Saturday 10 January, San José, Costa
Rica
They Don't Play Hockey
in Costa Rica
By Alan Bass
Well, I have returned
from my week long winter
vacation in the
wonderful Costa Rica.
And after nine days in
the Central American
country, after seeing
numerous wildlife,
including seven foot
iguanas, poisonous
frogs, I have made the
following discovery:
They don’t play hockey
in Costa Rica.
Not that I never assumed
this beforehand, but it
is now confirmed. Okay
fine, so I just revealed
the obvious, but let me
explain what I had to go
through in order to
discover this
extraordinary piece of
information.
January 1st, while the
Chicago Blackhawks and
Detroit Red Wings were
battling it out in
Wrigley Field in the
second annual Winter
Classic, I was on an
airplane looking at the
Gulf of Mexico. When I
arrived, the first thing
I wanted to do was find
out the final score of
the game. Three days
later, I discovered
another secret about
Costa Rica: there was a
lack of internet.
So on January 4th, while
on a safari down the
river in the jungle, and
after getting crapped on
by a white-faced monkey,
my first thought was,
“I’d so rather be
watching the Winter
Classic.”
My fears were allayed
when I discovered it was
an unbelievable game,
and I took consolation
in the fact that I had
taped it. Thank god for
technology.
I discovered a few days
later that the Flyers
were in first place in
the Atlantic Division
for the first time, and
I jumped for joy. Little
did I know that I was a
few days behind, and the
Rangers had already
re-taken the lead.
Next, while in the
Paradisus hotel, playing
water polo with numerous
other tourists from
every country
imaginable, I discovered
that you get more
injuries playing water
polo and pool volleyball
than you do playing
hockey. One knee twist,
one arm scratch scar,
one branch-ter (like a
splinter, only bigger),
and numerous drinks to
take the edge off
(drinking age=eighteen)
later, I had discovered
another thing: I missed
hockey desperately.
As I took a volleyball
in the gut from a
16-year old girl who was
surprisingly more
powerful than I
expected, I felt three
things: First, disgust
that I was in pain from
a girl younger than me.
Also known as wussiness.
Two, angry for revenge,
which I got when I
spiked the ball on her
head. I’m good at this
girl stuff, by the way.
And three, the feeling
of wanting to just sit
back on the couch and
watch a hockey game.
The last night, as I
pretended I was playing
hockey, only to have
some girl walk in and
look at me like I was
crazy (which of course,
I am not), I stood there
in my Alexander Ovechkin
pose, praying that she
would go away (I don’t
need to pray to make the
ladies avoid me, don’t
fret, Bleacher
Creatures). Also,
watching the BCS
National Championship
game in Spanish was
hilarious, hearing the
announcer yell, “Senor
Tebow!!
GOOOOOOOOOOALLLLLL!!!!!”
Classic.
Don’t get me wrong, the
trip was fantastic, I
loved it, and I would go
again in an instant.
But they should learn
the game of hockey.
Ah, how I have missed my
Bleacher Report… |
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