A weekend of love. Hockey love, that is.

Land of the free. Home of the brave.

America was celebrated this weekend. Hockey style. There’s sales to prove it. Check your local ads.

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Love #1

The Gopher men swept the Beavers from Bemidji right out of Mariucci. A win, a sweep, deserves love any weekend. Especially this weekend. A critical weekend for the Gophers who were on the “bubble” in the pairwise rankings, but whose sweep this weekend worked them up to #8 (tied with Maine – coincidence?).

All four Gopher lines were clicking; creating chances and capitalizing on them. They showed up for a big weekend – in America and the WCHA. And I’d like to think that they were showing off, just a bit, for members of the 2002 National Championship Gopher team in attendance on Saturday night. Gophers who were honored and applauded for what they did 10 years ago this April. Against Maine (coincidence?). Of course, this celebration was missing a few Gophers who were unable to attend because of their pro careers (Contributing to the stats: Minnesota born-players active in the NHL = 46).

I hope it was inspiring for the current boys wearing the “M.” Boys who were literally boys back in 2002. To see some incredible Gopher greats walk out onto the ice and stare up at the crowd that cheered them on 10 years ago. Although, the Gophers on the roster right now have only to look behind them at their coaches for insight and inspiration into that championship team.

Lucia, Guentzel, and Poultony were all there in 2002.

They lived the moments that we watch highlight after highlight, re-broadcast after re-broadcast (speaking of Gopher and American hockey, did anybody else watch the re-broadcast a few weeks ago after the special on Herb Brooks?!).

I’m not going to jinx anything or speculate about what could happen this year. Frankly, a lot could happen. The WCHA is full of movers and shakers; any one of the contenders could easily play the role of underdog and take the jackpot. We’ve all seen it before in this league of extraordinary men.

All in all, it was a weekend to celebrate; former and current Gophers who know what it takes to survive and thrive in this cut-throat world we call American college hockey.

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Love #2

Golden boys were not contained to Minneapolis only this weekend. They were all over this great nation. Representing their franchise and country.

From the lakes of Minnesota, born and raised, hockey-bred and groomed, players who cut their teeth on Minnesota ice skated and scored in important NHL games.

Names that are so familiar to Minnesotans were called around the league by Doc and Eddie, Pierre, and crew.

T.J. Oshie. David Backes. Zach Parise. Nick Leddy. Matt Cullen. Chad Rau. Stu Bickel. Ryan McDonagh. Michael Sauer. Paul Martin. Alex Goligoski. Jeff Taffe. Dustin Byfuglien. Mark Stuart. Blake Wheeler. Keith Ballard. Erik Johnson.

All of those guys were born into greatness right here. In Minnesota.

A mid-western state in this great country. A state that knows hard work and determination.

And all of those guys were on the ice today. Playing alongside fellow Minnesotans. Playing against former teammates.

Minnesota was present and accounted for in an all-American hockey weekend.

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Love #3

A town in southern, Minnesota is on our maps. Our Minnesota maps. But due to exposure – print, television, and online – this town is quite possibly on your map, too.

Fairbault, MN. According to neighboring towns, attempting to arouse a response, this town smells funny. I have heard debates on such a matter from young and old, male and female. Unfortunately I cannot vouch for either side. My recollections of Fairbault contained no smell – good or bad.

Smell is hardly the reason this town is on the map.

It is on the hockey map because of the players the hockey programs (girls and boys) produces. A hockey program I have blogged and blabbed about at some point.

The NHL Network featured the college-NHL-player producing program by featuring some of the most notable players presently in the NHL.

Zach Parise. Jonathan Toews. Sidney Crosby.

Before they were Devils, Blackhawks, and Penguins; they were Sabres at Shattuck-St. Mary’s in our up-for-debate-smelly-town of Fairbault, MN.

All were noted (in today’s NHL feature) as hard-working (like we couldn’t tell), serious students, who were likable guys around the historic campus (that may or may not smell funny).

Parise’s last season (2001-2002) opened the gates for Crosby’s only season (2002-2003) which made way for Toews (2004-2005).

