In which hockey becomes a mediocre metaphor for life

If you didn't watch Game 4 of the Stanley Cup final last night, you missed an epic battle. The Redwings had already won three games to the Penguins' one; all they had to do was win last night and the Stanley Cup was theirs. And frankly, the Penguins didn't look great. They played fairly lackluster hockey in the second and third periods, getting more and more tired while the Redwings increasingly amped up the pressure. But when it counted-- when the Redwings looked like they had clinched it, 3-2 in the final seconds of regulation-- the Penguins tied it up with a heart-stopping goal. They had bet the farm: pulling their goalie and leaving an empty net to gain a sixth defender, they risked everything for a shot that defied all the odds. You had to admire the way they kept standing back up and fighting, against all odds, against an arguably better and more experienced Detroit team. My mom, who is not a sports fan, always says of the winning team, "Well, they just wanted it more." And that always irritated me so much because it took all the logic out of the game-- the skill, the calls, the athleticism-- and reduced it down to an emotional desire. But I swear to you, you could tell last night that the Penguins wanted it more. That although the Stanley Cup itself was inside the stadium, waiting for the Redwings to win, as tens of thousands of Detroit fans fully expected them to, that Pittsburgh wanted to win more. The game went into overtime, then double overtime, then triple overtime. And you could see the disbelief on the faces of the Redwings, incredulous that the Penguins just wouldn't quit. And finally, the Penguins' scrappy drive and determination paid off, as they sent six ounces of vulcanized rubber into the Redwings' goal. Exhausted, bruised, and bloodied, they had held off the seasoned Detroit team and forced a Game 6. They just wanted it more.