Tuesday, December 14, 2004
I was in fourth grade when my big brother gave me a poster of Brett Hull for Christmas. I don't remember anything else I got that year. This was the first day of a very, very, very long phase (or shall we say obsession) for me. More posters of Brett Hull followed, as did newspaper clippings and magazine articles. Walls that had been covered with New Kids on the Block, Fred Savage, and Doogie Howser were soon covered with images of Brett Hull, shooting, scoring, smiling. Much coveted were the pictures of him without a helmet, his blonde sweaty locks sticking to his forehead.
We moved out of St. Louis and to Springfield when I was 14. I wouldn't say my love for Brett Hull took much of a hit at this point. He was still the man for me. I still watched hockey and still collected the articles about him. When I went to college at 18, I still watched all the games. I chose my two favorite posters of him and hung them on my side of the dorm room. However, as time wore on, I drifted away from his image. When Kevin and moved in together when I was 22, he wouldn't let me put any Brett Hull stuff up. I still have all of it, mind you. All the posters are neatly rolled in a poster box and all of the cards are in a safe place. When we bought our house six months ago, I put my foot down and said I could decorate my office how I wanted. I have just a few mementos of Brett, or my Handsome Hunk of Hot Hullness, as I used to call him. An autographed picture plaque, and autographed puck, and an autographed hat are the items I chose. They make me happy.
Last Saturday we were out with Tim and Julie so we TiVoed Saturday Night Live. We watched it last night and who was on Weekend Update talking about the hockey ban or strike or whatever the hell it is they are doing? Brett! Kevin's head whipped toward me with this funny look on his face. I dropped the remote and, without taking my eyes off of the screen, said, "I think I'm going to cry." I paused it on his face for a few minutes. My heart thumped it's old familiar beat. BRETT-BRETT, BRETT-BRETT.
Love never dies. Never.
We moved out of St. Louis and to Springfield when I was 14. I wouldn't say my love for Brett Hull took much of a hit at this point. He was still the man for me. I still watched hockey and still collected the articles about him. When I went to college at 18, I still watched all the games. I chose my two favorite posters of him and hung them on my side of the dorm room. However, as time wore on, I drifted away from his image. When Kevin and moved in together when I was 22, he wouldn't let me put any Brett Hull stuff up. I still have all of it, mind you. All the posters are neatly rolled in a poster box and all of the cards are in a safe place. When we bought our house six months ago, I put my foot down and said I could decorate my office how I wanted. I have just a few mementos of Brett, or my Handsome Hunk of Hot Hullness, as I used to call him. An autographed picture plaque, and autographed puck, and an autographed hat are the items I chose. They make me happy.
Last Saturday we were out with Tim and Julie so we TiVoed Saturday Night Live. We watched it last night and who was on Weekend Update talking about the hockey ban or strike or whatever the hell it is they are doing? Brett! Kevin's head whipped toward me with this funny look on his face. I dropped the remote and, without taking my eyes off of the screen, said, "I think I'm going to cry." I paused it on his face for a few minutes. My heart thumped it's old familiar beat. BRETT-BRETT, BRETT-BRETT.
Love never dies. Never.
