I am much more of a fan of the Winter Olympics than Summer. Who doesn't love watching bobsled and luge? Ice skating? Hockey? Biathlon -- skiing and shooting? Who remembers the glory of Eddie the Eagle? The Miracle on Ice?
I have a television subscription (not cable) that allows me access to a lot of channels. After a very long week at work, I drag myself home on Friday afternoon and settle on the couch, hoping for something mindless and mildly entertaining. An old western, a Hallmark movie, an old sit-com, perhaps.
As I flip through the channel guide, a movie jumps out at me. An old one, but one I can't resist.
Slap Shot.
Nancy Dowd, the writer, was born the same place I was: Framingham, Massachusetts. I already feel a kinship toward her early vision of the world. The fact that she used her own relatives' hockey experiences and a real team and real characters in this, makes it even better.
This is as real as it gets.
So, strap in for the Olympics, if you dare, but remember: Old-time hockey (no helmets, limited pads, bare knuckles) brought the elegance you see today, the finesse, the timing, and the raw emotions.
Oh, and sex appeal. Paul Newman in leather pants? Now, that's worth the price of admission.
