Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Confessions of a Rink Rat OR We'll meet you in the Parking Lot!


I know a thing or two about Hockey Moms. I never had one of my own, but I was adopted by one of the greatestof all time. During the hockey season, I spent most weekends with my hockey mom and her family, either in

the car traveling to games or helping out in the donut shop that supported the family's hockey addiction. (Our weight-training program was dumping 50# bags of flour into the mixer.)

Mrs. C was the prototype, complete with cowbell. There
were others, but they all paled in comparison. Somewhere between my last Bantam and first Midget seasons, things changed noticeably. A new breed of Hockey mom started showing up at ice rinks. A monied group wearing furs, baubles and flawless make-up.

Suddenly status was involved in 6 a.m. ice times. The old army duffle bags gave way to specialized equipment carriers. The equipment maker's logo grew, even on the padding that was covered up. Ability took a back seat to having the latest, properly branded and matching logos. Elite teams founded and formed around the adults for whom the hockey season was their social life.

But 4 a.m. 5 a.m. 6 a.m. ice times? That just wouldn't do. The house leagues that birthed this new elite would have to take the earlier times so that brunch ettiquette could be observed. Prime time ice was valuable and not fitting for skaters in rags. But I digress.

The enthusiasm shown by Mrs. C was for the effort, the skills and the joy players displayed on the ice. What mattered to the elite was winning. Being "better" than the other team even if that meant bending the rules. When things did not go well for their team on the ice, especially against an inferior social group, the adults seemed to lose it.

When the Republicans nominated Sarah Palin and used her Hockey Mom experience as a positive, I wasn't picturing Mrs. C and her cowbell. Instead I recalled all the parents who suck the joy out of youth sports. The ones who tell their social circle at little league games that they are going to run for the board saying they want to make things better. But not finishing the sentence with the truth; "For MY kid".

They could give two shits about better for everyone as long as their kid is the all-star. Their campaigns are predictably elitist appealing to the vanity of their supporters. The riff-raff they seek to dispel from the
programs, the economic cleansing they so desperately desire are communicated tacitly.

"If you want to be popular, hang with us." Sure, we'll fuck you over, but for the time period leading up to the vote, we'll let you sit with the cool people.

Sure you can try to run against and defeat us, but if you do, don't count on the wannabe cools for support. They'll do anything we ask for their shot at reaching our status.

Leaving the rink after a particularly satisfying victory over an elite team I had refused to join, I was met by a kid I'd known forever. His father was there too. Telling the kid to kick my ass. We looked at each other for an awkward moment, shook hands and went our seperate ways. The Dad screamed threats and obscenities at me long after I was out of earshot and smacked his own kid around for being a chickenshit.

That in a nutshell is my basic problem with Reproblicans in general and Boris and Natasha MeCain and Palin specifically.

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