Christine on Hockey A few days before a trip to BC to, among other things, visit my brother and his family a few years ago, I got an email from him asking if I was, “up for a Canadian cultural adventure.” Seal clubbing? Logging in the Old Growth? Skinning a walrus? What did he mean? Well, he’d recently come into possession of season tickets for home games of the Vancouver Giants, members of the Western Hockey League. Apart from occasional apathetic attendance at the community hockey games of my brothers when I was a kid, I’d never been to a hockey game. The rock music blaring as we entered the arena made me feel right at home. The subwoofer-heavy hip-hop of a basketball game would have left me cold, but the cool air, and that indefinable but unmistakable ice-rink smell invoked a faint but instant nostalgia. The national anthem performed by a full choir was a treat. It had been a long time since I stood for it, and it felt good. A comparable seat for a Vancouver Canucks’ game runs som