In Which I Show Some Love, and Some Hate...

In lieu of reporting any actual news, I've decided to put a little more of myself out there.

For starters, my hockey fandom began one day during the 1995 Stanley Cup Finals. I was 9. My dad had been closely following the Wings playoff run, but for some reason that probably made sense to my little mind, I had refused to join him in watching the games. You might chalk that up to me being a girl, but I always sat and watched Tigers games, and I'm told that I even enjoyed the Lions at one (very sad) point in my life. Finally, my dad sat me down on the couch and told me that I HAD to watch one whole game with him. After that, if I didn't like it, I never had to watch another game in my life. On the other hand, if I did like it, I'd probably be thanking him for a long time. I made the deal with him, and over the course of those 60 minutes, I fell in love. I didn't know a thing about what I was watching, but it amazed me. And from that day on, I was hooked. The Wings went on to lose that series, but it didn't matter to me. It was the beginning of the single greatest defining obsession in my life. There are moments (like when I have fits because real-life commitments prevent me from watching games) when I'm sure my dad regrets that fateful day, but most of the time I think he's secretly glad that he raised a daughter who he can intelligently talk sports with and not some prissy little princess.

Anyway, back to the present. My current player obsession centers around Henrik Zetterberg and Pavel Datsyuk. (While I'm on the subject, I'm beyond thrilled to see them reunited. I had only been yelling that suggestion at my TV for three games before it finally happened.) They have exactly the kind of puck movement that first dazzled me in the days of the Russian Five. Coincidentally, they also account for the name of my blog. "Snipe Snipe" would be Zetterberg (If you don't know where this came from, you're probably not a die-hard enough fan to be reading hockey blogs.), and Datsyuk is Mr. Dangle Dangle himself. I actually wanted to put the Dangle before the Snipe because, theoretically, dangling would precede sniping (and also because Datsyuk makes me laugh nearly every time he speaks), but the cadence of "Dangle Dangle, Snipe Snipe" reminded me too much of the "Veggie Veggie, Fruit Fruit" song from that old Disney World show. It's also important to note that in moments of weakness I may refer to Zetterberg as "Hockey Boyfriend." I mean this in the least Puck-Bunnyish way possible, of course. I've always said that one of the benefits of being a female sports fan is getting to admire the men, especially when they're sweaty and wearing eye-black (Oh Winter Classic, how I miss you.).

I also have a great affection for Drapes and Maltby, dating back to their Grind Line days. Granted, neither one of them had a particularly good year, but I'm a loyal sort, and I can't forget the great joy that they brought me as a child.

My next player of note is Chris Osgood. I have always been an Ozzie supporter, even when he got run out of town by Dominik Hasek. That man takes a lot of crap, and most of it is undeserved. All year long, I found myself defending him, despite his god-awful stats. If the Wings had decided to actually play defense for any significant portion of the season, he'd have been riding high all year. All you have to do is look at the man's numbers over his career, especially in the playoffs. All the guy does is win hockey games. I don't want to hear about being buoyed by having a talented team in front of him. That only adds to the pressure. And one thing's certain: when the pressure is on, so is Chris Osgood. 'Nuff said.

I also have to mention Jiri Hudler. This man never ceases to amuse me. Every time I see him on screen, it makes me laugh. I'm not even entirely sure why. You know how there are certain people who you just want to hug? Well, he's one of them. I mean this, of course, in an entirely non-sexual way. He just always looks like he's having fun, and...I'm not really sure how to describe it. I feel the same way about Curtis Granderson. Plus, he's like 5'2 in skates, but he'll still mix it up with anyone. That may actually be an advantage against a guy like Chris Pronger.You.Goon, because he might be able to fly below elbow range.

It's also fairly obvious that I have a deep-seated hatred for Chris Pronger.You.Goon (helpfully abbreviated PYG. Please pronounce this like "pig." I think it's fitting.) Since I have a great fondness for delicious irony, one of my favorite hockey moments of all time was when PYG tried to run Stevie Y in the playoffs a few years back and ended up busting his own ACL. You could, quite literally, taste the irony in the air.

