Don't Sleep on the Gingers

The hullabaloo over the NBA Finals has reached fever pitch. Baseball has finally turned the corner into the realm of competitiveness. In the short, shallow distance, the poignant, musty aroma of football tantalizes the cognisant nostril.

And all the while, the red headed step child of the four major sports is attempting to crown a champion. Two American teams battling it out, for a chance to defile Lord Stanley's cup in the off season. However, no one seems to care.

And its a damned shame.

Despite being all, but locked in an attic and fed fish heads for sustenance by the networks, playoff hockey is back. The return could not have been scripted better if penned by Charlie Kaufman himself.

The dashing young prince, Sidney Crosby, LeBron James of the ice, matching mettle with the Yankee-esque Red Wings.

Two major sports towns in Detroit and Pittsburgh, battling for the rights to upturn cars and set fires in celebration.

But no one cares. They may as well be playing for the Champions League title.

Yesterday I watched as the Penguins tied the game with twenty seconds to play in regulation. Utilizing the pulled goalie tactic that never seems to work, they passed the puck effectively as the seconds waned, looking to set up a perfect shot.

This was followed by two and a half overtimes of intense breakneck action. Sudden death. Detroit on home ice. Both goal keepers logging over one hundred minutes of ice time.

Shots were fired. Bodies strewn. Blood spilled.

With every break in the action the Detroit crowd rose to their feet, like a modern day Roman aristocracy, applauding the efforts of both side. Wishing for an eventual outcome, but relishing in the exacerbating tension.

All this and not a single point was scored until the third overtime.

And for the die hard loyal hockey fan, this matters naught. Much like so many soccer crazed nation, effort is valued over result. inspiration is drawn, not from seeing a player dominate, but from seeing his composure as a game drags on and frustration mounts.

But to the casual American sports fan, this concept is fleeting.

Why applaud Torry Holt for his ability to run crisp, pristine routes, as a decoy, when Chad Johnson is one deep ball away from a zany end zone celebration?

Should Tom Glavine receive a curtain call for his perfectly executed draw bunts over Jim Thome crushing a home run out of the DH spot every other week?

Is Rip Hamilton held to a higher esteem for his movement away from the ball, as opposed to Dwight Howard's constant lurking underneath the basket?

Of course not. Should they be? Not at all.

But perhaps if the casual American fan watched the game with this perspective, this would be the case. Then maybe perhaps, hockey would be accepted back into the main stream. Highly unlikely, but possible none the less.

And then maybe then Soccer will even have a chance in the States.

Nah...