To the Great White North we go, this time without the guy on stilts

A street performer very similar to this one
almost cost me my marriage in 1994.

My son Jack and I will be taking a weekend trip to Toronto, a wonderful city that is conveniently situated a mere 4 1/2-hour drive from our home.

I love Toronto, but more generally, I love Canada. This probably has to do as much with my passion for hockey as anything else, but there are many things to embrace about our neighbors to the north.

The first time I traveled to Canada was in 1985, when my dad took me and my friend Mel to Niagara Falls for a few days. There was something exotic about getting into the car and driving to a foreign country.

Because, let's not forget, Canada is its own nation. Many Americans, while acknowledging all that Canada has to offer, see it merely as the 51st U.S. state. This is both insulting to Canadians and ignorant of the fact that they have their own unique culture and worldview.

That should go without saying, but sometimes it feels like it needs to be said.

Over the years I have often returned to Niagara Falls (probably 10 times since that first expedition in '85) to go along with half a dozen trips to Toronto, five visits to Montreal, and one memorable-but-short stay in Ottawa. I've never been to Western Canada, but I hope to get there eventually.

The memorable day in Ottawa occurred in 1994. Elissa was only a few months old at the time, and Terry and I took her with us on a week-long driving vacation with stops in all of the cities named above.

When we got to Ottawa, Terry was feeling a little sick, so she tasked me with finding a drug store and getting some medicine while she stayed in our hotel room with infant Elissa.

Without an Internet to rely on, I asked around for a local drug store and got directions to a place a few blocks over. On my way there, I came across a street performer on stilts. He was very talented, so I stood for a while watching him.

I watched him longer than I realized, because by the time I reached the pharmacy, got Terry's medicine and returned to the hotel, an undeniably lengthy period of time had passed. She was understandably well shy of pleased at how long I had been gone.

For all she knew, I could have been dead.

But no, I was just watching the guy on stilts. Did I mention how good he was?

Anyway, I had just gotten into hockey around the time we visited Ottawa and decided I needed an NHL team of which to be a fan. The Ottawa Senators had come into the league a couple of years before, so I decided they would be my team, no matter how horrible they were at the time.

They have remained my team ever since. I have seen them play in person eight or nine times over the years in a variety of cities, though never in Ottawa itself.

I hope to get back there someday. And this time, if my wife is again sick, you can be sure I'll ignore the guy on stilts and focus on my mission of getting her medicine.

Probably.

I'm totally fine if you're not a hockey fan, but if you let me take you to a game, I bet you would be

There are two types of hockey fans (two types of fans of any sport, really):

(1) Those who love the game and are very, very concerned that you love it, too
(2) Those who love the game and couldn't care less whether you like it or not

I am of the latter tribe. It doesn't affect me in the least if your general attitude is "Hockey? Meh."

I happen to think hockey (ice hockey, as a point of clarification for my international friends) is a beautiful game. I know soccer has appropriated that title, "the beautiful game," but for my money, it should be attached to hockey.

It is a sport that combines speed, skill, and equal parts mental and physical toughness. It looks stunningly easy until you try lacing up the skates yourself. Once you do, you will be forever in awe of the men and women who play the game at the highest level, stopping and starting on a dime, skating to the point of exhaustion on every shift, handling a five-ounce rubber puck as if it were glued to their stick, and doing all of that while hitting (and being hit) at speeds upwards of 20 miles per hour or more.

It is not a sport for the faint of heart, and we're not just talking about the players. If you're going to watch hockey with any regularity, you will see blood. Oh yes, blood will be spilled. Sometimes it's an accidental high stick to the face. Or a fast-moving puck to the teeth. Or an elbow that hits just right and splits an eyebrow.

I'm not saying this happens every time a player steps onto the ice, or even every game. It doesn't. But it is an extremely physical game played by a breed of athlete whose grit and persistence often defies ready comprehension. The intensity with which these athletes play greatly increases the risk of sustaining physical damage.

It is not uncommon, for instance, for a hockey player to suffer an injury that would immediately sideline an athlete from another sport, get stitched up, and be back on the ice only minutes later. It's part of the culture of the game: You must be there for your teammates. You must be available to take that next shift. You must.

