While cheering for USA over Canada in Olympics men’s hockey on Sunday night, I had a chance to get back to my roots of supporting the underdog. I love rooting for the underdog. I miss rooting for the underdog.

Born less than a year after the Miracle on Ice, I didn’t get to experience the euphoria of watching the US stun the Soviet Union. The last US victory over Canada, however, came a good solid two decades before I even came into the picture.

As such, it was pretty incredible to sit in the Cask & Flagon on Sunday night, slapping high five with the bartender as he ran along the circular bar, listening to a chant of “USA! USA!” that I’d never really experienced in person before.

It was nice to have my moment and get a taste of what I’ve heard so much about.

(Check the flickr for some photos.)

People ask me what I do in winter when there’s no baseball.
I’ll tell you what I do.
I stare out the window and wait for spring.
-Rogers Hornsby

The words left my mouth before I had time to process them. The Bruins were battling the Capitals in a game that was:

• much more of a battle than the final score (4-1 WAS) indicated
• yet another example – for the first two periods, at least – of how February 2 is routinely one of my luckiest days of the year.

The guys were looking sharp. They were feisty. They were hitting, passing and outshooting the opposition. And despite my absolute shock over it, the guy with a gold 6 on his back was playing extraordinarily well.

“GET IT TO WIDEMAN!“

That’s right. I said it. I meant it. They did it.

Strange things are afoot when I’m shouting the praises of Dennis Wideman, dear readers. What’s most interesting is that this is only one example of the wackiness that has taken place as of late.

Stay tuned.

And I said it would never happen.

Last night, I eagerly checked the clock, signed off my work computer and grabbed my gym bag before I headed out into a relatively warm winter night. After arriving at my destination, I settled onto a bench, opened the bag and pulled out the hockey skates that soon found me moving (not zipping or flying, but moving) across the ice of my favorite skating rink.

Cue the sound of screeching brakes. What’s that? Favorite skating rink? Ice? Vickie?

That’s right, world. Something altogether strange and unexpected has happened: I am actually enjoying this winter. The Vermont-raised anti-winter stalwart, the one always complaining about the chill, the three-season woman living in a four-season city, has found advantages to what she used to refer to as “the winter wonderland of doom.”

I admit that it initially started out as an attempt at trying out some reverse psychology on Mother Nature. By embracing winter and giving up my protests, I thought to myself, I’d be met with balmier temperatures. And, to my surprise, that actually worked.

What’s weirder, however, is the fact that I found myself enjoying a free week between Christmas and the New Year, dismayed that it was too warm for proper skating ice.

You see, I now own  a pair of hockey skates. I discovered that I so enjoyed my time on the Fenway rink last month (and last year’s microvation at Frog Pond) that skating could prove a particularly beneficial activity for me to take up. It’s a great way to get exercise, it’s low-impact enough for me to go for long stretches of activity without worrying whether my knee will protest and it is ripe with the potential for social interaction.

So skating started to become a thing I liked to do. Out in the cold. In winter. Regularly.

Which is why people who know me were almost as shocked as when the time came that I complained that it was too warm for me to ice skate.

Hell has officially frozen over.

It finally happened. The gadget lover finally did something stupid and broke an electronic device. And, demonstrating a go-big-or-go-home mentality, she rendered essentially useless her cell phone.