Each year, Puck Daddy shares a list of “What We’re Thankful for in Hockey.” You can find their 2013 version here, and the 2012 list here. This is inspired by the thoughts from Wysh and co, plus my observations from a week away.
This past week I was in Atlanta, Georgia. It is a city that sits in the middle of the American South, yet seems removed from the quiet rolling agriculture so pictured in a stereotypical southern setting. It is a place of loud bustle, a perpetual motion airport, and giant skyscrapers. The sprinkle of southern accents sets it apart from northern and western locales. It is a diverse and global place, an economic hub, a site of historical and modern importance.
In the heart of the downtown, a quick seven or eight subway stops north of Hartsfield-Jackson is an homage to sport. It’s all tucked in a convenient single area. At the north end and stretching out into the surroundings is the Centennial Olympic Park. It’s a reminder of 1996, filled with an assortment of ring imagery and text on plaques that recalls the pure spirit of the Olympics (even if it’s something tarnished in recent years). The display is completed by a statue of Pierre de Coubertein, a key figure in the modern Olympic Games. Just west of the park is the College Football Hall of Fame, relocated from South Bend. It features the kind of branding associated with the game today, but is a place of honor nonetheless. Further west and south is the Georgia Dome, itself an ode to a number of sports. The obvious juggernaut National Football League is at home here and is the current king of American sporting success. Somewhat lesser inhabitants (depending on perspective) are college football’s Peach Bowl, and NCAA Basketball’s Final Four.
Tucked between all of them sits Philips Arena. To me, this was a place to pay respects. It is truly a mausoleum to the sport I love most. And it is also a place of intense contradiction: the arena is not dead, it is not quieted.
Philips Arena comes to life 41 times a year as the Atlanta Hawks of the National Basketball Association tip off in its confines. The NBA signage around the building suggests at least standard propagandized support, although I can’t provide witness to its inner atmosphere. Musical event ads lend further color beyond the red and blue basketball displays. You want Usher, The Black Keys, Billy Joel? Eat it up, Atlanta. Here are the national acts, streaming through at a solid clip. The arena sits comfortably between its counterparts, seemingly unfazed by an occupant’s move to Winnipeg. The people come and go.
The visible exterior of this city does not mourn the loss of its hockey team. The gaps left in the absence of the Thrashers are not obvious with a one week scan. Local sporting stores don’t feature hockey apparel in obvious locations (you can find a few Bruins t-shirts if you dig behind the New York Mets gear). Sports bars weren’t airing hockey and LeBron featured on multiple nights. The only signs of puck at the airport were on the way out (Blues, Penguins, and Lightning represented in the concourse).
It’s now late November, time for the annual Thanksgiving reflection point in the National Hockey League. You’re going to read about the depressing reality of the Blue Jackets’ season to date (sitting in that worst kind of position: bad results with bad process).
When you do open the paper (or a blog) about the Jackets, consider Atlanta. Consider the city that shed hockey over the past three years. That we feel pain in Columbus, that we’re afforded such a chance to agonize over the on-ice product is a bizarre blessing in the grand scheme of things.
The hockey thing I’m most thankful for this Thanksgiving? The hockey itself.
(Featured image of Skyview Atlanta. Photo by Matt Souva)Add The Sports Daily to your Google News Feed!
