It’s now mid-August.
In a few weeks, the Sabres’ prospects will be hitting the ice in Traverse City, Michigan. In about a month, they’ll be hitting the First Niagara Center ice for training camp. Hockey is just around the corner, and to be honest, it’s the furthest thing from my mind.
I don’t know about you, but I’ve had one hell of a summer.
Over the last few years, with the local hockey team willing itself to new levels of my personal apathy through everything from on-ice performance to professional incompetence, I’ve fallen in love again. Not with the Sabres, my grade school soulmate, the burden I’ve carried. But with American soccer.
(Don’t worry this isn’t really a soccer post, so you can keep reading. Or don’t. Like I really give a fuck, you already clicked the link.)
I’ve always loved traveling for games. I started going to Sabres road games as soon as I could. I’ve been fortunate enough to hit almost half of the league’s buildings for games where my team is the home’s opponent. It’s something that keeps the fan’s soul fresh, experiencing something new, developing that bond with the team. Going to home games is great, and many are blessed with the ability to attend them regularly, but there’s diminishing value in being in FNC these days. But every time you wear your jersey in another team’s building, you get that rush that just maybe you’re going farther for your team. It’s a badge of honor.
That brings me to soccer. Read the rest of this entry