Black Ice Vancouver

“A little nonsense now and then, is cherished by the wisest men.” — Roald Dahl (Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator)

                                                                                               

Yesterday I met Alex Edler in the elevator. It’s always a little awkward meeting famous people in elevators. You know them. They don’t know you. They know that you know them. Typical celebrity-in-elevator type neurosis. So I said something stupid to the effect of, “so…gonna destroy New Jersey tomorrow or what?” He nodded politely and replied, “That is the plan,” in his Northern Swedish accent. And that was that. No invitations to dinner with him and his puppies. No complimentary box tickets. No new best friend (your position is secure for now Clayton). It did get me thinking, however, as I watched the Canucks shill the Devils out of two points and Edler was handed the third-star-of-the-game: did I help the Canucks win the game?                    

When I was a child I used to think, coming from a solipsistic perspective, that things didn’t happen when I wasn’t there. People didn’t go to parties unless I was at the party. People didn’t have sex unless I was having sex with them. The Taj Mahal didn’t exist unless I was standing in front of it. That sort of self-contained-universe-shit. So as Edler was blocking shots and taking hits to make plays I wondered aloud whether our chance encounter had any baring on the outcome of tonight’s game. Like maybe he drove more carefully to the rink tonight and DIDN’T die in an auto wreck (thinking about his new buddy perhaps?). Maybe he chewed his food extra careful and DIDN’T choke on a chicken bone. I like to think (lately) that when I am present Canucks don’t die horrible deaths before games. And when Canucks are gettin’ busy livin’, they are gettin’ busy winnin’. (God I need to go to bed).

Anyhow, this epistemological tangent can only go so far, slumber awaits. But before I rest my weary head on the inevitable, I will say that tonight’s match wasn’t great for a host of reasons, most of it pedantic. They got scoring from all three lines that are suppose to score. They got goal-tending from the 10 Million Dollar Man that resulted in shutout. And they got a little dirt from the fourth line.  But, alas, it was boring. Even the much anticipated Olympic goalie match-up played shotgun to a low-scoring checking affair that saw the Devil’s lose to their own game. Drifting in and out of consciousness it had me mostly flying across the GVRD in a magic elevator, just me and my new friend: Alexander Edler.

                                                                                                           

–Joseph F. Delamar