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.

I'm digging classical music and you're probably not

Over the last year or so, I've gotten heavily into classical music. To the point that it's almost the only music I listen to anymore.

This, you'll readily agree, puts me into a distinct minority. Classical music fans comprise a very small percentage of the general public, which is why your local classical music station has − at any given moment − a total of 17 listeners.

But that's part of the attraction of classical musical to some people, isn't it? The exclusivity. The elitism. The feeling that, "While you barbarians are out downloading Miley Cyrus songs, I'm soaking in the best that Western Civilization has to offer."

I would love to take that same snobbish attitude, but I'm not nearly sophisticated enough. I still cheer loudly when two guys start punching each other in the face at a hockey game. And I regularly scratch myself in ways that are, generally speaking, unacceptable in polite company.

Yet I love me some classical music. Or at least I love the stuff I've been able to absorb so far. I'm very much into the long symphonic works: Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, Mendelssohn. Those are my Big Three these days.

But I still have a long way to go to fully appreciate the genre. Opera and I don't really get along much (yet). And the modern composers utterly baffle me (I have Berg's Violin Concerto on CD, and I'm not kidding when I tell you it literally frightens me. Either that man was crazy or I'm just a big wuss. Or both.)

Because that's the thing about classical music that turns a lot of people off, and I get it: It takes effort to understand it. This isn't a three-minute pop song with a catchy, repetitive hook that you can listen to once and memorize. It's dense stuff packed with emotion, with ideas, and with substance. You can listen to it again and again and still not catch everything the composer is trying to convey.

I think that's why I like it. One of my favorite pieces is Tchaikovsky's Symphony #6, also known as the "Pathétique." It's 46 minutes of music that will turn you inside out as it pulls you through the emotional wringer. Nine days after the work premiered in 1893, Tchaikovsky committed suicide. Whatever anguish he was feeling as he wrote the 6th symphony is apparent in the music.

Every time I listen to the Pathétique, it's like I'm hearing something brand new. It's so layered, so full of different elements, that I'm not sure I'll ever grasp the whole thing.

Do you know how I know I've grown up? And that I'm alive? Because I almost cry when I listen to the Pathétique. Really. I tear up in the middle of the first movement every time I hear it. And the fourth movement? The one described as "adagio lamentoso," or "played slowly in a mournful, grieving manner?" Well, if Tchaikovsky didn't know the end of his life was near when he wrote that movement, and if he wasn't trying to convey that feeling to the listener, then it's the biggest coincidence in the history of art.

I love when music (or anything else, for that matter) makes me feel that way. I love that it resonates with me. And I want other people to have the same experience. But there's a cultural bias against classical music that leaves most folks unable to commit the time and effort needed to "get" it. And that's a shame, because you have to believe me when I tell you you're missing something uplifting and even life-changing.

Not that I still don't like a good hockey fight every now and again. It's just that the next time I watch one, I'll be hearing a Wagner soundtrack in my head as one guy breaks another guy's nose. Beautiful.