Seventeen years ago “Mighty Ducks” turned me into a hockey fan. That’s officially over half my life. Very odd for someone who was born and raised in Texas and a sport that was born and raised in Canada. Before Norm Green moved the Stars to Dallas about the only thing the countries of Canada and Texas had in common was a love for beer and the ability to produce a good bull rider. Now, there is absolutely no doubt Texas is THE predominant hockey state in the South and kids are growing up in Dallas loving the Stars just as much as the Cowboys, Rangers or Mavericks. There are two main reasons for its popularity: the Stars have produced Dallas’ only championship in 14 years…and Mike Modano.

Meeting Modano for the first time, 1994

Although it was pretty much apparent at the end of this season that Modano was more than likely not returning, the Stars officially sealed the deal yesterday. So it’s time to say goodbye. When it came to the growth of a sport, Modano was twice the hockey ambassador to Dallas than Gary Bettman only wished Sidney Crosby was to the United States. Our appreciation for the game, mine specifically, is about 90% thanks to him. In 17 years I’ve only had two actual legitimate favorite players, Mike Modano and Jamie Langenbrunner. The others (such as Petr Buzek) were total personal infatuations and took on a stalking life of their own. So basically, Modano will forever be King of Hockey in my world and in this neck of the woods. I call mutiny if 9 isn’t hanging from the rafters of American Airlines Center before the first puck drops next season.

Modano wants to keep playing and should he do so, seeing him in another jersey won’t be anything less than weird and heartbreaking. I want him to be happy, so a fresh start (as with Marty Turco) just might do the trick. I agree with Mike Heika, “a happy Modano would be fun to watch“.

I know this isn’t officially goodbye, as much as Mike loves Dallas, it’s more like see you later…just not on our ice in our colors. All I ask, for the love, don’t go all Favre on us, Mo.

December of 1998 I wrapped up my first semester of college and took a week-long trip to see the boys in Kalamazoo. I think I even arranged to take two finals early. Remind me never to lecture anyone on organizing priorities.  BTdubs, I wish I could remember where I got the money to do all of that crap, I don’t think I even worked that year. Leftover graduation money perhaps? I need to figure it out, cause here I am 11 years and several tax brackets later and haven’t been on a real vacation since March 2004. Anyhow, I digress.

I was 18, didn’t drink (seriously), innocent as could be (no, really) and was a smitten kitten over at least four or five of the K-Wings (all Stars property). Petr you know about, the rest are still playing – two in Europe, one in the NHL and one belongs to an NHL team but is in the AHL in Texas (go figure).  None of them were saints. Hell, I’m pretty sure the Devil himself created one of them, somewhere between the strapless bra and Facebook. I’ve no doubt he invented all three with the intention of torturing womankind. Devil Spawn and his BFF (the one now in Texas…are you keeping up?) were inseparable evil. If I hadn’t been oozing with Southern Belle goodness, I would’ve been walking into double trouble on NUMEROUS occasions. I labeled them a “you’d either wind up dead or pregnant manwhich”. However, on top of the goody two-shoes-ness, I also had older, wiser friends looking out for me. MANY of them. And with magnifying glasses.

A must read for any young female hockey fan!

As an early Christmas present in ‘98 my friend Janelle gave me a book called “Crossing the Line” with strict instructions to read it before I stepped foot back into Kalamazoo. This book is BANANAS. Should my future daughter ever utter the words “Mom, me and my friends are going to Kings practice”, after I refrain from stroking out, I’m gonna be like “you’re grounded from hockey players until you’re 30 and read this book. Now.”

No one will dispute the fraternal nature of a locker room, whether it be hockey, football or cricket for all I know. There is too much raging testosterone and too many uncovered penises in one small space (and too much alcohol consumed off the ice/field) to do anyone any good. However, I wish I was a good enough writer to put into words the bond, brotherhood and unwritten code amongst hockey players. While doing some digging for this post I came across another book, “Men at Play: A Working Understanding of Professional Hockey“, which I’m ordering toute suite. I hope it can spell it out better, I only know what I saw. Some of these guys were born and bred to play hockey. They were ripped from their homes (MOST of them by choice) not too long after their voices changed to be immersed in the system. As if high school isn’t hard enough, right? “Crossing the Line” is a no holds barred, balls out examination of how junior hockey impacts such vulnerable, wee lads.

The entire hockey world was slapped in the face when Sheldon Kennedy announced he was abused by his junior hockey coach.  This week Theo Fleury, one of the WHL’s most notable exports, admitted he was sexually abused by the very same man. So although Canadian junior hockey is a staunch tradition, fabulous to watch (I’ve been to a handful of games) and produces some of the best players in North America, if not the world, the system leaves it’s marks. As if those two examples aren’t horrific enough, the culture can affect not only the players themselves, but also the girls and women around them.

