Shoes, Ships, and Sealing Wax

I'm starting to feel like one of the dumber villans in a James Bond movie

And James, of course, is the rodent in the basement ceiling.

He was gone. He came back. He was gone.

Now he's back.

There are footprints in the sand we sprinkled in the ceiling to try to track him, and disturbed dirt near the basement steps where I found the bones and carpet. He must be coming and going...there is no rat nest in the ceiling...the trick is to find the door and seal it, preferably while he is out.

Yeah, I have a trap. Haven't set it yet, because if we catch him and don't seal the door, what is to stop him from coming back? (Don't bother to say killing him, because a) I'm not going to, and 2) by him coming back, I also mean, any of his friends and relations using the same entrance.)

And in the end

I should go to bed, but I know I'll just lie there for hours, replaying the hockey game in my head.

The Capitals lost, in overtime, after fighting back from 1-3 in the best of seven.

I've seen this show before, but not really. The fluke (a penalty in overtime, after the referees had swallowed the whistles for all of the third period?), the heartbreak. There was one thing that made this insult a bit easier to bear than all those other years...

Leaving the game, I was not serenaded by hundreds (or thousands) of fans of the team that just beat us. I was not alone in misery. The Metro platform was a sea of red, with grumblings about the officiating, murmurs of condolence, or rueful reminiscing, not taunts, jeers, and epithets.

This must be what it feels like to be the home team.

Also, if you'd told me in November we'd be in the playoffs I'd have laughed. I wrote them off in February, too (too brittle, I said.) I was wrong. They adapted and fought and adapted again...the series was like watching the season in microcosm. I don't love everything about this team...I still crave a couple of 21st century versions of Scott Stevens and Rod Langway. But there is some damn good talent that I haven't properly acknowledged, mostly out of some crazy loyalty to the past.

Another thing. My heart is hurting right now, so I guess I care about hockey again, after all. Maybe this makes me fickle, maybe I owe the sport an apology. It looked like there was room on the bandwagon, anyway.

I have come to terms with the fact that seeing Olie Kolzig wave to the crowd from the ice tonight was the last time I'll see him in a Capitals uniform. I wanted to leap over the glass and beg him to stay, even just another hour tonight so we could cheer him longer and louder for everything he's done for this team and this city. The biggest reason I wanted this miracle run to go all the way was to get him name engraved on the Stanley Cup.

And it is just a game...a diversion, an escape, or a metaphor. The sun will come up tomorrow and I'll go to work (feeling hungover, though I had no alcohol tonight), and come home to listen to the baseball game, and I'll cheer and cry and cheer, then it will be hockey season again, then baseball, and so on, until someone is remarking in my eulogy about how much time I wasted on sports.

This may have been why I quit going to the dentist

Six months ago I went to the dentist for the first time in ten years. It wasn't that horrible, so when they called to tell me to come in again, I figured it couldn't hurt.

So apparently, it is possible to brush your teeth too much. I knew my gums were receding (I didn't go to the dentist for ten years; that tarter was stronger than diamond), but I didn't realize I was making them recede more with my aggressive scrubbing.

And I really did not know that it was possible to run out of gum.

And I really, really did not know that there are people out there who charge lots of money to cut off flaps from the roof of your mouth and sew them to your receded gum to grow new gum.

Elsewhere on the planet

Apparently the pope is in town. I heard some woman on the radio being interviewed about how she'd pulled her kids out of school today to go watch the motorcade, because it had such huge spiritual significance.

Not to attend the Mass tomorrow, but to watch the guy ride by in a car.

That was spiritually significant.

I know not everyone of faith is that goofy (see, family, I'm not making fun of you!), but for the love of God...so to speak.

It's almost like...

...nah, I won't play the deja vu card. (But if I did, it wouldn't be in a Tony Kornheiser way, I need to emphatically add.)

It's all right. I'm not happy with the way this playoff series has unfolded, but it isn't over 'til we've exhausted every "isn't over" cliche in the book.

I will say...a couple months ago I had a harsh assessment of the Capitals defense that involved a bad word or two, and I think I got a little over-confident about their improvement. We were finishing up the season with a lot of games against Atlanta and Tampa Bay, after all.

But I'm clinging to the fact that these games, as bad as we have been playing, were not blow-outs. (Last night looks like it, but it was a late penalty shot and an empty net.)

And to take my mind off it until tomorrow, at least I have baseball.

The sky is falling! The sky sucks!

Whew, this weekend was exhausting. And like the overly emotional sports fan I am, I've stayed up way too late every night reading blogs and messages boards, both Nationals and Capitals.

Actually I've been reading them (almost always lurking) for a few years, but in the last few weeks, the post counts have gone up considerably. Publicity does that, I suppose. But obscurity has its advantages; I used to read lots of insightful, sometimes provocative comments. Now I'm seeing lots of bad grammar and hysteria.

I should just turn off the computer and go to bed, but its like watching a train wreck.

