by Kevin H. MacLean
It is Thursday night.
I'm sitting on the edge of my seat, for professional hockey. I can't say with certainty that I've ever watched a NHL game with any real emotional investment since the lockout and yet there I was, sitting and rooting for the Carolina Hurricanes.
Now normally, I would never support the Hurricanes. Growing up only 20 minutes from Hartford I am probably the last generation old enough to remember the Hartford Whalers and normally, I would never support evil that they have now become. But they just happened to be playing the Bruins. The Boston Bruins.
And then, Scott Walker! Fist pumps abound in my bedroom as the the Hurricanes made sure that Zdeno Chara would be watching the Stanley Cup finals from his couch.
The Celtics had already gone down earlier that night to ensure a Game Seven against the Magic and the Bosox had been beaten for the second game in a row as the Yankees won their third straight.
I'm sitting on the edge of my seat, for professional hockey. I can't say with certainty that I've ever watched a NHL game with any real emotional investment since the lockout and yet there I was, sitting and rooting for the Carolina Hurricanes.
Now normally, I would never support the Hurricanes. Growing up only 20 minutes from Hartford I am probably the last generation old enough to remember the Hartford Whalers and normally, I would never support evil that they have now become. But they just happened to be playing the Bruins. The Boston Bruins.
And then, Scott Walker! Fist pumps abound in my bedroom as the the Hurricanes made sure that Zdeno Chara would be watching the Stanley Cup finals from his couch.
The Celtics had already gone down earlier that night to ensure a Game Seven against the Magic and the Bosox had been beaten for the second game in a row as the Yankees won their third straight.
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