Since I'm on the subject of players that I dislike, I feel like I should mention my semi-irrational hatred of Sidney Crosby, or, as I like to call him, Gary Bettman's Little Buddy. I know it's fairly cliche for non-Pittsburg fans to hate Crosby, but I felt that way before it was cool. Ever since his name first came on my radar during the lockout year (AKA the worst year of my life), I was annoyed by him. The fact that he was treated like the second coming of Wayne Gretzky before even playing an NHL game really pissed me off. I grew up watching Wings late-round draft picks who came into their own based only on hard work and skill be ignored by the NHL marketing machine, and here was this kid I'd never seen before sucking up all of the media attention. I don't like people who get things handed to them on a platter. Much to my consternation, he turned out to be a pretty good player. Not the best, mind you, but pretty darn good, nonetheless. What I really hate is having his stupid Napoleon Dynamite face shoved down my throat by the NHL media. It quite literally makes me gag. And what's worse is that it's no good for the game. The real hockey fans see through the marketing and nothing gets us all more riled up bringing up the Little Buddy's name in a crowded sports bar. If the NHL would just acknowledge the existence of star players not named Crosby or Ovechkin (like say, Datsyuk, Zetterberg, Kane, Toews, Getzlaf, Nash, just to name a few), they would have a much less divisive marketing campaign. Instead, I'm forced to watch that stupid commercial where the Penguins fan has his TV in a penalty box that apparently has all three Pens highlights from the Finals playing on a continuous loop. Watching that commercial, the casual fan probably wouldn't realize that it was, in fact, the Wings who were drinking from Lord Stanley's Cup last year.

Another thing that still has me riled up is that God-awful call from the end of Game 3. You know which one I'm talking about. I know I should've moved on by know, but when something like that is still gnawing at my soul a week later, I have to vent about it somewhere. The thing that really made me angry the next day was that the NHL blindly stood by this Watson guy. These are the moments that make me hope that the Hockey Gods smite Gary Bettman with a lightning bolt from on high. A couple of days ago, the NBA (which has always been known for its classiness) openly admitted that a blown call in the final seconds of a game caused a team to lose. The exact details are fuzzy because I really couldn't care less about basketball, but it really struck me in light of the epic officiating failure on the Goal That Wasn't. The NBA at least had the guts to come out and say that their ref screwed up. I also seem to recall an NFL official apologizing after blowing a call back in the fall. I'm not one of those fans who thinks there's a massive conspiracy out to get the Wings, but let's face it, that was a major screw-up that impacted the outcome of an important playoff game.

Radiating Positive Vibes...

After my semi-incoherent ramblings from last night, I feel compelled to put some more thoughts down. You see, now that I've started this blog, I find myself with an endless stream of opinions that I feel simply must be shared with the world.

Now that Game 5 is over, and I've slept off the jubilant energy that always follows such a victory, I've been thrown back into the usual cycle of mounting stress. I'm trying to counteract that by concentrating on sending positive vibes to three different players.

Mostly, I'm trying to mentally heal Brian Rafalski's mysterious injury. I don't have any clue what it might be, but I have to believe that somehow, some way, I'll be able to make it better through sheer force of will. Even though they completely dominated yesterday, the Wings still miss the hometown boy. This isn't the kind of thing for which official stats are kept, but I'll be damned if he isn't the best in the league at holding the puck in the offensive zone. I can't even tell you how many times he's blown my mind by keeping the play alive by knocking down clearing attempts at the blue line. Whether he's jumping up in the air to grab a puck or stretching out to nab it with his stick, he always seems to be able to keep the attack going. This is a completely underrated and rarely noticed skill, but it's one of the reasons why the Wings' power play misses him so much.

I'm also spending time sending offensive vibes to Pavel Datsyuk. He's had his share of chances, but I'm not satisfied with that. I want him on the scorebord. Preferably starting very early in Game 6. His little "suck-on-this-Harlem-Globetrotters" play from Game 5 was nice and all, but unless it ends up in the back of the net, it's just eye candy. I'm all for eye candy most of the time, but this is playoff hockey and it's serious. Also, being a big believer in the Hockey Gods, I can't help but believe that once he does break through, it's going to be in an epic fashion. There's a reason he was one of the leading scorers in the league this year (that reason being that he's the best all-around player in the world right now, forget Ovechkin and Crosby), and may the Hockey Gods help whatever poor souls are tasked with defending against him when he finally comes to play.

If my positive energy can make those two things happen, I'll be more than happy, but I'm also attempting to mentally heal Kris Draper, and not just because we have the same name. Well, actually the same shortened name. He's worth keeping around just for faceoffs and veteran savvy. Not to mention that epic playoff beard.

