I apologize: There is no coherent theme to this post

So for the past three days, the outside of my right thigh has been numb.  I don't know why; I haven't knocked into anything with it.  It doesn't hurt, it's just a bizarre sensation; imagine the feeling of having a body part fall asleep, but without the pins and needles.  That's the best way I can explain it.  I don't see a need to seek a medical opinion about it, I figure it'll go away on its own and it's not as if it's causing me any distress.  Also, could you imagine going to see the doctor and telling them "My leg is numb, but there's no physical reason for it, no visible signs of any problem, and it's not in any way impeding my ability to walk perfectly fine... Fix it!"

My grandma on the other hand, has been experiencing hearing problems for the past several months and brushes off the notion that she should see a doctor, although, in all fairness, it could just be that she doesn't hear my sister insisting upon it.  She's like the opposite of a hypochondriac.  (Hyperchondriac?)

No mention of leg-brain.... It's clearly out of date.

Anyhow, it would seem that my brain is located within my right thigh and is likewise numbed, because it clearly doesn't work very well.

When I was at work on Tuesday, my co-worker handed me my tips and I put them into the pocket of the apron I was wearing, and promptly forgot about it.  End of the night rolled around, I clocked out, took my apron off, tossed it into the laundry basket, got changed and headed home.  I only realized I was without my money at around 1 in the morning.  Thankfully, that co-worker is a saint and she didn't have a problem with going through the laundry while she was opening the next morning to find my money.  Thanks Arri.

Anyhoo, my mind also hasn't quite adjusted to the time change, although unlike my leg, I know exactly why this happened.  The clock on the DVD player in the living room for the longest time was an hour ahead, because it doesn't automatically adjust itself and I am too technologically illiterate to know how to change it; it was far easier to just know that it was an hour fast.  Well now it's proving to be quite difficult to un-know that fact and as such, I have caught myself being very surprised to find how late it is in the day over the past week or so.  So if I am an hour late to meet up with you, now you know why.

The math geek in me adores this, although I imagine things get pretty weird when negative-two o'clock rolls around...

Speaking of time (I've decided that the random things I'm writing about here will be tied together with forced, cheesy segues; did you catch the first couple earlier?), it's March Madness time.  I love watching college basketball despite the fact that I have no knowledge of any of the schools competing.  This year, I've decided to fill out a bracket, and I'm making my selections based entirely on a flip of a coin.  According to chance, the Final Four will be Kentucky, Memphis, Syracuse, and St. Mary's.  Then, in the Final Four, Kentucky beats Memphis, and St. Mary's upsets Syracuse, before going on to defeat Kentucky in the Championship game.  You heard it here first: St. Mary's will be your 2012 NCAA champions.

A quick Google search tells me they're in California and their team name is the Gaels, because what is more Gaelic than California frat boys?

If you feel like being entirely wrong about a sporting tournament, or, infinitely more hilariously, consider yourself to be an expert on the March Madness tournament, throw your picks down in the comments, we can have a bet.  The stakes: my dirty laundry tip money.  Takers?

Finally, turning from a sporting event that I adore but know nothing about, to one that I adore and do know quite a bit about (how are you liking those segues?  It's literary genius isn't it?), I would much rather watch the Canucks play a good, tight game and beat the Coyotes 2-1 (as long as it's not in the shootout, the shootout is the antithesis of excitement), instead of an objectively more entertaining 5-4 loss that features 76 shots combined.  Also, Mason Raymond is not a first-line player for any team.  If you must move Burrows (and he played very well on the third line), then bump Kassian up to the Sedins' line and keep Raymond doing what he is actually competent at: checking.  Watching him be on my team's top line personified what the shootout is: an abortion of entertainment.

While this is an impressive shootout, this in no way should ever be how a semi-final game ends.  Unless the NCAA wants to adopt and adapt this for basketball; that would be awesome.  Imagine a layup contest to decide a game.  (That's how St. Mary's is going to seal the title, calling it now.)

The little salmon swims onward

"Just going to be taking this off now, don't mind me."

