Sure, for some Simpson/Sale may seem like the safe choice. Too safe. It's too easy. They're pretty. They're smooth. They're flexible. Yawn.
I find I'm kind of liking how Richer and Lemieux are doing. They still look like hockey players, except now they're hockey players who are figure skating. So I'm going to throw my hat behind Richer/Dubreuil. (and my hat in front of Domi as he skates by)
And it's starting to get physical in the stands.
We've been asked to clear out the arena after the show each night so that the Gardens can be shut down as soon as possible. This is complicated by the skaters who want to be accessible to their fans, and sometimes will linger at ice's edge gathering crowds like a rolling snowball. So we just have to wait it out, try to keep the fanball from growing, and disperse them as soon as we are able.
Two weeks ago, one guy was bound and determined to roam the arena to pick it clean of any famous personnel he could flush out. So I headed him off after he had Kurt sign a literal stack of glossies. The man wasn't about to allow me, a commoner, to get in the way of his eBay business, and kept walking around me like I was invisible and hadn't spoken to him at all. When that didn't work out for him, he started to argue with me to let him pass. When that didn't work out for him, he started to push through me. Luckily a very large and polite security guard arrived at that moment, put his hand on the guy's shoulder and said "It's time to go sir. This way."
Last week, though, this guy would have been pleased. My section is in the corner of the arena, and I don't know if the production crew ran out of boards or just didn't care about securing my section after doing the rest of the arena, but my section has a gap between the seats and the walkway in front of the seats. I've worked how many days without incident?
Then, last week, I pivoted and stepped towards the seats to show a group of people where they can sit -- and WHOOSH! I was hip deep in the gap between the seats and the walkway. The group I was helping converged on me, as did the other volunteers in sight of my disappearing act. I just lay my head down on the steps I was now conveniently eye-level to, and swore a blue streak in my mind from the pain. Millions of hands helped haul me out of the hole, and I was inundated with questions as to my health.
What did I do?
Pivoted around again, much more carefully this time, and tried again to show the group where they can sit.
I knew I could stand and I knew I could walk, so I knew I would just be dealing with a very large and ugly bruise. And, well, I was right:
I have another one the size of my hand on my shin, but it isn't quite so camera visible (and I haven't shaved my legs in quite a few weeks so why subject you all to that).
The next day, the production crew found time to fix the gap. Go figure.