And those stars, at the prep, college, and pro levels, have paved the way to Fairbault, MN for countless other boys and girls (Crosby’s little sis is a goalie at SSM).

Smelly or not, you have to admit that Fairbault is a pretty great town.

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There you have it. A measly three reasons why I was feeling the love this weekend.

If you know me at all, you know that I could go on and on about the love thrown out for Minnesota by Liam, Mike, and Pierre.

I won’t spend sentences talking about the college hockey alums (Gopher, Sioux, Badger, and other WCHA notables) playing in this great American weekend. Against or with teammates, these former NCAAers suited up to play the game that got them through their college years.

This was a great weekend in the state of hockey. And for the game. All the players who wish to play for the Red, White, and Blue.

In honor of Hockey Weekend in America, I believe tomorrow is a holiday.

I hit send and haven’t heard back: my e-mail to local columnist

On Sunday, I ripped through the morning’s paper. Looking for news. Hockey news. Because Saturday had been a big day in Minnesota hockey. And I wanted to read about it.

But I couldn’t. Because no one wrote about it.

There was one measly reference to HDM2012 in the Wild’s recap. But nothing significant.

So, I took matters into my own hands. Or so I’d like to think. And expressed my freedom of speech; my opinion on the lack of hockey coverage.

Here is the real letter I e-mailed to a local columnist on Sunday evening. I have yet to hear back from him. Do you think my e-mail warrants a response?

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Dear Sports Columnist,

Though I’m of the Facebook, iPhone, and online news generation, I am a loyal ink-on-my-fingers newspaper reader. More specifically, as a Minnesota hockey supporter and fan, I thoroughly enjoy soaking in the sports section every high school, college, and NHL season.

Not only do I read the game highlights and stats, information necessary for any sports fan, I ponder the prose and poetry found in the family-friendly stories of real hockey kids, moms, dads, coaches, teammates, and fans. Stories that Minnesotans live and breathe.

Sadly, the day after a heart-warming Hockey Day Minnesota, I opened my Pioneer Press to find no such stories. No anecdotes about Jack Jablonski. No  photos of ice rinks and rink rats captured by photojournalists. No sentimental or thought-provoking words written for readers to absorb.

Was Hockey Day Minnesota 2012 not newsworthy?

Are the people and places of Minnesota hockey not deserving of articles and word counts?

If a story as big as the 130-some thousand dollars raised for the Jack Jablonski fund doesn’t make the cut, what other hockey stories will the Pioneer Press overlook and ignore?

Sports writers and journalists, like yourself, talk about traditions and legacies. But traditions must be passed on. And I believe that your position and platform in Minnesota is a mighty place to share those stories of tradition and sportsmanship to the hockey kids, moms, dads, coaches, teammates, and fans. Stories that they, that we, as Minnesotans, can relate to.

Patiently waiting real Minnesota hockey stories,

Megan Nyberg

Sent from my iPhone

The Minnesota Way on a Minnesota Day

FSNorth

Jack Jablonski has done it. He’s brought our entire state closer. Brought out the sportsmanship. The generosity. The love and support. Of every true-blooded Minnesotan.

Hockey fans and non-hockey fans, we’re all on board. We’re all supporting him. His courageous efforts, his never-ending smile, and his heart for others.

All of this support has been pretty evident since his life-altering injury in December. But the amount of money raised on Saturday during Hockey Day Minnesota for the Jack Jablonski fund - that support, that love, that generosity – was on full display.

Numbers don’t lie and neither do I.

$134, 045.

That’s how much money was raised in a day. A hockey day. In Minnesota.

The money, every last penny, is going toward Jack Jablonski. Toward his recovery. Toward his efforts. Toward a safer ice for all players.

That’s the Minnesota Way. To go on with the show – to play another game (16 hours worth of games). To support one of our own. To come together for a cause. To reach into our pockets to help out a neighbor.

Fitting. To have a day dedicated to hockey. Dedicated to helping a prep player.