Side note, Devil Spawn’s team is examined at length in “Crossing the Line”. Coincidence? Yeah…not so much. And don’t get me wrong, Readers…I still love me some hockey players!!! Bless their hearts.

1999 was a good year, Readers. That’s the year the Stars won the Cup and although it was AMAZING, it ended up rather bittersweet. You know how in relationships sex changes everything? In sports, championships change everything. I’ve touched on this before, but to recap..the Stars were rather accessible (a little to accessible at times) before Lord Stanley came to Dallas. Practices were completely open, players were cool, ticket prices were awesome and I knew the ins and outs of Reunion Arena like the back of my hand. The Stanley Cup and American Airlines Center being built changing all that, coupled with me generally growing up, forced my hockey life into the shitter.

Triple, triple, toil and trouble

I honestly never thought I could get my mojo back. Oh me of little faith. In an effort to mentally escape the terror that is work right now, I’ve spent the last couple of days getting hockeyfied. Holy pucks, it feels good. Like the perfect margarita kinda good. I’ve been reading blogs, skimming season previews from all over, watching videos, analyzing Brenden Morrow’s various hairstyles, wondering what moisturizer Modano uses cause his skin looks too good for his age and the life I know he’s led AND I joined a fantasy hockey team – time to get back in the know. In addition, I took advantage of the internet and old hockey friends to find a new player to love on. It’s like online dating, but a very, very Nikki version.

Someone should warn Matt Niskanen. Or at least tell him he’s lucky I’m 1200 miles away. Cause I used to be good at this game and I’m assuming it’s like riding a bike.

Player obsessions aside, I LOVE hockey. I’ve never figured out how and why I took to it as fast and as well as I did back in 1993. I was 13 and not really into anything other than a dwindling fascination with Christian Slater and the kid who played Spot in Newsies. I grew up in Texas in a rodeo family, something I wasn’t ever quite into despite my mother’s numerous attempts. Hockey was foreign where I came from, but new, intriguing and eventually helped shaped my individuality. I was hockey when hockey wasn’t cool. I owe my best high school and college memories to hockey, hockey players and hockey friends. I don’t think I ever really lost that part of my life, it’s still been there, aging like a fine wine perhaps? I sipped a little of it last year. But now it feels like I’m coming home. And I think it’s time for a welcome home party, yes? *cue music from someone getting her sass on in a CW preview here*

Have a happy NHL opening weekend, Readers! For Stars/hockey fans visiting CLSL for the first time, what I refer to as “My Hockey History” can be found here: Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3. But you’ve been warned, it’s a wicked trip down memory lane.

One of my other favorite lady-ran sports blogs is Ladies… They’re on my blogroll (well, will be on it when it have it up and running again) and I follow them on Twitter. Today they had a post regarding pro athletes use of Twitter and the recent social networking crackdown from the NFL. They asked what we think, I almost commented…but realized that my comment was turning into an entire ramble that was more fitting for, well, here.

I’m absolutely fascinated by the tweets of all these football players. Martellus Bennett is on the Cowboys so I love him, but he is batshit crazy. But as long as he catches the ball, fool can be all sorts of crazy. TO’s bible verses were, what’s the right word, uncomfortable? Completely random? I’ll just go with odd. Pics of his recent mani/pedi were kinda like a train wreck, you just had to keep looking (much like the entire TO Show). Chris Cooley is a douche, but he’s on my fantasy team so I have to grin and bear it. OchoCinco…is self explanatory. But like the Ladies pointed out, it’s the little things I find interesting: what a player thought about a movie he just watched…or what song(s) he’s listening to get pumped up for a game. That part is no different than me saying “ugh, stuck in bloody traffic on the 101 AGAIN, but hey I’ve got Bob Schneider to keep me company” They’re multimillion dollar pro athletes, but they’re also varying forms of normal, just like us.

[Let's pause whilst I think about what it would be like to really have Bob to keep me company...]

I can look at this whole sitch as two different versions of me. The Nikki from over 10 years ago and the Nikki of today. Nikki from today is (on paper) mature, grown up, only internet stalks guys she’s actually involved with on some level (or was), is a huge football and hockey fan still, but is all about being a fan instead of going googly for a player. OKAY, aside from that whole Miles Austin thing, which is why I hope blue eyes NEVER gets a damn Twitter. But for the big pros who do have Twitters, Facebooks or official pages, I think it’s absolutely wonderful and in the age of the deteriorating player image, it’s the best thing that could’ve happen. Especially for poor hockey.