The NHL trade deadline has come and gone, and with it, Cody Hodgson.  I'm not going to get into an evaluation of the players we've received in exchange, because to be perfectly honest, the most I know about Zack Kassian is what his NHL.com bio told me.  Rather, I'd like to take a moment to introduce Sabres fans to their new center.

I'm very pleased to say that I was wrong about Hodgson.  Coming into this season, I honestly thought that as soon as Kesler returned from hip surgery, it would be back to the minors for CoHo.  In cases like this, I'm happy to be proven wrong.  Hodgson has done more than stick with the big club; he's brought an offensive side to the Canucks' third line (or fourth, because Vigneault is rather reluctant to play him ever), and has played himself into contention for the Calder (NHL rookie of the year), despite playing only 12 minutes per game.  Granted, the only reason he (or anyone else for that matter) is in Calder discussions is because Ryan Nugent-Hopkins got injured, but still, well done CoHo.

Buffalo, you're getting a player that has fought through back and neck issues and come out as a better player.  If it weren't for the fact that the Canucks have their top two centers locked up for multiple years, I'd like to believe that Hodgson would have been too valuable to trade.  But he has been.  This is GM Mike Gillis' first move that has made me hesitant, but given his track record, I'll trust him until proven wrong.

So, Buffalo fans, as a welcome gift, I've drawn up a brief package of how to treat CoHo, and you had better treat him well!

1. The "G" is silent.  I'm getting this out in the open right off the bat, because it took the Vancouver media three years to realize that his name is proounced "Hodson".  
2. For goodness sake, play him more than we did!  Here, he was a victim of cirumstance and Vigneault's hesitancy to use him, but he really is quite skilled.  He can man the powerplay, which if you'd like to make a late push for the playoffs, you're going to need to improve, Buffalo.
3. Expect him to make some bad plays in his own end.  This is Hodgson's most glaring deficiency, but to his credit, he is more responsible with the puck than he was at the start of the season.  And besides, the goalie will bail him out... Oh wait, you guys have Miller.  Good luck with those turnovers.
4. You NEED to push this nickname: CoHo: The Little Salmon.  I've been trying to get it to stick, and now it's your job to carry on this endeavour.  The explanation is as follows:
1. Cody Hodgson -------> CoHo.
2. Coho is a type of salmon.
3. Hodgson is not the biggest guy, therefore he is the little salmon.
4. Hodgson has battled critisisms that he is too small, and injuries to earn a spot on an NHL roster.  It hasn't been an easy path for him.  Like the salmon, CoHo swims upstream.

As a rookie hazing, Bieksa threw CoHo into the Fraser river while shouting "Swim Cody, swim for your life!" (citation needed)  Bieksa then attempted to hook Hodgson with a fishing rod.

Now here comes the most vital part of your job as Sabres fans.  You need to get the CoHo goal celebration to catch on.  Again, I've tried my best to do this in Vancouver, but alas, the majority of people seem too busy high-fiving when he scores to execute the CoHo.

Upon a Hodgson goal, bring your forearms together, palms touching.  Your arms are now a salmon, with the hands being the head. See Figure 1.

Fig. 1

Now, move your arms back and forth, leading with your hands and having the forearms follow, as if you were trying to mimick a fish swiming.  The key is to rotate at the wrists; make the motion smooth.  Don't worry if it takes practice, it's worth it.  See Fig. 2 for reference.

Fig. 2

Ideally, your arms should move upward to signify motion (swimming), but it's also acceptable if you swim in motion.  During your swimming, you are encouraged to exclaim "CoHo!  The little salmon!" a half octive or so above your normal speaking level.  Here, watch this video so that you can practice (also, salivate over the fact that you now have a player with this shot release):

Drinking and bad jokes

Well, I have an answer to a question I didn't realize needed answering.  What ratio of sleep to work, factoring in drinking can I have, and still function?  Until Thursday, I hadn't even been drunk in this calendar year; not as a result of trying not to drink, the situation just didn't come up.

Thursday was one of my friends' birthdays, but as he had a midterm on Friday, he wasn't celebrating until the weekend.  It was also the birthday of one of my former co-worker's sister, and I went out to dinner with them and several other co-workers.  This will be nice, I thought to myself walking up there, I'll have dinner, watch the Canucks game, and catch up with people.  Then people started ordering rounds of tequila...