Lack of rest aside, I feel pretty good. Friday night, the hockey game could have been a bit better (the Caps had that second-period slump thing going), but I was happy with the final score, and truly amazed by the atmosphere. I think it was the first Flyers game I ever attended where it didn't sound like the Spectrum for at least part of the game. Kudos to everybody who kept the tickets out of the hands of Philadelphians.

Saturday's Nationals game was a depressing blowout, following a string of losses, but that sort of thing happens. It's a long season, and rebuilding can be tough. On the way home from the game, I said "If we don't sit though games like this, we won't have such an appreciation for the playoffs when we finally get there." And on the plus side, the stadium is still as nice as I thought it was two weeks ago, even in the rain. (And when it's just a light, straight-down rain, my seat is dry, just like RFK.)

Today the Capitals looked awful, frankly. (I imagine all over America, NBC viewers were saying "I don't see what the fuss is about.") But I'm not even that upset...for one thing, in spite of what several thousand people at Verizon chanted, the Flyers do not suck. And it can't hurt to remind these guys that being called a team of destiny doesn't mean you don't need to show up and play. We listened to the post-game interviews on the way home, and all the players were saying the same thing...tried too hard to set the perfect shot, squandered the power plays, let Huet down in the zone...I think they are well aware of what not to do on Tuesday.

And the Nationals won, in dramatic nailbiting fashion (I followed it on my cell phone, which was not as heart-stopping as being there, but still exciting.)

An interesting thing, on a normal weekend I check my work e-mail a few times a day, and I think about work, well, all the time. Right now, I can't even remember what I was doing on Friday, and what the first thing I need to do Monday is. I'll guess I'll figure it out tomorrow when I see the stacks on my desk. But this emotional fan thing sure served one good purpose this weekend.

Emotionality? Yeah, a little.

Check out page five.

The items created for use in this inventory are based on a conglomeration of the ideas and research presented in the sport spectator literature by several different authors (e.g., Sloan, 1979; Smith et al., 1981; Wann & Branscombe, 1993; Wann et al., 1999). The inventory recognizes that both positive and negative aspects of being a sports fan exist as illustrated by the behaviors and emotions of these fans. One of the most telling aspects of being a fan is the emotional involvement a person has with his/her team. Eisler (1997) presented a picture of the sports fan whose emotional balance hangs on his team's performance, with losses being devastating and causing real emotional pain. It is believed that this emotionality will have an impact on the fan's behavior.

Season tickets? Check. Wear team colors? Check. Talk to others about team? Check. (Ad nauseum, I suspect.)

Lost sleep?

Oh, baby. I couldn't sleep at all last night, but of course I had to get up today to get to the park for the baseball game. I should have napped during the rain delay.

And the baseball game? Let's check #11 (stress) and #14 (cheer regardless of performance), oh, and #17 (Watch games until end, if team is losing.)

How much time is spent on team interest?

All of it, of course.

Hey, I'm not drinking, fighting, booing, or hating. (Well, maybe a wee bit of hate toward the fighting, booing drunks.) It isn't having a negative impact.

Although...I gave actual serious consideration to going to a radio station and letting them shave my hair into a mohwak in exchange for a ticket to Friday's hockey game. Luckily I was able to score one in a less disfiguring way, but if push comes to shove...

Wow, twenty-five years

Seems like yesterday.

Paging Father Guido Sarducci

Secular and Spiritual Souvenirs Abound for Pope's D.C. Trip

I actually saw the Pope Build-a-Bear at Nationals Park. No Pope Soap on a Rope, though.

The web site offers a "Pope Benedict Eucharist Mug." First thing I thought: turns your coffee into wine!

In the late morning rain

It's probably just as well that it's cold and rainy, because I won't have to feel bad about not working in the yard today. I took up some of the bricks in the patio yesterday, the ones nearest the back step, and I think I found some clues to our little visitor: some scraps of rug and some bones. I have a bad feeling that the rodent door is under the step, so I'm still not sure how we are going to get to it to plug it up. In the meantime, I've ordered a Havahart trap. I've also asked the regular resident rats to stop sending out ultrasonic invitations to their wild cousins.

I do need to get away from the Internet, though. I keep looking at the sports section of every news outlet on earth, but especially the ones in Canada. I'm getting a giddly little tingle when I see (to use tsn.ca as an example):

Make room in the post-season for Ovechkin and the Capitals, who needed only 4 1/2 months to go from worst in the NHL to Southeast Division champions. Washington snagged its first post-season berth since 2003 - and put their Russian superstar and MVP candidate in hockey's showcase tournament for the first time - with a 3-1 victory over the Florida Panthers on Saturday night in their final regular-season game.

I realized that my last couple of posts may make it sound like I'm downbeat, but that's not so at all. And believe me, when I mention juggling baseball and hockey games, it ain't a complaint. If you'd have told me in spring of '04 that in '08 I'd have a baseball team I love in a glorious new stadium and the Caps winning the division, I'd have thought you were teasing.

So, good things come to those who wait. (I hope the critter in the basement ceiling isn't rubbing his paws thinking the same thing.)

Well, now.

I spent fifteen minutes cutting-and-pasting all of my obviously wrong predictions about the Capitals' playoff chances this season, only to click the wrong part of the screen and shut the window. Oh well. Suffice to say, I was wrong.

