I’m afraid I’ve come down with something recently. From all indications, it could very well be a severe case of Shark Fever.

When I was a teenager, I loved high school football and basketball. I don’t think I ever missed a home game. To this day, I can close my eyes and imagine the unmistakable fragrance of Noxema skin cream in the air. Oh yeah, and the masculine scent ofEnglish Leather cologne as everybody tried to look and smell their very best at the games. My high school memories are full of those sensory cues and to this day, it seems that they can intoxicate and transport me. Because of those happy memories, even though I don’t spend a lot of time as a spectator—deep down, I’m something of a sucker for a sports event.

When I went off to college, the years were pretty turbulent, so I took a a break, something of a long hiatus from organized sports. Oh, yes, I DID grow up in Ohio, and my university WAS the “Cradle of Coaches,” so I had every reason to stay the course. However, sports didn’t have quite the same allure as those earlier days. I was busy with other stuff. In the late 1960s there were lots of distractions.

Years later, both of our kids played high school sports. One, basketball. One, volleyball. I loved going to their games, but there wasn’t the same enthusiasm I remembered among the fans. Strange. Here were teams playing their hearts out with only a handful of parents and spectators in the stands. What a shame. Then our son rowed crew in college and we enjoyed his regattas, but of course, there ARE no stands and no collected fan base, so that was an experience of a very different kind. For sure, no one was doing the wave along the banks. In fact, the only waves were the ripples on the Charles River. Years passed in my life with minimal sports involvement.

Then, everything changed recently when our daughter became a San Jose Sharks fan, and we started watching the games on TV together. I was amazed with the skill and dexterity of the players. . . and the refs! Skating backwards out of the skirmish is pretty incredible to me. I admit that I have some of the skinniest ankles in the world, so I can’t even imagine standing upright on skates for more than 5 seconds at a time. Yet those guys run, turn, and do all sorts of antics on those dangerously sharp and slippery blades—for more than an hour. Whew!

So here’s what I’ve figured out: hockey is a combination of football, as in “off sides”; basketball, as in “shots and rebounds”; golf—as a sport where you swing club-like sticks at a small object; rugby—where it gets a little crazy at times; and of course, roller-derby. I remember watching women roller skating frantically around that small oval track—all the while trying to beat the stuffing out of each other. Now that I think of it, hockey even has a bit of Big Time Wrestling mixed in there as well. What a strangely attractive sport! So hockey brings together elements of ALL those quirky games into one action-packed competition that really holds my attention.

I also like the global community that hockey represents. The announcer seems to be reading the last names from an international directory. Now, I know that the players are recruited from anywhere and everywhere the talent pops up. But, I like to imagine that SOMEONE says (just to be global), “Let’s draft a player from some other country. We don’t have anyone from that part of the world yet.” He/she then sticks another little round-tipped push-pin into a world map on the cork-board, indicating that all countries are equally represented. How continental!

I like that the San Jose team is called the Sharks. That makes perfect sense, being here on the west coast. And of course, the fans dress to coordinate with the team. Last night I heard an announcer call them, The Men of Teal. That’s pretty funny, taken directly from Superman’s description, as the Man of Steel. I don’t know who decided to make the shark mascot swim over those cool teal background shapes while chomping a hockey stick, but I guess it’s supposed to conjure up images of the powerful beauty of the blue-green ocean—kind of serene yet intimidating at the same time.

Today, there’s a matinee match. When I asked our daughter why, she said that lots of people like to watch sports all weekend long. Hmmm, that’s pretty serious stuff! But then, I closed my eyes and and felt that familiar allure of sporting competitions calling me. I pictured my senior class at a bonfire before a big game against our number one rival. Suddenly, I was sure that I caught the unmistakable whiff of Noxema wafting across the family room—from the direction of the TV cabinet! I settled into the sofa and took my position: armchair hockey ref.