Gonzo: Psyched for some real hockey

The battle for North American supremacy will be held tonight on a patch of ice in Vancouver. Sadly, the Mexicans will have no say in the matter.

A stadium full of hockey- mad - and possibly well-lubricated - patriots from both sides of the border will gather to watch the clash between the United States and Canada. It's a big deal for puck devotees and Olympics lovers alike, though the true gravity of the game is ultimately owed to the fact that casual fans have expressed an interest in the evening's affair.

You'd expect hardcore hockey heads to be pumped, but the hype transcends their provincial ilk. Several readers - and a few of my friends, too - have e-mailed to ask what I'm doing for the big game. Under normal circumstances I'd make a joke at their expense, but I'm actually excited. There's something about Olympic hockey - and the attendant national pride - that makes it somehow different from the pro game.

And by "different" I mean "interesting." Or, if you prefer, "watchable."

That sound you hear is every rabid, unstable hockey fan (redundant?) turning on his computer to dash off an angry missive about why I'm an idiot and how I don't appreciate the game the way they do. In advance, I'd like to address those people: You're absolutely right on both fronts. Also, when referring to me, please note that "moron" has but a single "r" in it. Some of you have had trouble with that in the past.

How can Olympic hockey not be more compelling than the mercenary version peddled by the NHL, a league that consistently ranks last among the four major sports in television ratings? Anyone who watched Canada's thrilling shoot-out win over Switzerland could sense the obvious urgency and pressure.

That's how it goes in the Olympics - the game feels more intense. When Chris Pronger (who is suiting up for the Canadians) was asked what might happen if he has a chance to unleash a punishing check on Flyers teammate Kimmo Timonen (who is playing for the glory of his fellow Finns), he didn't hesitate. "Sucks to be him," Pronger told The Inquirer.

The Olympics are like a hockey civil war - brother fighting brother in the name of emancipating our (or at least your) puck-loving souls. Then, when the last drop of blood is shed and the final biscuit has been fired into the basket, they will reunite for the good of the union.

Tell the truth: You're a little verklempt, aren't you?