The Goonies
Från en artikel i NYT i söndags om bristen på hockey-romaner i den amerikanska litteraturen
It is like my favorite of the new hockey blogs, Goonblog, which purports to cover fighting in the N.H.L. but is, inadvertently, all about the inability of the site's chief writer, who seems to live near Lowell, Mass., to actually catch a fight on TV. He drinks a little too much, for one thing, and sometimes his girlfriend makes him watch a Bernie Mac movie, but even when he does make it through a whole Bruins game, no one seems to be fighting. "Where is all the emotion?" he demanded earlier in the season. "I realize the fighting will be down because of the rules, but where are the scrums after the whistle? I have seen one good face wash, and I am not happy about it."
Recently Goonblog acquired a digital video recorder, allowing him to record games and fast-forward to the fights later. He's happy. And yet, knowing Goonblog, one suspects something will soon go awry. That, too, is a lesson hockey teaches you, as you carry the puck up ice, carelessly, effortlessly, your head down, oblivious to the 220-pound Slovak coming up the boards.
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