So I would curl up under Dad's arm and watch the game. Showing an interest in hockey was a great way to win Dad's affections and there was no chance of the channel being changed during a game, anyway. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
Gene Hart would belt out the play by play with such passion and speed that I had absolutely no idea what was going on. During stoppage of play, commercials or intermission, Dad would explain it to me. What I did know is that I enjoyed the fast paced action and jumped out of my seat every time Gene would scream out "SHOT, SCORE! Philadelphia!". I came to love the game too.
I unknowingly, had been watching some hockey greats. Bernie Parent, Bill Barber, Bobby Clarke and Dave Schultz were just a few of the line up.
As the years went on, I watched more, I learned more, grew a greater appreciation for the game and had watched live, some great moments in sports. All while sitting and bonding side by side with Dad.
I inadvertently learned knew language skills.
I cried when the news proclaimed that their was no hope for Pelle Lindbergh.
I cried in 1987 as I watched the the Stanley Cup slip away from reach at the end of game 7.
I rejoiced as I watched Ronnie Hextall, Rick Tocchet and the Sutter Brothers live on the traditions of a Philly favorite team.
I remember many a long, cold and windy walk with my Dad to the Spectrum to watch the games.
I am now watching the Flyers in the Stanley Cup semi-finals, with Smallest Weasel under my arm and the other Weasels sprawled through the living room. I explain the game, the action and the rules at the stoppage of play, the commercials and during intermission.
The Weasels are learning names like Chris Pronger, Mike Leighton, Danny Briere.
I have inadvertently taught them some new language skills.
Dad has been gone for many years now, yet he is still close in my heart. I feel him close as I hold my children and watch the Flyers play.
The Flyers are only 6 wins away from taking The Cup home. Lord Stanley, we want your Cup.