed the first round in the playoffs. They’ve never won a cup!” was my response. The teams I did get – Colorado and Anaheim.

Like I mentioned in Day 2, my trip to Avs country was planned in August. My original plan was to head to Phoenix after the game, but the fear of contracting the SWINE FLU was too great, so I decided to trash that idea like the trash that resides there. When I heard about the Ducks fans and their awesome game sign, I thought it would be in my best interest to return to Honda Center since I was already going to be in that “general” vicinity for the Coyotes game at Pepsi Center. The fact that the total additional cost for travel was only $5 sealed the deal. Of course, when I looked at the Ducks schedule, who should be playing in town but the Preds and the Coyotes! The Preds are another semi-ex boyfriend team, and I’m not going to lie, I did cast the odd glare down the ice from time to time. Luckily, I stayed safely nestled and well hidden next to the Ducks bench.

Of course, seeing that Phoenix was one of the teams in town during my visit to Cali, I figured that may be a sign that I wasn’t actually supposed to switch teams. However, the game in Colorado quickly soured any remaining feelings I had for the team. It would take a lot for the Coyotes to get me back, and the graveling would probably have to begin with a written apology addressed to my appropriate station as Ice Goddess. Anyway, I will have more to say about this; particularly, when I talk about the Ducks game in Detroit. I know, I know! I’m so behind on the road blogs right now. It feels like there aren’t enough hours in the day for all the crap I need to do. As it is I haven’t slept more than three hours in the last three days! And on that note *yawn,* I’m going to hit the sheets.

Roll the credits…