If you ask me, I think what this world needs is more days like Saturday. More Minnesota Days filled with hockey where helping hands are raised and ready to cheer on one of our own.

 

 

 

 

 

Christmas came early

Wild Vs. Blackhawks 12-14-11 MN Meditations Original Photo

Santa came early this year. And though he didn’t bring me a pair of hop-along-boots or a pistol that shoots, I will forgive him. For what he brought me, was far superior. Far superior.

The gift. Oh, the gift. Hockey tickets to last Wednesday’s Wild Vs. Blackhawks game (I realize how non-news breaking this post is).

Scratching plans for Wednesday night was a no-brainer. I communicated my cancellation. Some objected, but I wasn’t going to budge. Not on this gift.

There have been too many missed games, on all levels, this season. Holiday season. Hockey season. Cancer & Chemo season.

And so, on Wednesday night, I was at the X. Traffic was conquered. Parking was successful. Tickets were picked up. A program was purchased to support youth hockey. Seats were found.

And I was there. Fully engaged.

As a Hawks fan in Wild territory, I had to watch my back. Not that Wild fans are animals, but this is Minnesota. I’m smart enough not to mess with Minnesotan’s and their hockey. I’ve been in that position before – cheering for the opposing team in their barn; hiding my true colors. So, I knew my place at the X on Wednesday and sat tight-lipped all night.

Especially after Hossa scored the Hawks’ first goal. Or was it after Frolik scored the second Hawks’ goal? Or maybe it was after Toews’ scored their third goal?

After whatever goal was scored by whoever it was who found the back of the net, the Hawks fans in my section jumped up and cheered. About to join them, I stopped dead in my tracks when a Wild fan, unprovoked, lit into the Hawks’ fans with F-bombs and a “Want to take this outside?” threat.

This was not a guy to mess with. He looked like the kind of guy who makes his own moonshine, sits on his porch with a rifle and a mutty-dog ready to shoot whoever walks by, skins his own squirrels for stew, and bathes once a year in the creek. Not to mention the images I conjured up of him sitting in a county jail, drunk and disorderly for illegally shooting the neighbor’s cat. And I don’t even like cats.

Tight-lipped, cold (there was fan that blew cold air on my face all night long – I felt like I was watching an outdoor game!), and completely content, I watched Chicago battle along the boards in my hometown. I didn’t completely root against the hometown boys. Grins spread across my face at the sight and sound of Minnesota fans singing their anthems and cheers; booing their boo’s (especially after the refs called Cullen for “unsportsmanlike”). Cut me some slack, I’m not un-Minnesotan. I just happen to cheer for the Blackhawks.

Though I do not know what gifts I will open up on Christmas morning, I do know this: tickets to the game were the best gift. Yes, it involved hockey and the Hawks. But it was more than that. It was the gift – the gift of time, the thoughtfulness that went into the gift.

It was the gift giver – my mom, sick with fighting cancer with chemo, drummed up the idea. She was the genius behind the tickets. She knew that it would make my day. She knew what it would mean to me. A silly game.

Wednesday night was the night before her Round 3 of the Red Devil drug that makes her seasick-y and exhausted. And she stayed up for all three periods, OT, and the SO, so she could send me a text after the game telling me she was glad I was able to attend. That’s a mother’s love.

While she had chemo administered via IV on Thursday afternoon, I thought of her. Of how she puts my needs above her own. That’s a mother’s love.

When she called me after her treatment, she shared news. News from my mom has been tough to swallow this fall, but not Thursday’s news. Her oncologist delivered an early Christmas present to my mom – to my entire family – when he told her that her tumor has shrunk. That’s right. The chemo is working – it went home from work one day and told its chemo family, “Honey, I shrunk the tumor!” And the bow on top of the Lexus for our family is that my mom is not the carrier of the BRCA1 or BRCA2 gene.

Hawks won in a SO. Mom’s tumor is shrinking.

That’s all I wanted for Christmas.

That’s a daughter’s love.

MN Meditations original photo

MN Meditations original photo

MN Meditations original instagram photo