I have a picture on my phone I meant to use, but I'm too tired to go to the trouble of uploading it from my phone to the computer.  Google Image to the rescue.

That alone wasn't an issue, but our third round of those coincided with the Canucks scoring, to which I jokingly said "Look, when we drink, the Canucks score", which then implied to the rest of our group that we must drink often in the hopes of another goal.  My theory was refuted somewhat by the Canucks losing...  But oh well.

A rather expensive bill later, and the remaining 5 of us were now at a crossroad: to continue or to go home.  The birthday girl wanted to go downtown, so that's what we did, me, birthday girl and her sister, and two co-workers.

For anyone unfamiliar with the notion of dancing, I will say only that it requires some level of motor control.  So the fact that the birthday girl had all but passed out during the cab ride from Broadway to Downtown was somewhat problematic.  Another cab ride later, and we were putting her to bed at one of my co-workers' places.  After several check-ups to make sure she was doing well, her sister decided that going dancing was still the plan.  At this point, it was 1 in the morning, and cold outside, meaning that we were going to the nearest place that was open and would serve us booze, preferably with no cover.  Enter The Junction.

Apparently, I'm quite the catch in gay bars; I was getting hit on  with abandon (although it could have just been that they were drunk).  It makes me feel bad that I'm not gay, like I've inadvertently leading the guys who were trying to hit on me on.  (The end of that sentence looks weird grammatically...)

Anyhow, we slept at my co-worker's apartment, because wow walking home in the cold would suck.  Also, did you guys know that 7 A.M. can be nice?  I didn't.  I had previously thought of 7 A.M. with nothing more than cold contempt, but when the sun is rising, the walk home over the bridge was actually both enjoyable and invigorating, two hours of sleep be damned.

A quick noon 'til 5 shift later, and I was free to relax.  Until later that evening, that is.  The plan for my friend's birthday was to meet at his house, then we would all migrate to a bar on Broadway after a while.  At one point, I turned around in his apartment, and realized there were roughly 25 people squeezed into his basement suite.

Like this, except apartments in Vancouver are smaller than that.

Trying to find a bar that can just seat 25 people is about as problematic as one would assume.  But thankfully, if there's one thing you can count on drunk people to do, it's to get lost.  Most of our group vanished, and we ended up with 10 or so people.  An important discovery was subsequently made: Appletinis and cosmos are de-fucking-licious!  Seriously, like nectar-of-the-gods-good.

Also, I'd like to share with you, one of the birthday boy's self-made jokes.  I warn you, it's bad, but in Alex's own words, "Yo, I've made up literally hundreds of jokes!"

What did the jokemaker's father say to his son?

You're a disappointment.

Alex told this joke multiple times, and I still don't think I get it.  What's the punchline??  Is it that there's no joke, hence why it's a disapointment?  But if that were the case, then shouldn't that be something the jokemaker says, seeing as he's a bad jokemaker, and not his father, who shouldn't be expected to invent jokes in the first place?  And is "jokemaker" a viable career option (I assume this is different than comedian, or else Alex would have just said that), and if so, I feel as if I missed a golden opportunity in high school when we had to do transition plans.  Somebody explain this joke to me, it's apparently too sophisticated for my sense of humour.

A luxurious 5 hours of sleep later, and it was time to work from 10-5.  Yay!  My body finally got fed up with me around 8 P.M., when I had finished watching the recording of the Canucks game (which we won, without even needing to take tequila shots!), leading to naptime.  For some reason, I got a second wind of sorts at 10:30, and needed to do something to justify being awake on 7 hours of sleep in a weekend, so I began this post.

As I said, drinking had been an unknown concept to my body, but I think my liver was in a forgiving mood since I wasn't abusing it.  This is a good agreement my liver and I have, I feel.  Now, my body is beginning to wind down on its energy, so bed time is a blissful future for me.

