Lord Stanley

Lord Stanley. That elusive yet all desirable guest. So many court him, yet only one has the pleasure, the honor, of basking in his presence. No, Lord Stanley will never grace our doorstep, but maybe, just maybe, he'll make the rounds of a few fortunate souls in NY. At least, that's what my husband hopes.

See, during this time of year, I consider myself to be a hockey widow; Scott might disagree, but then again, he turns to the arms of his "other" wife during playoffs, so how could he miss me? If his beloved NY Rangers are playing, then I can forget watching anything else (although tonight was an exception only because he could watch the game downstairs). If we haven't finished eating dinner and the game is on, then I can forget conversation. No, during playoff hockey, my husband becomes a different person entirely.

Don't get me wrong; Scott's not one to watch sports on TV like others I know. He can do without the football, basketball, and baseball, but when hockey's on, well, hockey is on.

Hence the transformation.

Case in point: Earlier this week, while I was at the computer, Scott was watching the Rangers/ Penguins game in the other room. Though we were in separate parts of the house, I knew exactly what was going on in the game. How, you ask? Simply by overhearing my husband courting his "other" wife:
"Awwww! Come on!"
"What are you doing?"
"A penalty?! Come on, ref!"
"Listen to me!!"
"Get 'em outta the zone!"

Of course, all this seductive talk makes me curious. Who is this other woman that is competing for (and winning) my husband's affections? What sort of power does she possess? I creep into the family room and find my husband transfixed by the woman on the screen. Really. There he is, standing on tip-toe in the middle of the room, ready to spring as soon as his team makes a play for the better. They're in scoring position, and so is Scott; fists clenched, arms bent, he cheers on his boys, urging them to take the shot. Then they score, activating the springs in Scott's feet, the clapping reflex, and the "Yea, that's what I'm talking about" automatic vocal response. But all of this is short lived. For soon, Scott's back to his favorite hockey-watching stance-- shifting his weight from one leg to the other-- while coaching his boys from the comfort of our home.