Forgive the rambly nature of this post, friends--it's 4:30 AM and I had to get this off my chest.
I'm sure some of you have found your way here from one of the hockey blogs I post/comment to: HLOG and Sweet Tea, Barbecue, and Bodychecks. Welcome to those folks.
For those who have found their way here from other locales (and who haven't noticed yet), I am indeed a hockey fan. For some reason, I always find it hard to articulate in print how my faith and my hockey-fandom are intertwined--which is very odd, because I'm usually much better at expressing myself in print than I am at expressing myself verbally. Don't ask me why, I just am.
For me, hockey is a strong expression of my faith. I've touched on it very briefly in my hockey blog, and I've never been shy about my being a heathen, but I've always been a little reticent about discussing it anywhere other than here and in my personal LJ for reasons that I can't fully articulate. I'm not afraid of getting deluged in flames--there was really only one toolbox that got upset about me not being Christian, and he's the one who has to deal with his own insecurity in his faith. The rest of the fandom really doesn't give a shit, from what I've seen (and the three or four Caniacs that would get bent outta shape about my religious beliefs know better than to tangle with me over it).
It's an amazing feeling, being at a hockey game and feeling the presence of the Gods. I wish I could better articulate what it's like when the building is full and the energy is intense and the boundary between the ice surface and plain of Ida is at its thinnest. It's almost epiphanic, when I can see the Gods watching on the sidelines and, occasionally, Thor taking a turn on the ice while cleverly disguised as one of the defensemen (I'm totally convinced that he likes to cleverly impersonate Mike Commodore from time to time).
There are sticks, there are pucks, there is ice....and there are the Gods.