Black Death
So it's official. The nails have been driven into the coffin and the old pine box with a tarnished cup belonging to Lord Stanley has been solemnly lowered into the ground. Attendees of the open casket memorial service were heard to say that the old trophy looked good, peaceful and at rest, but I think we all know that was just pleasantries. You could tell by the look in their eyes that most were wondering if there would a Jesus style resurrection. When September comes around, will we run down to the tomb to find the puck rolled away? Will there be some old hockey angels telling us to rejoice for our game has been raised?
The thing about this whole debacle is how meaningless it all is. With so much going on in the world around us, so much death, violence and uncertainty, the concern about whether a hockey league plays or not is pretty inconsequential. I think we all have more important things to fret about. What saddens me is the fact that the people involved in this collective bargaining agreement couldn't see that. Do they realize they play a game for a living? Do they realize how lucky they are that they even have the opportunity to do it? The petty squabbles of millionaires is not, or should not, be a major concern and for most folks it isn't. I feel bad for being so upset about the cancellation.
Perhaps the players and owners will come to realize what a blessing and privilege it is that they get to do what it is they do. Maybe they'll see that what they do brings a lot of joy and happiness to a lot of people. Maybe they'll pull their heads out of their asses and take care of business like responsible adults. Because if they don't, then that coffin with the old trophy in it is going to stay buried and it's going to be a lonely grave site as we all move on.