I hate Joe Thornton

The working title for my last entry about hockey was "I hate Joe Thornton".  I changed it because as I began writing, the direction of the piece changed entirely from what I had set out to write.  I was at last night's game against Chicago, and it made me want to try to write it again.  So, with an angle related to the Blackhawks as well, here's why I hate Joe Thornton.  (If you aren't the least bit interested in hockey, this might be a good post to just skim over, or skip entirely.  I apologize.)

First, understand that I don't hate Thornton because he plays for a team the Canucks have met in the playoffs.  That's the reason that I hate the majority of the Blackhawks players, but for Thornton, playing for San Jose is inconsequential.  No, the reason I hate Thornton is because I feel as if I should be able to adore him.

The man stands 6'4'' and weighs 235 lbs. and is strong enough on the puck that he can shield away any defenders, while he sets up one of his finesse passes to a teammate.  Him being Canadian isn't imperative by any means, but it's a bonus.  Because of his style of play on the puck, he was able to absolutely dominate the league in assists for a couple of seasons, amassing 92 in 2006-07.  As someone who played competitive basketball and idolizes Steve Nash's style of play, I should absolutely love this type of hockey player (amazing passer).  And I do.  But not Joe; never Joe.

Seriously; no one should be able to take the puck from him.

For all his dominance in the regular season, Joe Thornton invariably struggled once the playoffs came around.  The media jumped all over him, proclaiming that he didn't have the drive that it takes to win the big games; that when the lights were bright, he wasn't.  Here's the thing: I agree with the media, but think it's unfair that Thornton shoulders the blame.  I believe, rather, that the San Jose Sharks collectively lack what it takes to win big games.  Joe is a part of it, but can sometimes be blamed too much.

This was their top line at the time; one decent player, one who fades under pressure, and the absolute laziest player in the league.

That all changed this past year.  There I was, watching the first couple rounds of the Stanley Cup Playoffs, quietly stewing in my loathing of a player that I can never like, and he was producing.  For once, Joe Thornton wasn't disappearing during the playoffs.  The media applauded this, saying this could be the year the Sharks take that step forward; the year that Thornton claims his place among the truly elite.  I didn't buy it.  Not for a second.  And I am so satisfied that it was the Canucks who had the privilege to expose it.

Let me take you back to May.  The Canucks and Sharks are playing in the Western Conference Final.  On the line, a trip to play for the Stanley Cup.  Game 1 began, and the Sharks had the benefit of a couple early power-plays, and one horrendous Luongo giveaway, resulting in a Joe Thornton goal.  Things were looking pretty good for the Sharks; the Canucks weren't pushing back, making it tough.  I sat resolutely on my couch, knowing that it was only a matter of time.  (I say "knowing", but I suppose "hoping" is a more accurate term; I knew that as long as the Canucks pushed back even remotely, then they'd be fine.)

The third period rolled around, with the Sharks holding a one-goal advantage.  In my opinion, these are the games you prove you're an elite player.  When you either need to fend off a comeback, or close a game out, you look to the elite players to do so; not just the super-skilled, but the hyper-competitive guys who just won't take losing as an option.  If you're only familiar with the Vancouver Canucks, I would point you to Ryan Kesler against the Nashville Predators.

As the Canucks began to make a push, all of a sudden, Joe Thornton vanished.  Their whole top line, which had been dominating the game up until that point, all of a sudden crumbled.  When you're 235 pounds, nothing should be able to muscle you off the puck, but Joe Thornton doesn't abide by those rules.

Can you spot Joe Thornton in this picture?  Don't worry if it takes you a moment, you'll get it.

Ultimately, the Canucks beat the Sharks in 5 games, and my hatred for Thornton remains intact.  I realized last night that I hate the Blackhawks' Toews for the exact oposite reason.

Toews isn't a big guy, but the man plays such a ferocious, disciplined, skilled style of hockey that it doesn't matter.  Toews truly is an elite player.  But I still hate him.  I hate Thornton because I want to be able to like him, whereas I hate Toews despite wanting to like him.  He's dead to me by virtue of playing for Chicago, it's the unwritten rule of Vancouver hockey fandom.  Put Toews on any other team and he'd be one of my favourite players.  But because I know and accept that Chicago has an elite player like Toews, I am required to hate him.

