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.