Until last year, I considered hockey to be a sport that was supported by only the most primitive of Neanderthals. What kind of civilized, intelligent person would enjoy watching ten men skate around the ice, batting a little piece of rubber around with a wooden stick, and just looking for an excuse to fight?

And then, last spring, the Boston Bruins were in the Stanley Cup playoffs. The love of my life really, really, really wanted to watch them play. I heaved an extremely put-upon sigh - just to make certain that he understood what a sacrifice that I was making in his honor - and allowed him to turn the channel to the hockey game. I would, I thought, just read a book if I got too bored with the event. In the meantime, I would try to be supportive. Go Bruins. Yawn.

So we watched the game. Of course, I understood nothing about how the game was played. I figured out that each team played with five men and a goalie on the ice. Simple enough. I’ve always enjoyed ice skating, and I quickly realized that these huge, burly men had some serious skills on blades. So that was kind of cool. And one of the Boston Bruins, Zdeno Chara, was freakin’ huge! Hard to imagine how a man that big could be so graceful on skates. Vaguely interesting.

It turned out that several of these men that were taking such a beating on the ice were in their mid to late thirties. Wow. And on the flip side, some of them were still in their teens. Again, the disparity of age was vaguely interesting.

The entire Boston team was wearing beards. It was May, and they had to be hot and uncomfortable with all of that facial hair, despite playing on ice. Turned out that during the playoffs, they didn’t shave. Superstitious lot, those hockey players.

Then the first fight broke out. Knowing what I know now, I suspect that Shawn Thorton was involved, but I don’t remember for sure. I do remember is snorting with contempt at the posturing and throwing of fists. My sweetheart was cheering, and I remember thinking that only a man would enjoy such a barbaric display of supposed manhood.

Fast forward to a few games later. I’m not sure what exactly happened, or even when it happened, but something had changed. This was a sport played by the manliest of men! When the gloves came off, and Thorton-the-enforcer put up his fists to take on another player, I was off the couch, screaming like a lunatic. That was my Shawn Thorton, and he was fighting to protect his teammate! “Pound that lousy Canuck!”

It was the beginning of the end. My wardrobe now contains more black and gold than should be found in any self-respecting woman’s closet. There is a Boston Bruins pillow-pet lying on the end of my couch. And my DVR is constantly at the ready for those games that they inconsiderately schedule for when I’m at work.

Am I proud of my new status as a rabid hockey fan? Not particularly. Am I ashamed? Not a chance.

So what can I say?

Go Bruins!!