I've never been much of a sports fan, probably because I stink at sports, unless you include pingpong and billiards.
Soccer, volleyball, swimming, racquetball. I've tried them all, with varying degrees of defeat.
Baseball is my worst. A righty in golf (putt putt, mind you) but a lefty in everything else, I'm not sure how to hold a bat. I can watch a game, no problem. But don't make me play. I might cry. It happened once when I almost had to fill in for a player who was late for a game.
Please, take my first child instead.
OVER THE YEARS, I've learned to cope. No more mighty jocks to dodge in high school. No more team tryouts. I've got co-workers as teammates and bosses as coaches. To stay in shape, I go to the gym.
I have hockey.
Watching the Lightning has awakened the athletic animal in me. The timing couldn't be better. After 11 seasons, the team finally has a realistic shot at the Stanley Cup. For the first time, the Bolts have clawed to the third round.
The Lightning face the Philadelphia Flyers for Game 1 of the Eastern Conference Final on Saturday. I'll be there, in my Ice Ice Baby shirt with Swarovski crystals from Go Girl Sportswear. Annoyingly loud but effective thunder sticks in one hand, an $8 beer in the other.
KNOCK ME for jumping on a winning bandwagon. I don't mind. The Lightning need all the fans they can get. Sadly, few games have sold out.
Admittedly, location has a lot to do with my excitement. My seat is a few rows up from the ice, right next to the net. I feel the players crush bodies against the glass and wince at their blood on the ice. Once, while I was sitting in the second row, one hit seemed so close I spilled my beer.
Seat neighbors called me a rookie. Dang, they were right.
In the course of the season, I've waved to Marty St. Louis on the ice and caught the eye of Chris Dingman - I think. After the games, I've talked to Vinny Lecavalier at Channelside's Splitsville and hobnobbed with Lightning management at Shots, the bar outside the Forum.
That's the great thing about hockey in Tampa. Compared with the Bucs, you can become a veteran fan in no time. No one brags about supporting the team when fans wore paper bags over their heads. No one remembers the old colors.
The Lightning's history is short. And there's something about ice in Florida. Many people can't combine the two, even those from the North. Unlike in Minnesota and Michigan, hockey's tough to catch on in the South.
I've been to some Bucs games and, yes, even a Devil Rays game. Somehow, they aren't the same. No blaring of the Louis Louis - oops, Louie Louie - song when St. Louis scores a goal. No Zamboni cruising the ice between periods. No Hulk Hogan firing up the crowd.
Thank goodness for supersized seasons.
Friends, family and co-workers have noticed my puck obsession. They roll their eyes when I refer to the Lightning as we and can't imagine me ordering cable to get ESPN.
At work, I decorated my cubicle with thunder sticks and bobble heads of Dave Andreychuk, Richards and Lecavalier. I left my St. Louis one at home, fearing it was too valuable to display in public. I love my co-workers but ...
Last week, my boss brought me a hankie (Canada's version of a thunder stick) from a game in Montreal, our latest conquest. To think, I'm probably one of the few Lightning fans to have one.
For a second, it beat getting a pay raise.
Then I slapped myself.
I proudly hung the hankie from the ceiling with a sign that says Under the Rug 4-0 Bolts in honor of our four-game sweep of Montreal. No one has objected, at least not to my face.
In a month, the season will be over. Maybe the Bolts will have custody of the coveted Cup. Maybe they won't.