If the Twitter bird can make the playoffs in goal, the Stars should sign him

However, high school/college Nikki was bananas for hockey players. More on that can be found here, here and here. I think about what it would’ve been like if Twitter and Facebook existed THEN and my brain partially strokes out. (My college roommate is totes going to have a major *facepalm* moment when she reads that). I would have been absolutely uncontrollable. I already knew enough, I already made a big enough fool out of myself and I already put myself in plenty of a precarious situations. I’m not even talking about the biggies like Mike Modano and Jamie Langenbrunner. I’m talking about the pups, the rookies, the ones who were already way too accessible to me. Sweet Jesus I loved those boys. Petr could’ve been like “boozer25: going to play game now” and I woulda been all “nikkihearts25: @boozer25 OMG I LOVE YOU AND WILL HAVE 10,000 OF YOUR BABIES.” Now given, I’m overestimating Petr’s use of the English language at the time and underestimating what ability I did actually have to control myself and the words that came out of my mouth. But you get my point.

I was a good girl little girl with stars in my eyes (no pun intended) though, despite what it sounds like, and although I was a basket case over at least two players over the years, I handled myself well most of the time. But for every one of me? There were a dozen crazyspices out there who didn’t quite have my boundaries. I knew a few and although I turned in my Official Player Stalking Club card years ago, I’m assuming they still exist in minor league arenas all throughout the country. THAT is why Twitter worries me. For all these little manchildren playing in the minors out there, oy vey for them.

Can’t lie, now my brain is working on would’ve been tweets for some of the other guys. At least the ones it wouldn’t have completely dumbfounded. *cough*Jon*cough*

Update: the blogroll is back. I know you were worried.

I honestly couldn’t care less about Sean Avery either way. The stunt he pulled against Brodeur was heinous…anything a player does to cause a rule change during a damn game? Utterly heinous. There’s no doubt this ass hole has caused plenty of dirty, rotten issues during his NHL career. The league has had plenty of chances to kick him out for legitimate reasons. I never thought I’d be coming to the defense of such a dick, however…

“Uh, I’m really happy to be back in Calgary. I love Canada.

“And I just want to comment on how it’s become like a common thing in the NHL for guys to fall in love with my sloppy seconds. I don’t know what that’s about.

“Enjoy the game tonight.”

…is NOT an upstanding reason to suspend a player indefinitely. I don’t give a damn there are provisions under “NHL By-Law 17 and Article 6 of the NHL Constitution for conduct “detrimental to the League or game of hockey,” Call me crazy (ha!) but him making a backhanded comment about Dion Phaneuf banging Elisha Cuthbert is just shit talking and not detrimental to the game. Give me a break and let them take it out on the ice. Like HOCKEY PLAYERS. Bettman is sucking the soul out of this game one horrific decision at a time. (How’s the Versus contract working out for you, fellow fans?!)

These damn Dallas athletes (and the copious amounts of caffeine I’ve ingested today) have got me all fired up. For some reason, flashes of Avery and Pacman sipping on Hennessy at the Ghostbar are violently flashing through my head. Although it’s only in my imagination, those two need blinged out BFF necklaces.

Sigh. At least neither shot themselves in the damn leg. At an Applebee’s. And used a fake name. Douchebag.

Let there be absolutely no confusion, I loathe Philadelphia sports fans. Except for one, he gets a pass (but shouldn’t). I think they’re awful people. AND I AM NOT ALONE. There are 49 states (and Pittsburgh!) who agree with me. Now having said that, I can put my not so petty differences aside for now and be happy for them. So…congratulations, Philly. (Ouch, my soul just got a bruise). And at the end of the day, it wasn’t the f*cking Eagles. I drank two bottles of wine BY MYSELF to cope with the Giants winning the Super Bowl. Alcohol poisoning would be in order should the Eagles…wait, NO, I was tricked into completing those words before, IT WILL NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN. And anyway, I kinda like that Chase Utley fella.

I still remember what this feels like. When your team wins. You don’t sleep. You don’t eat, food is for mere mortals! You love life. You feel like you played in the game yourself, hell, you were on the starting line-up playing with a broke skull! You fought the good fight. You cried the good cry. You hope the high NEVER ends.

But, then there’s the next season. When Jason Arnott puts the puck in the net at some ungodly hour of the night during OT and skates out of Reunion Arena with the Cup, your hopes and your heart roasted on a hockey stick. You know, I tried staying to see the Devils accept the Cup, I really did. But the second I saw merely its REFLECTION in the glass while being carried in, I said “I can’t do this,” and bolted. Nice to know the emotional masochist in me actually does have limits. (With sports, not men…but whatever).

True story.