In some sense, hockey is the most team-oriented of all sports. People often say they don't like the fights, but that's almost always because they don't understand the nature and the purpose of fighting. Fighting is done for the team. The players need referees to keep things fair, of course, but they largely police themselves by sticking up for teammates.

If you "take liberties" (a wonderfully Canadian phrase) with my star player, someone on my team is going to drop the gloves and expect you to answer for your dangerous play. Winning or losing the fight is almost secondary. The point is showing up, taking and demanding accountability, and defending teammates who may not be able to defend themselves.

While often the least skilled players on a team, hockey's "enforcers" are often also the most beloved. They do a job few others can or want to do.

And even if that all sounds like rationalization of barbaric behavior, you will note that fighting in hockey is being legislated out of the game relatively quickly. At some point there will be no more fighting, which many think will lead to a rash of injuries caused by players who no longer have to worry about whether they're making a careless hit or carrying their stick a bit too high.

In any case, there is nothing like a hockey game watched live and in person. I watch it on TV when I can because I'm a fan. But to really get it, in order to really appreciate it, you must be attend a game yourself. Sit close to the ice the first time or two if you want. I call the glass seats the "gateway drug" of hockey that introduces you to the speed, skill, passion and jarring impact of a game.

Those of us a bit more seasoned in the sport tend to sit farther back in order to watch the flow of play develop. But it doesn't matter really. Just get to an arena.

If you go with me, the only two things I will need to teach you are the concepts of "offsides" and "icing." If you get those, the rest is almost self-evident, from the penalties to the tactical execution.

Like I said, whether or not you allow yourself to become addicted to the drug of hockey is ultimately of no consequence to me. But I'm telling you, let someone experienced sit next to you at a game and, in most cases, you'll be hooked.

You know who are nice people? Canadians.

In my experience, some stereotypes are truer than others.

Like the idea that men won't ask for directions. I know that's not necessarily true because I always ask for directions. In fact, I may be too quick in asking for directions. Sometimes I should probably just trust myself more, but honestly, I hate being lost, and I have no qualms about telling someone I'm clueless and need their help.

But you know one stereotype that I've found to be spot on? This idea that Canadian people are nice. Oh sure, there are exceptions. Watch any given National Hockey League game and you'll find some mean SOBs from Saskatchewan and Nova Scotia. But by and large, they're good people.

Today is Canada Day, which for the uninitiated (i.e., 95% of Americans) is kind of like our Independence Day. It marks the date in 1867 in which Canada officially became a nation, albeit still part of the British Empire.

And those kooky Canadians still maintain certain ties to the Brits today, like having the Queen on their money and putting wholly unnecessary u's in the middle of words like "colour," "favour" and "honour."

Still, for the most part, Canada has forged its own identify in the world, and I would characterize that identify as "nice." Which I know sounds bland and unexciting, but I don't mean it that way. These are, collectively, good people. You can trust them. They don't trust us, of course, but honestly, I'm not sure I would, either.

I do love Canada, though. Or at least Eastern Canada, which is the only part of the country I've actually visited. I've been to Niagara Falls and Toronto countless times, and have also visited Montreal and Ottawa.

Speaking of Ottawa, here's a true story: In the summer of 1994 when Elissa was just an infant, Terry and I packed her into her little car seat and did a week-long Canadian driving tour. I loved it all, but I really loved Ottawa. It had a nice charm to it, and the Ottawa Senators have been my NHL team of choice ever since.

Anyway, Terry for whatever reason wasn't feeling well when we got to Ottawa, so she asked me to get her some Pepto Bismol. I set off from the hotel in search of a pharmacy, and along the way I came across these really cool street performers. There was a guy on stilts and acrobats and, I don't know, break dancers or something. The point was, they were doing really cool things and I stood there transfixed by them.

I stood there a long time. A really long time. An especially long time if you're someone who is waiting back in the hotel room for your husband to arrive with medicine that will help you feel better.

I don't know how long I was gone, but by the time I got back, Elissa had visibly aged. And Terry was, how shall I say, not pleased with the length of my journey.

She still reminds me of that sometimes. But seriously, those acrobats were so cool!

Yeah, so Canada. Good people. We should all visit. Bring your own Pepto Bismol, though.