NHL Trade Day

Perspective is an intriguing idea. For example, "Let's go fishing!" means one thing to a fisherman, but another thing to a worm. Even nuances are worth noting. If, say, I tell you that I'm cool, that could mean that a) I need a sweater, or b) I find myself quite alluring. (Just for the record, I don't, so if you hear me say that, pass me the sweater, please.)

Tomorrow is one of those days. You may glean your sports knowledge from the other columnist in this paper (hi, Rob), so I assume you are well informed that tomorrow is Trade Day in the NHL. Or, as some wag might put it, it's the day when the sellers plan to golf in April and the buyers hope to golf no sooner than June.

So, for gifted players on a fringe team, Trade Day means one thing, but for gifted players on the top sixteen teams, it means something else. And it may not be all that bad: Great players on crummy teams have the distinct possibility of moving up, with the opportunity to get into the play-offs. I would call that an upside.

The downside has to do with a comfort level issue: Players can become comfortable with their teammates, home rink, and living accommodations; then it gets really complicated if their family is involved. Think of all the possible upheaval with switching houses, schools, and overall lifestyles. But just think about it, because it usually doesn't happen. When players are traded, they generally leave wife and kids behind until the end of the season, or for longer, keeping the established home as the centre of their universe.

I couldn't imagine waiting and dreading and sweating Trade Day if I were a professional hockey player. But, then again, it would only be my imagination as a) I have never played hockey beyond ringette in Grade Two, and b) I wouldn't have enough talent to be traded. I would be like that Calgary Cannon player last year that was traded for a box of baseballs. I can see it now: "Funston (right wing [I could never be a left winger]), traded to the Calgary Dames for a bag of hockey tape."

I suppose I should feel sorry for players who, as you read this, may be awaiting the most nerve-wracking phone call of their life, the one from their general mangler, er, general manager, telling them of their new phone number. I should feel sorry, but I don't. At their salary, why I would be happy to be traded to Atlanta. Or Tampa Bay. Or even Calgary. (Okay, okay, I jest.)

Hockey is Canada's national winter sport (rumour has it that lacrosse is the summer version), and therefore, very much a Canadian cultural icon. That may be the most difficult part of being traded, say, from Vancouver to Phoenix. It seems so, well, so un-Canadian. And Phoenix is not exactly the hotbed of hockey, last time I checked its travel brochures.

It is hard for me to imagine heading to the rink everyday in Bermuda shorts and sunglasses, counting the palm trees along the way. I know of the snowbird argument (especially with teams – a term I use very loosely – in Arizona and Florida): The resident population is augmented significantly in the winter by the snowbirds, a gracious name for retired Canadians, that 'flock' south.

So while you read tonight, others will dread tonight. For myself, I have no fear in answering of the phone. It's probably just one of my fishing buddies - not. Whether it is fish morning or Trade Day, I can only imagine.