By Delynda Pilon

Hockey fever must be contagious. My dad has always displayed symptoms of it but the rest of the family remained free of the virus until the Olympics started, and now the only thing on the tube in the evenings is hockey - but I’m not sure which is more entertaining to watch, the game or my dad.
My dad is the guy who jumps up and shouts ‘he scores’, with a mighty fist pump to the air whenever his favoured team gets a goal. In fact, according to the intensity of play, he gets closer and closer to the edge of his seat, muttering encouragement to the little flickering figures as the speed down the ice, verbally bashing the refs whenever they call something he doesn’t agree with and screaming in triumph when those little figures seem to have taken his good advice to heart and make a move he approves of.
Last week when the Americans kicked our Canadian men’s hockey team’s butt, dad went into deep mourning. (That may all change this weekend.)
Last night, during the gold medal game between the Canadian and American women, I thought he might have a coronary he was so excited.
Me: Dad, maybe we should watch something else. This much excitement can’t be good for your heart. Maybe we should turn it to Say Yes to the Dress (a fashion show that spotlights bridal shopping).
He literally growled at me, clutching that remote close to his chest.
Me: You never seem to get overexcited during Say Yes to the Dress.
By then his attention was back on the television. The commercial was over and the game began. He shushed me with a regal gesture and turned his full contemplative powers on the tube.
The station flickered and went off.
Dad glared at me as if I had done something but when he saw my look of real surprise he blamed the remote and began shaking it as though he would throttle it.
The station came back on and he got to jump and pump the air in joy twice as the women’s team scored against the Americans.
The first and second periods passed quickly and by the time the third period started my dad was in a real lather. According to him the Canadians were just trying to maintain the status quo and were not playing the best hockey they ought to. He told us that was not the way to play against the Americans. They might take advantage and, before you know it, the game would be tied and then lost.
He told those little flickering figures the same but they were tired of listening to him, I guess. He reminded them of great players in the past, including the Rocket Richard, whom he said won a hockey game during the last few moments of play after an opposing team got a little too cocky. (Apparently he listened to that game on a radio since no one had a television then.)
Still they didn’t listen. The Americans took the puck to the Canadian goal and, whack - one try was stopped - then, whack, two tries were stopped, then - whack....
The television went off.
Dad shook the remote, pumped his fists (not in joy) called the parentage of the satellite company owners into question and claimed, when the screen flickered back on, that it was all a conspiracy since the channel never goes out when there is a commercial on.
In spite of the fact the Canadian women were not able to get the full effect of my dad’s advice, they won gold - the first time for an Olympic Canadian hockey team on home soil.
And when the national anthem played I couldn’t ignore the shiver that slid up my spine nor the pride I felt. I guess I could make a joke about that, but I am not going to bother. What is so wrong about being proud of those women and the way they ‘stood on guard’ for this great country we are privileged to live in anyway? So, instead of being my usual smart-alecky self I swabbed a tear from my eye as my dad and son cheered. I know it was a moment we will never forget as a family.
Dad said his only regret is that we couldn’t have listened to the game on something a little more trustworthy than satellite television - like maybe a good old radio.