Δαφνη Ευτυχια Αρθουρος

Sorry, I was too busy wondering why I was being pitted against a pro, being intimidated by that fact, trying to get the %$#@ing stick to do what I wanted it to, wondering how I was going to get the puck up the stairs, and worrying about leaving an unobstructed path to my own goal if the puck should bounce off a stair and tumble past me, to think about betrayal of fan-base and countrymen in a sport I don't even watch. And in the small corner of my brain that was aware it was dreaming, I was wondering why Gretzky in the first place and not Guy LaFleur, why stairs, and why the rules allowed vines growing where they could tangle the puck or onee's skates ... and why hockey.

(As if the dream weren't odd enough, I've got almost no connection to ice hockey. I've never watched it on television apart from a few minutes as a child when I realized I couldn't see the puck on a small black-and-white television with fuzzy reception. I've been to one game, which I'd completely forgotten about until I started writing this paragraph. I did get sucked into a fantasy hockey league and an intramural floor hockey team by a hockey-enthusiast roommate at the University of Dallas, but that's it.)

(And I just realized that the stick I was using in the dream was a right-handed one. During my very brief experience with floor hockey, what I found worked best for me was to use a left-handed stick with a right-handed grip and use my backhand as much as possible. What was I doing with a right-handed stick in the dream?)