Whooo, take that Blackhawks!

Journal Entry #2

Last week's journal entry for English was about the Stanley Cup Riot.  You know the one:

This one.

In particular though, it was about an article that ran in the Georgia Straight, that posits that group-think was the real culprit.  I find it honestly a bit insulting, seeing as I felt complete disgust and abject horror watching the news as the event was happening.  But at the same time, I recognize that, for all I know, if I had been downtown at the time, I might have been a part of the riot too.

I'd certainly like to believe that I wouldn't have been, but we can't really know how a situation would have unfolded unless we literally experience it.  I could go on about this dissonance between how we perceive ourselves and how we would actually behave when presented a situation, but I was trying to just introduce the topic of my essay.  Which is as follows:

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At the end of the reading on Evolutionary Biology, article author Charlie Smith tells the reader to ask themselves “who is responsible for these kids going on a rampage?”  Based on the rest of the article, it is clear that Smith is posing the question rhetorically; giving his opinion that the city officials in charge of planning the Stanley Cup Finals’ viewing events should be held more responsible.  While not entirely blameless, they shouldn’t be the ones shouldering this burden though.

                The police were undermanned and underprepared seems to be the majority’s opinion.  Dozens, if not hundreds, of Vancouverites raised the call of “They should have been better prepared!”, but nowhere is there a concrete example of how their preparation model could have been improved upon.  Were they undermanned?  The answer is no.  Although police critics would have you believe that the force was neglectful in this, the fact of the matter is that the majority of the VPD was on duty on June 15^th, with a significant portion of officers deployed to the downtown area.  RCMO officers were also contracted to Vancouver for the occasion.  Their presence was there, and as Smith reports in his article, it was anticipated that 1% of venue attendees were looking for trouble; that presence should have been enough to contend with troublemakers.  The police were overwhelmed due to the other 20% of viewers who decided to riot as well.

                Smith takes a curious stance in attempting to exonerate the youths involved in the riot, pointing to the psychological dehumanization at play, while simultaneously humanizing the individuals who were a part of the riot.  If we are to take psychiatrist Dr. Elizabeth Zoffmann’s hypothesis that perhaps riots should be considered “normal” in some situations, then the characters of Nathan Kotylak, Tim Kwong, or any other rioters should be a factor.  Perhaps if this were normal behaviour for persons with under-developed pre-frontal cortexes, then the city is at fault for not instigating a “NO PERSONS UNDER 25” policy.  That is, of course, a ridiculous notion that would be met with the most cantankerous of uproars from the public; in other words, not an option.  In fact, the public showed during the Olympics that similar conditions don’t automatically lead to chaos, which means that there were discernible differences between the Gold Medal game, and Game 7.

                To address the most obvious difference, in 2010, the good guys won.  When we look back further, to 1994, again we find that a riot accompanied a loss.  This, however, does not mean that we can make the assumption that there is causation present.  If there were, then the Canucks would be partially responsible for the riot.  Yes, many a Vancouverite wished bodily harm would befall Brad Marchand, but those feeling were separate from the acts of vandalism that occurred.  The only connection to hockey was that several rioters were clad in Canucks colours and that the riot immediately succeeded the conclusion of the game.

                A more interesting difference between 2010 and 2011 is the social diversity that was present during the Olympics.  Yes, this theory flies directly in the face of what Dr. Zoffmann surmises, but can we perhaps consider that Vancouverites, or Canadians in general (look to Montreal, who have also had riots follow hockey losses), are more socially likely to resort to acts of mob violence?  In 2010, the rest of the world came for a visit, diluting the concentration of Vancouverites per square meter in the downtown district.  Yes, this seems to imply that Canadians are barbaric creatures, incapable of cognitive processes, and for that, I apologize.  I don’t really mean that to be considered a serious explanation for the riot; only an attempt to highlight for farfetched some ideas can be when people look too hard for an explanation.  That isn’t to say though that it couldn’t have played a viable role.

