By: Chad “The Bear” Powell
Oh man! This hockey game is the best thing ever! Goals! Hotdogs! Sitting in the stands cheering! AW SHIT! Are you seeing that? Those all stars are brawling like animals. Ah! Yeah! OH! All that raw, masculine energy spewing out of our boys! Nailing each other up against the boards! Mhm! Uh! C’MON!! KISS ALREADY!!!
It’s a face off: Austin Mathews versus Connor McDavid. It’s mere moments before the puck drops. Both men are poised. Two mighty stags ready to strike, staring into each other’s steely eyes – focused and determined. Sweat slowly drips down their brows but wait – what’s that? A spark? A desire? An unspoken attraction? Time stands still. The crowds’ cheers fade away leaving only the syncopated beats of two hearts longing for the same thing. They hold each other’s gaze. McDavid’s school boy smirk meets Mathews’ shy smile. They shift – a proclamation? No, a promise: “will you make the first move…and if so, will you be tender?” McDavid leans in, lips quivering with anticipation. Just before they touch…
…the whistle blows and the game begins!
WHAO! What a rush. That puck drop was intense, no? This will-they-won’t-they vibe is going to be an excellent throughline for this game!! Up next: a power play: Sidney Cosby is skating like a beast. It’s a breakaway! He’s going to score! The crowd roars!! Suddenly from behind, Crosby is hooked with a stick! FUCK!! He trips and falls…
…straight into the burly arms of Alex Ovechkin. Crosby is momentarily dazed and embarrassed but also elated? What is the feeling? So sudden? So new? Staring up at Ovechkin, backlit by the stadium lights, his angel, Ovechkin removes his helmet and releases his luscious prince charming curls. He gently caresses the rugged scar along Crosby’s cheek and they share a timid chuckle – “This feud between us? Something to tell our kids one day, I guess…” Crosby opens his mouth to respond but Ovechkin is quicker. He grabs the nape of Crosby’s neck, and without removing his teeth guard, his lips find their mark – honest and true. He shoots! He scores! In more ways than one…
The ref blows the whistle – two minutes for roughing! But they don’t care. We’re all just a crowd of Victorian nobles watching two newly wed royals consummate their marriage.
What’s that? Brad Marchand and Victor Hedman are duking it out? Helmets are off, gloves are off, jerseys are off, pants off, nothing but their jock straps as they roll around on the ice. As Marchand pushes Hedman up against the boards, we all start pounding on the glass, chanting: DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! Voices raw. Tears streaming down our faces. Then, there is a moment of realization, a sudden awareness that they’re touching. Marchand is about to deliver the finishing blow, when Hedman plants a rough one on him. Is that fireworks?
Wow. What a game. I’m going to be thinking about this for a long time. It’s nice to see all the homoerotic undertones behind this gorgeous game come to the surface, ya know?
Up next, Men’s soccer would be so much better if they just played bare ass.