Of course if you have to respect the streak, maybe I should go on record now as saying there's no way we go all the way; they've had to play too hard at the end of the season, they'll run out of gas. And c'mon, some of these wins have been desperate gasps against teams that didn't make the playoffs. And anyway, the West is gonna eat the East for lunch.

Yeah, yeah, I'll say that.

But I'll also say, I've never seen a team change the way Washington did this season. It was like watching time-lapse photography of players maturing.

I am very happy. But I also had tears in my eyes tonight. I'm a little embarrassed about it, actually, that I'm so emotionally wrapped up in the fate of a guy whom I've met only in passing maybe three times, but there it is.

I have zero issue with Boudreau starting Huet every game right now. The Hot Goaltender phenomenon is a force, and you don't screw with it. It's nearly impossible to go deep in the playoffs without it, but with it, teams that make you say "Huh?" are hoisting the Cup.

For some weeks this season, the Caps blogosphere (not fond of the term, but it's late and I don't have a better one handy) was full of people calling for Kolzig's head...he's old, he's slow, he sucks, he's responsible for every loss. And yeah, a guy approaching 38 is not as agile as he was at 28. But while the shaky defense was learning how to clear the zone, he kept them in a lot of games.

I can think of one way these boys can thank him. I'll be damn grateful if they do.

Bandwagon

Last night was the first hockey game I've been to in almost a month. (Before that, it was March 9 when I took my niece, but even that game I was pinch-hitting during a week of chaos in the family.)

My father was surprised to hear I was going last night, since I usually won't on a weeknight. My mom told him "She wants to see Tampa Bay." Which was the truth...I made this morning's doctor's appointment three months ago and scheduled it so I'd be able to sleep in. It's not Tampa, it's Martin St. Louis. I'm not even ashamed of it anymore: I love watching that guy. But anyway, back to last night...

I'm not going to pretend that I haven't been really lukewarm toward the Capitals this year...or more accurately, for the past four years. I've been a touch...bitter?...since the lockout. Plus, I've been clinging stubbornly to memories of The Way We Were back at the Capital Centre when everything was good and pure, even the overtime playoff losses.

Somebody pointed out recently that the Caps traded Peter Bondra for Brook Laich. And I had to admit...yeah, that trade made sense. Here and now, you gotta like Laich...and all those guys I'd never heard of and wouldn't recognize in a parking lot. I'm tipping my hat to the management, because as bleak as it looked in November, we are now seeing that the '04 plan was sound.

So I was at the game last night, wearing my red shirt and jumping up a little quicker that usual after a goal, and I was having this internal debate.

You're jumping on the bandwagon, Nic.

I'm not! I saw my first game in 1974!

A month ago, the only player on this team you cared about was Kolzig.

I did sort of imply that after the trade deadline, didn't I?

I was watching Olie last night. (I had the flu the night he won his 300th; I really wish I had been there.) I saw him put the towel and water bottle up on the boards for Huet during breaks, which made me feel very sad.

I have heard that in the Canadiens' locker room there is inscribed a line from In Flanders Field: "To you from failing hands we throw/The torch; be yours to hold it high."

I thought of that last night. Passing the torch, or water bottle, as it were.

I also saw Kolzig talking to Huet, and to the defensemen on the bench. That made me feel a bit better. I never thought he'd be a diva, sulking if he wasn't in net, but I am glad to see him still contributing during the game.

And I saw him bang on the boards and high-five the guys on the ice after the goals. That made me enjoy the here and now a little more than I have been, even if it does look like I'm running along after the bandwagon trying to jump back on.

Must be the chocolate

I had a doctor's appointment this morning, and for the first time in forever, my blood pressure was under 120/80 (114/72, in fact). Since I've been eating at concession stands and not going to the gym (and even when I've been good about the gym, or when I was taking yoga, 120/80 was a stubborn point below which my bp refused to drop), I will conclude that the daily dose of chocolate is doing the trick.

(The doctor also said that I do not look my age. At first I was flattered, then I realized: in which direction? She assured me I look younger, so I am flattered again.)

Be wery wery qwiet

<Nonchalant whistle>

Ooooh, I know. That Nationals game today was a heartbreaker, losing in the tenth. After being up 5-0 in the first, they gave up six runs in the sixth (making it 7-6 Philadelphia), tied it in eighth, then walked in the winning run.

[I really need to go to bed, but in order to not fall asleep at the hockey game, I drank a Coke, so now I'm wiiiiide awake.

You wouldn't think a Coke would make a difference. Technically I guess I had three Cokes, given the super-sizing, and a few years ago I weaned myself away from my caffeine addiction. The only trouble with getting that monkey off my back is that now I'm ridiculously sensitive to stimulants. You'd think I was on amphetamine right now, but no, it was just a soft drink.

I'm going to be hating life at 5 am.]

Destiny

By definition, destiny is predetermined. Nobody can control it, you just watch it unfurl.

I may sound fatalistic at times, but I don't believe in destiny.

And there is no such thing as a jinx.

But I'm still not going to talk about it.