                Consider the crowds present during the Olympic Gold Medal game, versus Game 7.  In the Olympics, yes, the vast majority of viewers were Canadian, but they weren’t alone.  The rest of the world was represented, some clad in our colours for the occasion, and some still decked out in their native colours.  Heck, even the Americans were given fair representation.  But take a gander at Game 7; if you were in black and gold, you could expect to be beaten black and blue.  If you weren’t a Canucks supporter, you weren’t welcome.  Present in the latter situation is a much more potent mob mentality, and all it can take, as Dr. Zoffmann and Smith rightly point out, is a couple of people in that mob to get out of hand before the whole group gets worked up.

                So is the mob mentality then a plausible defense for the rioters, which would leave the city officials as the guilty party?  Well, it could be, if we are to ignore one very important fact: a mob is made up of individuals.  When we break the situation right down to the heart of the matter, these atrocious acts were committed by hundreds of individual people, who committed vandalism, and in some cases, assault.  Intoxication was present, but is in no way an excuse; if anything, that should be condemned more so.  We punish people for drinking and then putting themselves in a dangerous position such as driving; if intoxication can lead to rioting, then it too should be a socially condemnable act.  Dr. Zoffmann argues that the mob mentality could be a latent evolutionary trait; one that once served a purpose, but no longer is needed.  Well, the same has been thought about why some males are physically abusive to their girlfriends.  What Dr. Zoffmann (or Charlie Smith, who is the one using her words to create his thesis; I don’t wish to wrongly accuse Dr. Zoffmann of something that she doesn’t believe) fails to realize is that an explanation is not always an excuse. 

                The answer to Smith’s question “who is responsible for these kids going on a rampage” is far simpler than it seems.  It’s not a question of whether the city failed situationally; it’s not a question of if humans are innately violent.  It’s a matter of knowing that the only one who can ultimately make a decision for you is yourself.  At the end of the day, every other factor present on June 15^th was peripheral; the answer is quite simply: the kids who went on a rampage.

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A few thoughts that are pertinent to this, but wouldn't have fit an essay:

• I mention some people by name.  They are also named in the article, which is why I included them.  It is in no way meant to judge them as people, and I feel it would be neglectful to somewhere mention the fact that they did express what seemed to be genuine remorse for their actions.  Tim Kwong, for example, turned himself in at noon the very next day after being identified.
• I wonder if there would have been a riot if the Canucks had won?  (Again, this is an impossible hypothetical to answer since we can't alter time)  I suspect there would have been though.  
• I want to point out the wonderful things that Vancouverites did in the days following the riot.  People were voluntarily cleaning up the streets, writing apologies to the city on the boarded up windows, and there was even a police car found, covered in sticky notes that read "I'm sorry".  These are the acts that helped restore my faith in people that was in jeopardy while watching the riot unfold.

Even though it's heartwarming, I can't help but be disappointed that someone thought the correct spelling was "hulligans" (Third row, second column; at the bottom in black).

** Also of Note**


I said in my first Journal Entry post that anyone who commented with feedback on the essay could choose a photo or sentience for me to include in a subsequent post.  There have been no comments as of yet (probably unsurprisingly, seeing as there's likely a maximum of twenty people reading this), but I remain undeterred.  Instead, I'm upping the ante: Leave me a comment of criticism or feedback, and I will ask you for three topics of your choice.  Those three topics will then be spun into beautiful prose by moi and will be the topical basis of the next post.  That's right, an entire post, influenced by you!  What are you waiting for?

There's nothing like being there

Why do people enjoy going to watch professional hockey (or any sport for that matter) games live?  I found myself wondering that at one point while I was at tonight's (or yesterday's; it depends on how you measure time) Canucks game.  I am a diehard Canucks fan, but I find it difficult to provide a logical explanation for shelling out money to attend the game.  (Okay, the tickets were a Christmas gift, so technically I myself did no "shelling out", but this is about the principle.)

The first answer I came up with was So that you can experience the game.  This seemed logical to me for all of a minute, at which point I remembered that literally thousands of people are watching the exact same game on their televisions.  They too are experiencing the game, and upon further inspection, watching from home seems almost more preferable.