Speaking of masochism. The Cowboys. I know you’ve been thinking, “gee, wonder what Nikki thinks about the State of the Union?” Nikki doesn’t think. She drinks. She gets very, very angry. And sad. And confused. SO CONFUSED. The Cowboys are my love life right now and they’re REALLY BAD BOYFRIENDS. They don’t call when they say they will anymore, they stand me up, they don’t pay for anything and I sure as hell ain’t getting any action. Limp pinkies are not reasonable excuses in my book, no sirs. The big dance is just over three months away and I have my dress picked out. And it’s hot, so get your shit together. (Like my tough talk? We know they could beat the snot out of me and I’d come back for more…they’d woo me with Miles Austin, I just know it! Damn the weaknesses).

I’m pretty sure I can make a pass better than Brad Johnson and my hands are too small to grip a regulation size football. (There HAS to be a dirty joke there somewhere). Anyhow, I have faith things will return to their originally scheduled programming. A recent conversation between my friend Eric and me:

Me: They’re calling us a team in turmoil.

Him: If I recall, we were a team in turmoil in the early 90s…drugs, women…

Me: And three Super Bowls.

Bottom line, don’t discount the Cowboys. Uncle Jerry’s face is so tight so his head can hold in all the plotting.

I should talk hockey. But Marty Turco is unfortunately drinking the same water as the Cowboys and I can chart the family tree of British royalty better than I can the route the NHL standings have taken thus far this season.

But not really, I’d be scared. More like save a Zamboni, ride a hockey player (yeah, -1 for the legitimacy of this blog now…)

Anyhow, I haven’t gotten up early on a Saturday a.m. to drive miles upon miles to a pro hockey practice in a “I don’t even remember” amount of time. And I used to do it CONSTANTLY, it was a part time job that I took on with great pleasure. My car knew how to get from Denton to the StarCenter in Valley Ranch on its own, I could’ve been blind folded and asleep and still arrived in time to see the first player skate out. I’d stay for the entire session, then hang in the parking lot with various friends, obtaining any wanted autographs or pictures, until the last guy had left. Followed by lunch at Boston Market or Cowboys Cafe (still the best damn nachos ever). Those were the days. I bled green and gold.

Somewhere along the way it lost its luster. We won the Cup, everything changed. Attending practice came with new rules and regulations, the players became a little more douchebaggey, the players I cared about moved on, the team eventually made the move to a new shiny facility in Frisco and at some point…THEY STARTED GETTING YOUNGER THAN ME. (Please note there are at least two players on the Kings roster right now born in 1989…shoot me).

I made the executive decision to attend Kings training camp yesterday, which started Friday. They practice at the Toyota Sports Complex in El Segundo, down by LAX. The Lakers train there as well, however, their side of the building might as well be a storage facility for weapons of mass destruction (now we know!), security is so plentiful and tight.

Overall, I had a great time. I met some fantastic new people, got to see some hockey (…players), and was reminded how much I LOVE this sport, even the smell of the ice. I don’t really like the Kings, as they’re in the Stars division. However, it’s not like they’re those nasty birds down in Anaheim. It would be kinda like seeing the Redskins in person, I don’t care for them since they’re a divisional rival. But it’s not like walking into a room full of Eagles (or Eagles fans) voluntarily. [Insert horrified face here]. But let’s face it, my team is over 1200 miles away, so the Kings are what I’m stuck with. And in a refreshing twist, they actually brought in a player I’ve followed for a few years, Denis Gauthier – a former Flames d-man (we loves defensemen, precious). So, what the hell…I can’t be a Kings fan all together, but let’s at least start with “a” King.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W1yP69JRQFA]

That video is pointless. I was testing out my crappy camera. It’s just Gauthier skating, cause I’m sick in the head. But you get an idea of how close you get at practice.

This team doesn’t look bad, but they’re not strong. They’re extremely young, frighteningly so. It’s going to be like putting a college team in one of the strongest divisions of the NHL. But God bless them, they’re trying. Bringing in someone like Gauthier was a smart move (not just to catch my attention) because he’s a veteran d-man who was a victim of salary cap and a talented Flyers team forced to play in the minors last year. Bring him to a team like the Kings, not only does he get increased playing time in the N, but he can also mentor all the boys who I’m pretty sure just started walking a couple of weeks ago.

Other than that, they have good speed on offense, watch out for John Zeiler.

I miss the Stars and it was absolutely fantastic overhearing multiple conversations predicting the Stars as the team to beat and the pre-season favorite to win the Cup. To be sitting on the brink of potentially winning the Super Bowl and the Stanley Cup is enough to make my head prepare for explosion.

Took some pictures yesterday! ..Continue reading..