Hockey Night in Israel

I wish this blog had sound because there is no way to get the true effect of this posting without the immediately recognizable (to Canadians) Hockey Night In Canada music playing in the background. Okay, for those of you who know the tune, just hum it in your head while you read. For those of you who don't know the tune, I am sure you can google it. (As I was looking for the link information on the internet, I noticed that it is referred to as Canada's Second National Anthem.)

Okay, back to the point.

This past week Canada found itself -- once again -- facing off against its greatest hockey enemy: Team USA. (While Canadians can tolerate a lot of things American, hockey competence is not one of them.) Now, you may have noticed that for a minute there I was sounding like the old me. The Canadian me. The one who took hockey seriously -- at least during such historical moments as a confrontation for Olympic gold. However, as I have spent the last year and a few months telling you all, I am no longer that Canadian person. Well, not completely.

And my husband -- yes, the same one who so desperately wanted to move to Israel -- is, in this one particular instance, torn between his Canadian past and his Israeli present. Strangely enough, he isn't the only one. This past week, with a little digging, you could easily have found pockets of Canadian hockey fans sitting around televisions throughout Israel totally oblivious to the fact that hockey is no longer part of their lives. Israel is soccer country. And maybe even basketball. But trust me, the only time hockey rises to the surface in the State of Israel is when someone schleps a bunch of retired NHLers to Metullah for a goodwill, fund raising series at the Canada Center in Metullah. (Metullah, for those of you who don't know, is so far north that its next door neighbours are Lebanese nationals.)

If that isn't clear enough, let me put it this way. There are three rinks in Israel and only one of them has skateable ice. Don't challenge me here -- I have been skating since I was two or three. I know my ice.

But what I apparently didn't know was the strength of the pull of hockey and the lifelong commitment that its fans carry.

I have to admit that I was very happy to hear that Canada, despite its sloppy start, was going to play the Americans for the gold medal. It must be innate; the thought of the Americans winning hockey gold is still enough to give me nightmares. It is simply intolerable. That said, I am no more likely to stay up into the wee hours of the morning to watch a hockey game then I am to mosey over to Kalkilya for a cock fight.

This apparently put me in the minority. And it raises the question of divided loyalties. I know governments raise this feeble argument now and again that all Jews have divided loyalties between their countries of citizenship and Israel. I doubt there is an ounce of truth to that theory (someone out there has totally overestimated most Jews), but I suspect the results would be different if anyone took the time to test Canadian-Israeli Jews' hockey loyalty. That would be a different story.

A little story before I wrap up. A few weeks ago Darryl Sitler and Paul Henderson were in Israel for some hockey reason. (I refuse to explain who these men are because if you don't know, you don't deserve to know.) I desperately wanted to meet Paul Henderson first, because he was the hero/saviour in a very important moment of my childhood (sort of like "where were you when Kennedy was shot"? but happier), second, he was only 25 minutes from my house, and third, because unfortunately he has leukemia and this may have been my last chance to meet him. That said, we couldn't go to Tel Aviv to meet them because we had a previous commitment that really was more important. That said, on nights like the one last week WHEN CANADA CONFIRMED ONCE AGAIN ITS HOCKEY GREATNESS AGAINST THOSE STUPID AMERICAN WANNABEES, I was truly sad that there is no Hockey Night in Israel.

Who knew that puck bunnies were an international species

Let me go back 30 or 35 years to when I spent a significant portion of my life in one rink or another. I grew up in a small city where skating and its variations were the center of almost everyone's social and athletic life. We all skated -- and quite well -- by the time we entered school. And being a hockey player was a natural step in most boys (and some girls) development.

By extension, cheerleaders were important but I always poo poo'ed them as pathetic and only one step above the garden-variety puck bunny. What can I say, I was a feminist in those heady days.

Unfortunately, I was, by default, a bit of a hypocrite because my teenage boyfriend was a hockey player -- and a good one at that. Therefore, in the years before I could drive, I just got dropped off at the rink regularly to watch games and the odd practice. And then, when I got my license, my boyfriend's parents withdrew themselves from the child-imposed obligation of picking up and dropping off of their offspring hockey players figuring that if I had a car and I was going to be there anyway, I might as well do all the driving. (That was years before I started to hate the carpooling obligations that came with being a parent.)

What I did learn at a very young age is that wherever there are young male athletes, there are admiring young babes. And when those young athletes are hockey players then the babes are called puck bunnies. Let me state here, once and for all: I was never a puck bunny. I was just too cool and I had no interest in hockey players in general. For me, my association with hockey players was a very specific thing.

When we entered the Canada Center in Metulla two days ago, I wasn't sure if there would be any puck bunnies. I wasn't really sure if puck bunnies were a Canadian phenomenon. Now I know for sure: wherever a hockey player can skate, a puck bunny can hop.

It makes perfect sense but I guess I was trying to convince myself that in Israel things are different. They aren't, but it was worth a try.

I did follow the whole Wilt Chamberlain "I-had-20,000-sex-partners" story about 18 years back and I have watched enough movies about professional athletes to get the picture about the meeting and mating of groupies and athletes. However, I was very taken by the Israeli puck bunnies. They were a new phenomenon for me.

First of all they don't wear boots or winter jackets. Technically that should compromise the title "bunnies" because bunnies should be warm and fluffy. These girls, on the other hand, were in the arena wearing tank tops and shorts. Yes, we were in a rink but this is Israel and even the rink wasn't cold. So what does this make them I wondered? Puck iguanas? Puck chameleons? Puck lizards? None of those terms really works because the whole point is to appear soft and cuddly.

Second, Israeli puck bunnies don't know a thing about hockey. This may be an unreasonable expectation but I expect my puck bunnies to know a thing or two about the game. It just seems fair. Otherwise, they should stalk athletes from a sport they understand. How can you define yourself with the word "puck" if you don't know what a puck is? In Israel this would suggest that there is a wealth of football (North Americans read soccer here) bunnies.

And finally, from the little I saw in Metulla, these Middle Eastern Puck Hedgehogs (I checked and Israel has hedgehogs and they are cute), can at best muster about 20 English words. I wasn't born yesterday and I realize that they speak the international language of hot and sweaty, but I think a few words in a common language should be essential. They do have that coy "sweet little innocent me" thing happening, but as a voyeur, it was just making me nauseous.

The truth is the MEPHs have the most necessary ingredients for sports groupies everywhere. They wear way too much make-up. They flirt with wild abandon that no self-respecting woman could ever muster. They are completely inappropriately dressed. They come across like ditzoids. And most important, they know that coquitish sells.

In other words, puck bunny or puck honey, I am going to have to fight this battle alone.