If you'll allow me a momentary lapse in humility, I have perfected the art of watching Canucks games on TV.  PVR has been integral in said perfection.  If I have to work on game night, no worries, I just set the machine with a half-hour carry-over and I'm good to go.  Of course, I must then ensure that no one spoils the score for me, and so begins a feat that is either incredibly impressive, or painfully pathetic; your interest in organized sports directly correlates with whether you find this to be the former or the latter: I avoid any interaction that may result in the score being revealed.  My coworkers know this and comply; it's the customers that are the (potential) problem.  This was far more difficult during last season's playoffs, but I found a way: I simply greeted people who were wearing hockey-related clothing with a friendly "Hi, if you know anything about the hockey game, please don't give anything away, as I'm recording it.  How can I help you?"  For the most part, this worked.  Some people though, tried to ambush me by bringing up hockey when they were wearing clothing that offered me no hint that they might want to discuss sports.  My evasive strategy in these scenarios was less than brilliant: I ran to the back while covering my ears.

I am entirely serious about this by the way.  And you know what, it worked.  Not one game was spoiled, and more importantly, no customers were offended by my actions.  I apologized and explained my situation when needed and they took it in stride.  Folllowing my shift, I would get home as quickly as possible.  If I was driving, no problem, but if I was walking, I needed to take side streets so as to avoid any restaurants or bars that might have had the highlights playing.  Once I got home, I turned the recording on and indulged in a completely unspoiled game.  Oh, and if you've read this far and don't find yourself passing judgement on me as something of a lunatic yet, I also cut myself off from outside communication until I've finished a game; remember, for all intensive purposes, I'm hours behind the real world's knowledge.  This means no Internet and no checking my phone until the final buzzer.

All of this effort to experience the game, and it doesn't require physically being in attendance.  So I wracked my brain for another possible explanation.  Aha, I thought, it's the atmosphere that holds the allure; thousands of like-minded fans is the value of attending the game.  This theory was proven false near the end of the second period.  I decided that in order to beat the line to the washroom, I would head there with a minute of play remaining, seeing as I couldn't just hit pause on the remote.  Even with this head start, there was congestion at the washroom door, and returning to my seat was akin to swimming against a strong current.  Add to this the fact that I consider Canucks fans in general to be some of the worst hockey fans there are, and that takes away the 'like-minded' portion of my theory.

I began to think that the value lay with inter-personal interactions, but on an individual level.  After all, my first date with my ex was at a Canucks game (also the first game I attended live), and I've only ever gone to games with people I like being around.  This particular theory almost had me convinced until I realized that the hockey was entirely tangential to the value; our first date could have been anywhere else and I would have enjoyed it still.

Other logical reasons against going to the games that crossed my mind are as follows:

• I only get the replays that are provided in-house.  These are often not intensive enough to fully understand what just happened.
• There's no commentary when you watch live.  Because of this, I couldn't figure out why the Canucks' defensive pairings switched for a significant amount of time in the second period.
• I couldn't (or rather, felt that I shouldn't, swear, seeing as there were small kids around me.  Factor in that my normal reaction to the opposing team scoring is a loud "Fuck!", and now I have a problem.
• $8 for a glass of watered down beer.  That should be a crime.

I agree with your sentiment.

Even with all of this logical reasoning against the notion of enjoying being at the game live, when the final buzzer rang, I was immensly happy with having been at the game.  This leaves two possible conclusions.  The first is that I'm insane.  Granted, you're probably thinking this makes sense based on how much effort I go to in order to avoid having the score spoiled for me, but I'd like to think that I'm not insane.  Slightly crazy, certainly, but not insane.

This leaves me with the conclusion that there is an intrinsic value in attending the games of sports teams you like.  Those last two words are critical to my conclusion; I wouldn't find value in attending a Blue Jackets vs. Islanders game for example.  But give me the opportunity to attend any Canucks game, and I will happily do so.  It doesn't matter that I'm giving up the luxuries of watching from my couch, and with that in mind, I eagerly await the Blackhawks coming to town, as I will be at that game too, cursing the bathroom lines, the $8 beer, and the hoards of objectively bad hockey fans.  And I will love every minute of it.