Of course, one would expect me to feel quite detached from a game of padded men, sticks in hand, chasing a small disc of rubber (Oh, man; I hope many of you caught that). But not until I began to feed off of the energy and the, excuse me, testosterone-driven tension did I begin to take actual interest in anything.
Little did I know what was in store. Now, to get this cleared up, the teams that were playing (LA Kings v. Phoenix Coyotes) were in no way spectacular.
There were four fights in all. The first was quite uncalled for, two men just grabbing at each others' jerseys, wishing to take out the other in one blow. The response to that was quite enormous if I do say so myself (and what in hell do I know?). But as the fights and game continued to progress, the intensity seemed to have increased as well. By the third fight, I wanted to see as much of that violence as humanly possible.
All in all, 300 and this latest game made me want to do only one thing: to fight, and to do so like a man.
But to end on a lighter and, daringly, more feminine note:
I really don't think there's much I can say about Michael Cammalleri.
