Hockey Night, Popcorn, & Dad

In days of yore, “Hello Canada and hockey fans in the United States and Newfoundland,” was a phrase heard weekly from Foster Hewitt during hockey season. Every Saturday night when there was a game Dad was in front of the television, a bowl of warm popcorn in one hand, a cold beverage in the other.

When we were young, Jude was the designated popcorn maker, and I was the complainer. I grumbled about everything. There was too much salt, not enough butter, or too many old maids. Dad was satisfied with whatever Jude prepared unless it was Jiffy Pop. He drew the line when it came to popcorn in a tin foil bag.

I was no more interested in hockey than I was in Howdy Doody, but the rest of the family gathered around the TV, eager to watch the Red Wings defeat the Montreal Canadiens. In those days, there were only six teams and everyone knew and could pronounce the names of the players. Nobody wore a helmet or multiple layers of protective clothing, and goalie masks were sniffed at as something for sissies.

Long before the second intermission I retired to bed, but the chances of falling asleep or reading a book were slim as “See the U.S.A. in your Chevrolet” rang through the upstairs. I would yell, “Turn down the TV,” but nobody paid any attention to me except to yell back, “Can’t hear you. The TV’s too loud.” So although I was in bed, I heard every word Hewitt said and knew the words to every advertisement.

Flash got me thinking about hockey night in Canada and the blasting of our television. Flash is a little deaf in one ear. My hearing is exceptional so I’m always asking him to lower the sound. Whenever he’s home I make the same request. The other evening I tried to read while he watched Fox News. I was so frustrated I hollered, “Stick your hearing aid in your ear and turn that miserable thing down.” Well, maybe I didn’t say “miserable” but you get the picture.

Father’s Day and the endless hockey season reminded me of Dad and his love of the sport. In his memory, I usually watch the last game to see who wins the Stanley Cup. With the volume at a moderate level, warm popcorn on my lap, and a Canada Dry Ginger Ale close by, I imagine the old days when Dad cheered as Hewitt yelled, “He shoots, he scores.” 

If your father is still with you and enjoys televised sports, make him some popcorn, bring him a cold drink, and let the television blast as loud as he likes. You’ll miss the noise when he’s gone.