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Anyone who knows me well knows I am a die-hard hockey fan. I breathe, eat, and sleep hockey, no matter the time of year: preseason, regular season, postseason, offseason. It doesn’t matter. Hockey websites are bookmarked and frequently visited; hockey articles are devoured, and it’s with keener eyes and closer attention that I watch or listen to any form of broadcast media reporting or debating anything hockey related.

EA Sports provides the magic of getting as close to an NHL roster as possible for most of us: creating oneself in the game and controlling the player as you pave your way through an illustrious NHL career.

Of course, particular attention is paid to the Montreal Canadiens. A lifelong fan of the sport’s most prestigious franchise, I yearn for the day where I’ll be able to celebrate a 25th Stanley Cup with an entire city—and it’s not like I expected it to happen this year anyways, but at this rate, it looks like no one will be hoisting Lord Stanley’s mug in the summer of 2013.

Eighty days. We’ve be robbed of our Canadian pastime for eighty days. Yes, we can watch the American Hockey League, and junior hockey, and even local teams in the CIS and at the amateur levels (which I would encourage hockey fans to do, lockout or no lockout, and something I should be doing more often myself); but nothing compares to the big leagues.

Nothing compares to offensive genius of Sidney Crosby and Claude Giroux, nor the dynamic explosiveness of Alexander Ovechkin and Steven Stamkos.

Nothing compares to the massive slapshots of Zdeno Chara and Shea Weber, nor the creative brilliance of Erik Karlsson and Kris Letang.

Nothing compares to the eloquence of Henrik Lundqvist or Pekka Rinne, the legendary skill of Martin Brodeur, or the unparalled athleticism of Carey Price and Jonathan Quick.

Despite all this…I really don’t care.

You read that right: I don’t care. I’ve been through one lockout, and it was one of the most depressing years of my life. No 13-year old boy should be stripped of an entire year of not being able to do one of the things that brings him the greatest joy: watching his heroes play hockey. Color me selfish if you wish, but I know I wasn’t the only one—nor is the feeling limited to younger generations. Hockey fans bleed their sport. It is more than “just a sport”, to many of us. It serves as an escape, something to latch onto, something to believe in; something that brings hope, jubilation, and happiness, as easily it can bring pain, sadness, and despair.

Sure, the sport has deviated from its old time roots, but at its core, the cycle remains the same.

A child straps on his first pair of skates. He falls in love. He dedicates his life to achieving his dream.

Draft day. Training camp. Get cut. Ride the buses in junior. Sign a contract. Ride the buses in the AHL. Get called up. Work your ass off, impress your coach. Stick with the big club. Breathe a sigh of relief.

Impose yourself. Earn your teammates’ respect. Block shots. Take hits. Sacrifice well-being to put a round piece of vulcanized rubber past the armoured guardian of a 4x6 foot opening.

Score. Fight. Empty the figurative gas tank. Repeat 82 times.

You won a lot of games? Congratulations. Your reward? What reward? Go get sixteen more wins, and then we’ll talk.

Scratch and claw to sixteen more wins. Raise the greatest trophy in pro sports. Stop. Soak in the moment. Inhale the roar of a rambunctious home crowd. Bask in the glory of the silence in another team’s building.

Hockey.

…did anyone see any mention of “boardroom” in there? Any mention of meetings? Collective bargaining? Unions? Laywers? Owners?

Lockout?

I am a hockey fan. I didn’t buy a Canadians jersey to cheer Erik Cole and Josh Gorges on in a battle against Jeremy Jacobs and Murray Edwards. I didn’t buy it to watch a spectacle unfold in a New York office building. Our game is played on ice.

And that’s why I don’t care. I refuse to let the ongoing mockery of my favourite sport suck the life out of me. I refuse to fall in line with the wishes of attention-seeking millionaires and billionaires, pointing at themselves and saying “hey, look at us, we’re trying, they aren’t!” Good for you, call me when a deal is struck.

For now, I’ll watch my football. I’ll watch basketball. I’ll watch other levels of hockey. But I could not care less about what the NHL is doing. I will not say that I will boycott the sport; that’s a ridiculous notion, and anyone who says that is flat out lying. If Gary Bettman has been right about anything, it’s that NHL fans will come back, without a shred of doubt (in this country, at least).

So call me when it’s over with. Call me when teams report to training camp. Next week, next month, next year: doesn’t matter where, doesn’t matter when.

I’ll be there. We’ll all be there.

But please, spare me the lockout nonsense. I really don’t care.

Andrew Maggio Hosts The Game Misconduct on Sundays from 12:00pm to 1