I have finally taken notice of Chicago. It seems to me that Vancouver is taking a lot of casualties in this series which makes me not want the Sharks to play Chicago. It is a variation on my aversion to mules. I don’t want Sharks getting hurt. That is no comment on anyone’s vulnerability to injury, just a knee-jerk female thing.
Yet I think the Canucks would be tougher to beat than Chicago. No sound basis for that. I don’t have any reason to believe that the Sharks would have a problem with Vancouver. On an unsound basis, one has to be very leery of twins. If you even suspect the existence of unnatural mental abilities, you just can’t ignore that. Also, Luongo seems to be in a fit of formidable, and you never want to play a goalie on a hot streak. You can quickly find yourself in deep water… dah dum dum.
A friend’s daily FB fortune cookie said: “You will find a thing. It may be important.” I am pretty sure this statement is a lot like my superstitions about hockey. Yet I cannot let go of the idea that wishing something would happen, or wishing it would not happen too hard, can have an impact on the outcome. After all, there has been some research that says prayer can heal, even prayers the sick person is unaware of. I am not ready to attribute that to a deity with selective hearing. So just to be safe, I keep an eye on stray thoughts.
“Green as grass” is an interesting simile and sort of a broken metaphor. I guess “green” for inexperienced comes from unripe produce, which is usually green instead of its proper ripe color. Grass, on the other hand, is green when it is ripe. Any other color and it has withered. In theory, if one were at a development level equivalent to green grass, one would be at their peak. But that is not what it means. It indicates a level somewhere below rookie. I am green as grass as a hockey fan. Nevertheless, I think I am getting a grip on my emotional response to the game. I suffer fewer palpitations, I am moderately less rude to people who try to distract me when I am watching a hockey game. Moderately.
Aside from a moment of panic when I thought I may have maimed Franzen (sometimes the superstitious inner child comes shrieking out of the basement), Game 5 against Detroit was very entertaining. Seconds into the game, the Sharks looked all recovered from the bad clams. That put me at ease. No problems with the “hold stick thus, apply to puck” essentials. The superstitious child mostly stayed in the background where she belongs. I had to follow all my rules to keep her there, but it was safe enough to leave my eyes open even when the puck was in the Sharks’ zone. I wasn’t going to feel guilty if the Red Wings scored.
I am a little fascinated by that bit of lunacy. I must be picking up on something like the attacker’s confidence as revealed by body language, or lack thereof in the players confronting him. I do not really believe I have rogue telekinetic abilities or any kind of precognition. I do get a bad feeling before a puck goes in the “wrong” net. It isn’t a fist clenched “oh no, look out!” feeling. It’s more like a flat “oh sh…..” When my team scores I do not have any similar positive intuition, it’s a big happy surprise to me. Clearly I am a pessimist, more attuned to signs that something bad is going to happen. I wish I could put my finger on those signs but I can’t. It all moves too fast, like dead butterflies dropping in my stomach. That is a bad analogy. Dead butterflies would not drop quickly, they sort of twirl around and land softly. In any case, it is the opposite of butterflies, it is something that drops quickly.
I also know that what I perceive as “jinxing” is just an easily recognizable pattern. If a green observer like me notices a player, then he must be standing out in a big way, which of course will draw the attention of his opposition who will take every opportunity to impede his success. That’s a given. I’m not saying that I will give up my rituals. I still have not accounted for the shellfish incident. Besides, magic is more fun than statistics, at least for someone who can’t count. Either way, I feel less anxiety about hockey games. The anxiety was fun while it lasted but it was wearing on my nerves like a thunderstorm that goes on for too long.
I didn’t jinx Franzen, but I still felt badly. There was some discussion on the message boards about the hit, specifically whether or not it was a head shot. I am glad everyone is still interested in the head shot. But I was a little baffled by the assumption that the only way you get hurt is by way of a head shot. Or rather, the only way getting hurt matters to the game is if it is by way of a head shot…? The argument ran thus: if Douglas Murray hit you in the head, you would not be coherent, let alone get back into play minutes later. Well, if that is the case, then it sounds like being hit by Murray at all would be likely to knock the wind out of you.
While I agree that there was no direct head shot involved, Franzen’s head certainly snapped sideways as a result of the shoulder contact and he had every reason to go down and stay there for a bit. I know, it is part of the game, Franzen saw it coming, had a second to brace himself, yadda yadda. Nevertheless, I feel bad when I want someone to fail and they get clobbered doing so. It is a little like saying “I’m sorry” when someone tells you their dog died. It isn’t that you killed the dog. It’s just that you empathize with them so you feel sorry. You might feel more sorry if you had always hated the dog and wanted it to go away.
Ok. Ready for the next games. Thank goodness the Flyers are playing today… I don’t know how I will keep my heart beating if Round 3 does not commence soon. All right, that stuff about not feeling anxious before a game was a lie… a bald-faced lie.
Oooh, that phrase is a goody. Its wiki:
A barefaced (or bald-faced) lie is one that is obviously a lie to those hearing it. The phrase comes from 17th-century British usage referring to those without facial hair as being seen as particularly forthright and outwardly honest, and therefore more likely to get away with telling a significant lie…
Hence, a hairy-faced hockey player is presumed to be hard to read and yet is probably telling the truth? Hm. That has my head all inside out.
Coffee, more coffee.