My Wiggles-Loving Hockey Pool Parasite

I won my playoff hockey pool. For the first time in years.

So why am I troubled?

Because for my victory, I will receive a trophy. Mine for a year, once it has been sterilized. (According to some mysterious hopefully-doctored internet photos, Mike, who had the trophy last year, has been using the trophy to hold toilet paper.)

The best part of the trophy (other than its ridiculous size... I suspect the actual Conn Smythe is smaller, and probably the Conn Smythe trophy as well) are the inscribed names. Every year, the player with the most points is entrusted with inscribing his own name onto the plaque. The greater joy, however, comes in inscribing the loser’s name just below it, with the point differential highlighted for all to see (as they pee).

Alas Mike finished in second-last place.

But this is not the main reason I’m troubled.

I have to decide whose names to inscribe as the victors.

I have succeeded in passing on this hockey pool obsession to my four year-old son. Every day, he religiously checks how many points each player has earned. He can tell you which Kostytsin brother, Sergei or Andrei, wears number 46, and even more mind-blowing, he say the word “Kostytsin”.

And he is the one who suggested, in the same way as a boss or wife “suggests” you do something, that we select Chris Kunitz. Now admittedly, he and I had agreed, with minimal negotiation, we would load up on Pittsburgh. We were thrilled to pick Crosby as the third overall pick. (Thankfully, as Malkin had already been selected number two, we did not have to get into a contentious Malkin versus Crosby debate.)

It was obvious to me that Gonchar was the better second round pick. Everybody, except, it seemed, my four year old son, knows that power-play specialist offensive defensemen rack up the points in the playoffs. Still, despite my misgivings, I made the mature decision that this hockey draft was more about bonding and family fun than winning, and that I would choose his beloved Kunitz, and hold it against him for all eternity.

As the draft concluded, my well-meaning wife suggested to me that it would be nice to add my two-year olds daughter’s name beside ours, on the hockey pool website.

Instinctively, I agreed. Only now I am tormented by the question... should my daughter’s name go on the trophy?

First, I must point out, completely objectively, that I am an good and loving father to both children. I love them equally and I sneak them equal-sized Rice-Krispy squares when my wife isn’t looking. I would love nothing more than to watch my daughter develop a passion for hockey, and to spend my golden years telling her half-made up stories about Lafleur as she performs her prime ministerial duties.

However, at the risk of sounding not-so-sane, what exactly did this two year-old Wiggles-loving hockey pool parasite contribute to this hockey pool? The only player she really knows and loves and could identify out of a police lineup (although on a few different levels, I pray this doesn’t happen) is Teddy Purcell. You’ve never heard of him. Me neither. Apparently, he plays for the LA Kings and he happens to be on a rookie card this year. She obviously hasn’t familiarized herself with his stats, yet somehow, this guy has captivated my daughter’s heart. Left to her own devices, she would have selected Mr. Purcell first overall (while eating Smarties drenched in chocolate milk while wearing no pants).

So my daughter, it seems, basically rode on our coattails. Sure she was happy when Crosby scored a goal. She gave me her version of a high-five, which is the sweetest and strongest hug ever, which made me long for a Crosby hattrick every night. But if giving me a squeeze were sufficient to warrant placement on the trophy, then we better upgrade to Stanley Cup sized hardware to accommodate Grandma and that enthusiastic guy on my soccer team.

There is also a bigger issue, It’s about my daughter being, how to put this delicately, a girl. Now I realize I might have to watch a month of Oprahs to make amends for this musing. (That constitutes a major penalty in our house. A minor is a week and a game misconduct means I have to read “O” magazine and take a quiz.)

Thing is, our little hockey pool has been going on for twenty years. It didn’t start as a “boys-only” pool. It just happened to be only boys (possibly, but not necessarily a reflection on our high school popularity)

And then, when the offspring started to sprout and become interested in hockey, we’ve added them to our draft, either alone or as part of a father-son team. And to this date they are all boys.

I’m not sure whether the girls didn’t like hockey, or simply their Dads’ friends, but they never really participated.

So now, with my unwitting two year-old daughter thrust into the spotlight, I must decide.

Should her name go on the trophy?

Help...?