Lost Love – An ode to the old NHL playoffs

The NHL returned, albeit quietly, from its locked out 2005 season. But its playoffs — exciting, powerful, addictive — remained lodged in oblivion.

The last two playoffs? Imposters. Unwanted guests that have paralyzed a once-great yearly occasion.

This season’s NHL playoffs scored record-low American television ratings, especially during the Stanley Cup Finals — supposedly the most exciting playoff round. NBC, in one instance, interrupted a game with the Preakness’ pre-race coverage. Game 3 of the Finals had NBC’s worst rating since a “The West Wing” rerun several years ago.

Sad, so sad.

I used to love watching the NHL playoffs more than all other championships.

Back then, before the playoffs began, my father, brother and I competed in a pool between us three. Each of us, one at a time, picked several centers, wings, defensemen and two goaltenders from playoff teams. If a position player recorded a goal or assist, we gave ourselves a point for each. If a goaltender recorded a win, another point; a shutout got you two points. The person with the most points at the end of the playoffs won the pool.

It wasn’t just the pool that made watching the playoffs exciting. I loved the action. You could see urgency in the players’ eyes, their do-or-die attitude.

I watched every Detroit Red Wings playoff game in the late 1990s, when they won two Stanley Cups, and I gazed at the television as if each game’s outcome decide the world’s fate. When puck met ice, that game became the most important thing in my life.

Waiting for a goal was like waiting for a teacher to call on you in school. You know its coming; you just don’t know when. At times it drove you crazy. My father and I would, sometimes, start celebrating before the puck went in. As the scoring chance unfolded, our hands began inching skyward, anticipating a goal, then they paused, waiting to see the result…

The puck goes in!

Our hands would rocket straight up, as if trying to grab the stars. My father, amazingly just as the puck crossed the goal line, would blurt out a sharp, “Score!” I would chime in, “YES!” The revolving light behind the goal, comparable to ones atop state police cars, shot red beams in all directions and a groaning horn exhaled several times as “Rock and Roll, Part 2” filled the air. Each time, I felt a cool, relieving sensation rush through my veins, like right after a successful first date.

The shot doesn’t go in!

We still raise our arms, thinking the puck found the twine. My father would say, “Sco..,” stopping before finishing the word. We would stare in disbelief, hearts thumping in our ears, as play continued.

It had excitement. It had tension. It had doubt. It had joy. It had it all, every beauty of sport.

And I miss it.

The recent NHL playoffs haven’t come close to past years, lacking the magic that used to make them great. No excitement. No tension. Just a game stumbling along like a zombie, one which, according to the Neilsen ratings, generates less interest than “Wife Swap.”

The NHL, frankly, needs to wake up. It has become, in the minds of American sports fans, little more than a nightly punchline. That’s not how a great game should resurface after dropping below sea level for a year.

Baseball locked out in 1994 and then, against fan outrage, cancelled that year’s World Series. But baseball hasn’t disappeared since its return.

The NHL can follow suit. It can rise again, stronger than ever. Improve the marketing, the exposure, get people talking about it and — bang!– hockey’s back. By giving the game a steady pulse again, the playoffs will then become more interesting — the way it should be.

And the playoffs, when resurrected, would once again be something to behold.