Hockey Week in Israel

Finally, this past Friday night, the NHL playoffs ended. Now I know what most of you are thinking: "the NHL playoffs? What the heck is that? And why is she writing about them?"

Most of you only know me as my Israeli self but the truth is that I have a long and illustrious history as a Canadian and Canadians and hockey are inextricably linked. In fact, I still sigh with relief on the odd day that the Country Club changes its sports channel away from the latest soccer game and plays a hockey game. On those rare days, as I walk uphill on the stationary bike, I am filled with a sense of the familiar.

Now if you noticed above, today is June 14th which means the last professional hockey game played in North American took place on June 12th. Technically, yes, hockey is a winter sport, but that's before advertisers and other business people got their hands on it and realized that it was a money maker.

There's barely a spot in the Western Hemisphere where ice occurs naturally at this time of the year, but that has nothing to do with the hockey playoffs. I remember when the hockey season used to end in April, and then May. And with a little more planning, they will probably soon drag it out until August. Soon the players will have to play in swim trunks and shoulder pads -- it will be too hot for those polyester jerseys.

Which is why, in consistent hockey logic, there is a big junior hockey tournament about to begin in Metullah in a few weeks. Now, I am not complaining. In fact I am looking forward to it. But I am having a hard time getting my mind around hockey and the sweltering heat of the Israeli summer. Note to the Canadians: you think you know heat! ha! You know nothing of the real heat of the Middle Eastern summer which begins well, now.

This is not to suggest that we will not get in the car and drive to Metullah, which is on Israel's northern border just a mere hop, skip and jump from our good friend Nasrallah & co. in southern Lebanon. Oh there's nothing to worry about, I've just been waiting for an opportunity to use Nasrallah's name in my blog and the hockey tournament gave me that chance.

There are many great things about this tournament. Not the least of which is that my cousin's husband, who is a well-known sports writer for Canada's most respected sports section of a newspaper, will be here and my cousin is coming with him. He used to have his face plastered all over the sides of buses in Toronto which is a real indicator of his prestige in Canadian sportsville.

Second, another one of my cousins is coaching one of the teams. I could go into his story but since most of my readers know nothing about hockey, I would be wasting space and you just wouldn't appreciate the story.

Third, we are going to watch some half decent hockey up close. While junior hockey isn't exactly the NHL, it's as close as we are ever going to get three hours from home in the center of Israel.

Fourth, it is an opportunity to wear a sweater in Israel in July. You don't start off cold but if you sit in the Canada Center rink for a few hours, trust me, you will eventually start to feel cold.

Fifth, there are always seats because most Israelis don't understand hockey. For the most part, the rink will be filled with Russians, Canadians and a few miscellaneous others. Of course, I am sure there will be some of those slimy white-trash chicks who always come out of the woodwork when athletes come to town. They don't know hockey, but they know a hot young bod when they see one.

And finally, if the last tournament was any indication of what was to come, there will be some old time NHL'ers there coaching some of the teams. And because they are in Israel and just dying to speak to a native-English speaker we will all inevitably end up in the Canada Center foyer talking together in a way that would probably never happen in Toronto. In fact, last time we attended one fellow showed up with one of the oldtime NHLer's hockey card and had him sign it. It was a great moment for the rest of us.

But all this greatness isn't without its irony. My Canadian-born children, who have been raised in Israel on a healthy dose of soccer and basketball, will sit there complaining that they need another hot chocolate to keep them going once the excitement of the ice-cleaning Zamboni is over. The entire hockey experience will be lost on them, and Chaim and I will be left to go it alone.