After enduring one of the worst athletic losses ever in my career of fandom, with those awful, arrogant FSU supporters strutting around like members of Van Halen during the David Lee Roth era, I began to contemplate all that sports have meant to me. It's a complicated subject matter, considering I played ice hockey for nine years and umpteen other sports in my youth, but it was my way of putting the very discouraging evening into perspective, since I was trying to avoid the other, more nefarious paths.
Recalling my elementary school days, with peanut butter sandwiches and awkward sweater choices, I remember going to my brother's hockey games and feeling inspired. Whether it was the Guns and Roses that blared over the rink's loud speakers prior to the game, or just the excitement in general, I was hooked. Not to mention my house's fervent support for the Philadelphia Flyers, which certainly put me over the top in those glory days of Eric Lindros' rise to fame. As a result I began a long and unnecessarily expensive career in hockey, which seemed to dominate my life from fifth grade forward.
I remember the 6:30 a.m. Sunday morning games, often followed by acting as an altar boy at my church, frequently still angered over a bad play. It's never intelligent to go into a house of God angry, and there were far too many Sunday mornings in middle school when this was simply the case. It only intensified as I graduated from non-check hockey. Fortunately, I had the inspiration of artists like Beck, The Beastie Boys, and Rage Against the Machine to get me prepared in those early morning hours.
Graduating into high school and the varsity team was sort of like a dream for me. Having watched my brother start and play for eight years and to follow in his footsteps was pretty much all I could ask for. I also received a lot of things during those first two seasons that I didn't ask for, like concussions. I remember listening to Radiohead's The Bends and Blur's self-titled album, including its most boisterous hit "Song 2," to achieve focus in the face of competition four years older than me. After being in an environment where hockey was all about fun, things became much more serious when your school colors were on the line.
The locker rooms of my junior and senior years were crowded with kids caught up in that angry rock revolution. Bands like Disturbed and Staind seemed to be prevalent, and I would take every chance during my senior year captaincy to turn that crap off. To me, there was nothing like blaring whine rock to get you annoyed and off your game. Fortunately, I found some common ground with a few of the younger players and even gained some top notch friends, returning to the feeling I had when playing in middle school.
The turbulence of my nine-year career, from incapable skater to concussed mess and then eventually rewarded by my teammates' vote of confidence, was, well, an enjoyable one. There were some low points, such as the night my coach lashed out at me in front of the team in my senior year. I believe I thoroughly covered up the resulting angst with Ash's 1977 because I had no recollection of it until being reminded by one of my friends on the team this summer that it had happened.
Such is the way with sports, you move on, no matter the circumstances. After nine years of hockey, and the NHL lockout's birth, it was time for me to move onto something new, and nothing seemed to fit my style choices better than football, err, soccer.
Falling in love with Arsenal was like meeting the Flyers for the first time. The North London club's elegant style of play, coupled with the goal scoring finesse of players like Thierry Henry and Denis Bergkamp, enlightened my spirit like I never thought sports could again. Suddenly, I found a game where I could overlap Brit-pop and feel appropriate. Well, at least when I'm there, at Highbury, sitting in the north bank, chanting with my fellow gooners. Its moments like that where even The Streets makes sense to me.
Top five pre-game albums
Guns and Roses Appetite for Destruction 4/5
Beastie Boys Licensed to Ill 4/5
Rage Against the Machine Rage Against the Machine 4/5
Blur Blur 4.5/5
Muse Absolution 4.5/5
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