Because we recently ditched DirecTV and free digital broadcasting renders all programming as if processed through a Max Headroom filter, between the first and second period of last night’s Stanley Cup Finals game between the Boston Bruins and the Chicago Blackhawks I went to Tracy’s, an Irish pub/sports bar about a half mile from our house. There the hockey game appeared on every other large screen television. It looked like maybe a dozen hockey fans, split evenly between Boston and Chicago fans, with only a couple Blackhawks fans wearing jerseys. The Boston fans seemed to sense their impending loss in their bones, despite a one goal lead late into the third period. One Boston fan, frustrated with the speed of the Blackhawks wingers, pleaded to the Boston players through the televisions: “Hit him! Hit him!” When the Blackhawks scored two goals seventeen seconds apart with about a minute left in the game to take the lead they would not relinquish, there was no pandemonium, aside for the two Blackhawks jersey wearers, a young couple, a woman wearing a black #88 Patrick Kane jersey (he would be named the playoffs MVP) and a man in a red #10 Patrick Sharp jersey. They moved to New Orleans from Chicago only a week ago. They high-fived and hugged each other and took turns to high-five me, providing just the hockey communion I’d hoped for.

hawks win

Photo credit: vxla

Derek Bridges lives in New Orleans, trading in words and pictures. A carpetbagger of long standing, he grew up in the top right corner of IL and later went to college in the middle cornfield part. He has also lived in MS and FL, for educational purposes only, and was diasporized for a time in TX.

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