The scent of Little Caesars Pizza lingers in the air as grunts and groans are let loose as clothes can be heard ruffling about. Legs are all the eye can see within the room of jostling bodies. Twelve bodies- none particularly tiny- are shoved on two couches with space for only six between the two of them. Four additional bodies litter the wooden floor as a tired dog rests its head upon its master. The stairs do not escape the legion of bodies, three present in various tilted and twisted positions. The room is silent for a short while, but as soon as the national anthem reaches its finish there will be no stopping the passionate shouts. As a television screen lights up with images of bright white jerseys and a beautiful stadium of ice, not a soul is inattentive. No one present will be losing any interest in the game at hand until the final buzzer rings. My family is one which finds no sport more entertaining than that of hockey. The love of the game extends past my own home too, the same passion held by my aunts, uncles, cousins, and so forth. Each member of the family is a fan in a different capacity, some only enjoying watching games every once in awhile while others cannot fathom missing a single play. We’ve all got the power play dance memorized…show more content… My father has always been one to purchase season tickets to Blues games, making sure he gets the same seats year after year. In a solitary corner, they aren’t all that much, but to child me they were everything. Before I had even started attending kindergarten, I was alternating hockey games with my older sister. She would go to one with my dad, and the next game was all mine. I can even recall the horrid pink sheep wool sweater I used to wear under my jersey to avoid the biting temperatures within the rink. I’m not sure if I loved the same itself, or if I started out simply enjoying the time I spent alone with my father. Either way, he is the one to blame for my hockey