If nothing else, this effort is keeping my mind off of the stress as I wait for Game 6. I'll probably be back later to get out some more of my anxious thoughts, and possibly with an explanation of some of the terms and nicknames that I frequently use. Not that I expect anyone to be reading this. I just like to pretend because it makes me feel important.

Eight Months Later...

So it's official. I've finally decided to join the blogosphere and share my thoughts and insights of varying coherence with the rest of the world. And by the rest of the world, I mean the two people who may at some point stumble across my ranting and raving.

Tonight was the game we've been waiting for all season. I can only say that in retrospect because in the hours leading up to Game 5, I was replaying traumatic memories of Game 5s past (*cough*34.7*cough*). It didn't help matters that there was an extra day in between the games. Because, clearly, my blood pressure needed to go up that much more in nervous anticipation.

But back to my original point. All season long, the Wings would tease us with hints of their greatness. We would see flashes of brilliance (usually late in a game after they sleepwalked through the first two periods) that were enough to make us drool all over our replica jerseys. It was in those moments that I would think to myself, "If they could just show up in that form at the beginning of the game, there is not a team on this earth who could beat them." It would be physically impossible. And then the very next game, they would come out looking like rookies who were too busy wetting their pants out of nervousness to bother backchecking. It was ugly. And I say that with all of the love in my oft-broken heart. It was like being asked to dinner by the man of your dreams, who then proceeded to pick his nose. Or something like that. I'm not sure what the equivalent would be from the male perspective.

My anxiety was at a frenzy-like level at the beginning of the BJs series. I spent most of the day before Game 1 having pleading conversations with the Hockey Gods during which I'm fairly certain I offered everything from my Scotty Bowman bobblehead to my first-born child if they would just allow the Wings to play to the best of their ability. Needless to say, I was greatly relieved when the Wings managed not to suck. They even managed to overcome that "curse" whereby the defending Stanley Cup champs can't seem to survive the first round. Let's face it though. The BJs didn't exactly put up much of a fight. (We'll ignore Game 4. See the previous paragraph for my reasons.) I still felt like there was another level to the Wings game.

Come Round 2, my anxiety had once again sent my blood pressure through the roof. There was the age-old agony of wondering if a long layoff would cause my boys to be rusty. That, however, is beside the point. Even in the victories in Games 1 and 4, the Wings still didn't seem to play the whole game. They left me wanting more and wondering if I would ever see a complete game from the boys.

Game 5 changed all that. The first period was an exhibit of such epic domination that it almost brings tears to my eyes. Ditto on the third. The second period was a little dicey after Anaheim found some life after scoring their goal, but let's face it, the outcome of the game was never really in doubt. The Wings simply weren't going to lose. Not on this night. Not on Mother's Day. (I'm not a mother at this point in my life, but had the Wings lost today, I feel like it would have sullied all future Mother's Days to the point that I would never be able to enjoy them.) Even though the first period ended scoreless (at which point I would normally break out into a cold sweat as I envisioned another upstart goalie stealing a victory/series from the Wings), I couldn't help but feel that it was only a matter of time until the Wings knocked a few in. Even though Anaheim decided to play hockey for the last half of the second period, I never doubted that the Wings would pull it out. Even though they only had a one-goal lead at the end of the second, I had faith.

And, let me tell you, this was a beautiful feeling. For once, I was able to sit and watch the game with a smile on my face instead of lying in a fetal position on the couch clutching a rally rag from last year like a security blanket. I was upbeat. I was happy. I was not nervously downing 8,000 calories worth of junk food in a robotic trance-like state in a lame attempt to relieve my stress. (I'm a hockey-nerves eater. Don't judge me for it. I'll never forget the popcorn bucket incident of Game 6 of the Finals last year. My digestive system still hasn't recovered from it.) While I'll freely admit that the Ducks didn't bring their A-game, does anyone really believe that it would have mattered? Not on a night like tonight. The Wings were in full flight tonight and were putting on a hockey clinic at the Joe for all to see. And it was beautiful.

Now it remains to be seen whether the same Wings will show up for Game 6 on Tuesday. My stress level hasn't started its slow but inevitable climb yet because I'm still riding high from the victory today, but rest assured, come Monday morning, I'll be in full-fledged panic mode again. I've often wondered if I should invest in a cardiac monitor for the playoffs. It really is a miracle that I didn't drop dead during overtime a couple of games back.