Ms. Conduct

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They can't all be Randy Moller, I suppose.

The first season I really started following hockey seriously, I craved the game. I soaked it up like a thirsty sponge, reading books, listening to every single thing the Aeros broadcast or put online about the team, and eventually ordering Center Ice and watching a ton of NHL games, too.

I was 30 years behind on hockey knowledge compared to most fans my age, and I had catching up to do. I needed expert hockey immersion if I wanted to get beyond, “Whoa. Puck fast. Butts firm. Wins good,” any time soon.

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He can get up from this position and be ready for the next shot in the time it takes you to say, "Ouch!"

At least 30 times a season, my colleagues on the Houston Aeros press row lean over to me after a goal has been scored and say, “So, who had the pass?” or “Who put that in?”

And my answer nearly every time is, “I dunno. I was watching the goalie.”

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Sadly, a fat paycheck doesn't make the goal mouth smaller.

Hockey is chock-a-block with ethereal concepts: The Code and other unwavering tenets of sportsmanship, clutchiness, the captaincy, luck and the hockey gods, and so on.

But whether you’re a stats nerd or you, like me, approach fandom like a cracked out manic-depressive, we all occasionally fall prey to that most pervasive of hockey psyche-outs: Expectation.

Sometimes expectations for players are realistic and well-founded, but more often than not, they’re ruled by factors totally out of a player’s control.

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Matt Read (@mreader24) checks his Twitter on during a game and then cries on the inside when you say cruel things to him. (Okay, not really, this is during the All Star Skills Competition.)

I literally cannot fathom being a professional hockey player: willingly putting ones body in danger, waking up sore every day, getting pummeled by 90 MPH shots (and not screaming, “OUCH! THAT HURT!” every time), plus having to be that competitive and that UP for every game.

My Type B-verging-on-C personality, my fear of pain and injury, and my negative rating on the Scale of Athleticism all lead me to look at pro players on the ice (and especially in the playoffs) and see superhumans.

So, the most surprising thing to come out of being credentialed media and talking to players after games is that most are smaller, thinner, and more soft spoken than I expected. They have ice bags strapped to body parts, black eyes, and butterfly bandages on lacerations. They pause before speaking, not always because they don’t know what to say, but because they’re exhausted.

It’s in this setting that the cape comes off and players become at least a little human to me.

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Suave and hip, with a dash of retro: I'm crazy about your hair, Stammer.

It’s all playoff beard, all the time* this time of year. A subject so near and dear to people’s hockey hearts, I only dare to tread around the edges of it.

*except for the other 90% of the time when it’s all hits to the head and Shanabanning.

Hockey hair, on the other hand, is a year round thing. And even though the mullet has effectively been mocked out of existence, the follicles of NHLers all around the league still bless us with the occasional case of obsession-worthy flow.

Let’s start broad and work our way down my list of hockey hair that has stuck with me this season like a bad habit.

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See how much WORK it is to be a fan of a team in the playoffs? Making Devo-esque jumpsuits out of, um, diapers or something... Making fake Stanley Cups out of water jugs... Glad I don't have to do that stuff. Totally glad.

Confession time: I’m a liar.

Of course, we’re all are liars to some extent. “No, honey, those pants definitely do NOT accentuate your thunder thighs!” “Ohh, I’m SO sorry I can’t come to your baby shower! We’re, uh, out of town that weekend.”

They’re the white lies we tell each other to save face, or avoid unnecessary hurt feelings, or to get us out of having to coo over baby wipe warmers and diaper cakes.

And then there are the lies we tell ourselves. And this time of year, even though the Playoffs are glorious, full of excitement and amazing hockey and passion, I find my head to be full of lies.

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Super. Duper. Creepy.

If you thought I was kidding about that whole “hockey as a religious experience” thing, consider this: The Hockey Holy Season begins today, on Easter, which just happens to be a bunny-centric holiday.

I’m on to something there, right? I’ll take your silence as agreement.

To celebrate, I thought I’d give myself a little challenge. Being goalie-obsessed on top of being hockey-obsessed, sometimes the love doesn’t get spread around enough to the other 5 guys on the ice.

So, today I bring you 5 Sexy Things about Hockey, Unrelated to Goalies (was supposed to be 10, if I’m being honest, but I wrote too much about the top 5):

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