Even though it was our anniversary and it was her left-field idea, I was fuming when my girlfriend forced me to attend the USA versus Canada ice hockey match on Saturday night in Sydney.

Despite this, once I got the word that the coveted Douglas Webber Cup was on the line, the respective Swans and Waratahs blockbusters that I knew I would be missing were rendered immediately irrelevant.

Yep, I was happy to drop everything to make the three-change train/bus/hitch trip to Allphones Arena for a game that would ultimately settle the long-running north-American beef that had absolutely no effect on my life whatsoever.

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Coming in to the match, the ‘Webbo’ was dangling precariously at 2-2 after a silent five-game cross-country series.

When combining this mouthwatering proposition with years of stinky inter-continental rivalry, I was partially content – in fact, the $8 schooners even almost seemed cheap.

Being a good drunk sport, I took the plunge and decided to barrack for the likeable Canadians based on their lower crime rate and Swans-style strip.

Entering the fray, I knew it was on.

Approaching puck-drop, things were seriously lifting in the AllPhones outer. The low-hanging telly was brainwashing the crowd with cheesy Americana and there was enough pre-slap fireworks to force a bowel movement.

Next point of business was the schmaltz of the anthems.



As expected, the US number was sung by some washed-up Garth Brooks type, and this was followed by a Canadian anthem drowned out by bellowed references to bacon and mounties.

With the festivities finally fulfilled, it was time for the slippery showdown.

A crowd of people in search of biff after a barren State of Origin series were not made to wait long with the first scuffle coming in the opening moments. The catalyst? The start of the match.

With after-fight proceedings resembling a live pinball machine, Canada eventually took control with two early goals. However, it wasn’t long before an Aussie flavour flushed through the match with a glaring stuff-up from an official.

In a tribute to Shayne Hayne, one of the Americans was unfairly penalised for foul play. Naturally, the crowd wasn’t shocked – it wasn’t the first time there was a stick-bashing over ice in western Sydney.

After things settled, we eventually went to a break filled with the finest 1990s synth dance tunes of all time. After rehydration all round, it was back to business – and the Yanks were keen to flex their muscle.

The world leaders stamped their authority with an immediate riposte to reduce the deficit to one goal. It could’ve been from a Flying-V, but to be honest, I wasn’t sure – I was too busy ordering Hahn while listening to the Waratahs game.

What proceeded afterwards was the creamiest ice hockey you’ll ever witness. It was back-and-forth and rough-and-tumble and most importantly, it was chockers with fights. Seven to be exact.



Come full time, it was locked at 4-4. Finally, I had struck inner peace after missing major ball-tearing fixtures elsewhere – here I was, front-and-centre watching two powerhouses about to crack knuckles in sudden-death for a manufactured trophy. I had finally made it.

True to form, America won with a late strike to take home the choccies and thus spark the growth of an ice hockey revolution in Australia.

With victorious Springsteen ringing in my ears as I waited 350-deep at the cab rank to get home from the far reaches of Homebush, I began to ponder.

Roarers – is ice hockey on your radar? Or is it just the glorified chasing of a solidified urinal cake that’s to be enjoyed for shits and giggles?

Rip off your gloves and let me know.