hockey
We talk pucks and objects of that kind. We yell, complain, and analyze in the language of hockey fandom. Gretzky can do no wrong.
Homestand Part I: Like Father, Like Son
The Colorado Avalanche were in a new position this season: we were coming off back-to-back regulation losses. The Avs' three game Southeastern swing didn't go our way. A win in Raleigh followed by back-to-back regulation losses in Florida; Panthers first, then Lightning. So that gave us a grand total of... four. Four regulation losses. Still very low. It lowers our win total pace, but honestly, I could care less about that. Yes, winning during the regular season is important, but what really matters is getting those final 16 wins in the end and being the last team standing. That is a feeling we experienced three times before.
By Clyde E. Dawkinsa day ago in Unbalanced
A Rough Road Trip
When we last left our boys, it was 2025. We ended the year with a big time beatdown of the St. Louis Blues, and before we knew it, it was 2026! The Avs' tear continued! A 12-1-1 record in the month of December! Still holding the best record in the NHL, and that includes staying ahead of the surging Dallas Stars and Minnesota Wild in the Central. It's a new year now, and the month of January is important. It's the last month before any breaks, and I say it like that because for the second straight year, there's no All-Star Game.
By Clyde E. Dawkins2 days ago in Unbalanced
Greeley-Jay Outlasts Byram Hills 3-1
Scroll down for photos On Saturday December 13, Greeley-Jay hosted Byram Hills at the Brewster Ice Arena, and at the outset, it was the Bobcats who made themselves at home with a number of good opportunities. But none were converted, and with the door left open, Greeley-Jay came through.
By Rich Monetti5 days ago in Unbalanced
Meet Laila Edwards: The first Black woman to play for Team USA’s Winter Olympic ice hockey team
In a sport that had been invented by people of color, hockey has largely been associated with folks of the lightest hue. For little girls and women to participate, it’s just as odd and rare because women usually don’t pick such an activity. Enter Laila Edwards. Shecis preparing to take to the ice as the first black female to represent Team USA.
By Skyler Saunders7 days ago in Unbalanced
How to End a Calendar Year
Happy New Year, all! And that "all" includes my fellow fans of the Colorado Avalanche! Boy, did we end 2025 on a winning note! We had five games left in the calendar year... and we won them all! First off, we defeated the Minnesota Wild in grand fashion, and that was beautiful, because those Wild were sure excited after the team got Quinn Hughes. And why wouldn't they be? He's a star on the blue line. Of course, they had to realize that they only have the second-best defenseman in the league, because as good as Hughes is, he's no Cale Makar.
By Clyde E. Dawkins8 days ago in Unbalanced
The Boy in the Stands
I didn’t go for the game. I went for my nephew. He’s thirteen, wears a faded jersey two sizes too big, and talks about football like it’s scripture. “It’s not about winning, Uncle,” he’d said, eyes bright. “It’s about who shows up when it matters.”
By KAMRAN AHMAD8 days ago in Unbalanced
The Night Basketball Felt Like Home
I didn’t go for the basketball. I went because my son asked me to. He’s eleven, wears his hair in messy curls, and talks about the game like it’s poetry written in motion. “You have to see how they move together, Dad,” he’d said, eyes wide. “It’s like they’re speaking a language only they understand.”
By KAMRAN AHMAD8 days ago in Unbalanced
The Night the World Held Its Breath
I don’t remember most New Year’s Eves. But I remember the one in 2020. The world was silent. Streets were empty. And yet, at 11:59 p.m., I sat alone on my couch, eyes fixed on a glowing sphere in a city I’d never visited, tears streaming as strangers on screen counted down to a year none of us were sure we’d survive.
By KAMRAN AHMAD9 days ago in Unbalanced
The Day the Roses Taught Me to Slow Down
I didn’t understand the Rose Parade as a child. To me, it was just pretty flowers on strange machines, marching bands in matching uniforms, and my grandfather’s insistence that we watch it every single January 1st, no matter what.
By KAMRAN AHMAD9 days ago in Unbalanced
Is Eleven Dead?
Introduction Since the day she emerged from the lab with a shaved head and a world of power in her eyes, Eleven has been the heart of Stranger Things. So when fans search “Did Eleven die in Stranger Things?” or “Is Eleven alive?,” the question isn’t just about plot—it’s about saying goodbye to a character who symbolizes resilience, love, and the cost of heroism.
By KAMRAN AHMAD10 days ago in Unbalanced
Unbalanced
M Mehran Callum Ward never noticed the imbalance at first. Balance is like gravity—when it works, you don’t think about it. When it fails, you fall. He used to be steady. The kind of man who woke up before his alarm, ironed his shirt twice, and brewed coffee like a ritual. He believed if you organized the outside world, the inside would follow. But life doesn’t always agree. Sometimes it throws its weight on one side until everything tilts. For Callum, that tilt began the day his wife disappeared. The Tilt The police asked the usual questions. When did you last see her? Did she seem upset? Did you two fight? Callum answered honestly. He didn’t remember fighting. He didn’t remember much of anything anymore. That, apparently, made them suspicious. Grief does strange things to a mind. It fogs it, warps it, forces it to replay moments like broken film. The house felt uneven without her—rooms too quiet, chairs misplaced, doors slightly open like someone had just left. It wasn’t just the sadness. It was the guilt. Because the truth that Callum never said out loud was simple: he felt her leaving long before she actually left. Conversations that didn’t reach their endings. Dinners eaten in silence. A growing distance that could have swallowed oceans. One night, two weeks after she vanished, Callum heard footsteps upstairs. Not loud. Not violent. Just… footsteps. Familiar in rhythm, like someone pacing. Like someone thinking. He picked up a flashlight and climbed the stairs. Halfway up, the light flickered. The footsteps stopped. He whispered her name. Silence answered. But on the landing, he noticed something new: her necklace, hanging on the doorknob. The same gold chain she wore every day. He hadn’t seen it since the night she disappeared. Callum’s legs nearly gave out. The Unbalance Grows People in the neighborhood started talking. They called him “unstable,” “off,” “not right since she left.” Someone reported that he was wandering the street at midnight, as if searching for something he couldn’t name. Another swore they saw him talking to the empty air on his porch. Callum didn’t deny it. He heard her voice sometimes—soft, like she was speaking from another room. He smelled her perfume in the hallway. Sometimes, he even felt the mattress shift beside him, the weight of a second body settling into the bed. Callum knew grief had gravity. It pulled. It dragged. It distorted. But this was something else. One evening, when the sun was dying into a bruised purple, someone knocked on his door. Detective Rana Hale. She looked tired in a way that went beyond sleep deprivation. “We found something,” she said. The world tilted. The Truth That Isn’t Down at the station, they showed him a photograph. Callum’s wife. But not the woman he remembered—no soft smile, no warm eyes. Her hair was cut short. Her expression was sharp, like a blade disguised as a face. She was standing beside a man Callum had never seen. The detective spoke calmly. “There are signs she may have left by choice. We believe she was involved in something… dangerous. You may not have known her as well as you thought.” Callum stared at the photo. His chest tightened, breath catching like a snagged thread. That was the moment he understood: the imbalance wasn’t an accident. It was a message. His wife hadn’t vanished from life—she’d vanished into another one. “You think she ran away?” he asked. Rana nodded. “We think she’s hiding. And Callum… we think she may come back for you.” A strange relief washed through him. Not fear. Not anger. Hope. If she left by choice, maybe she could return by choice. Maybe the world could even out again. He went home that night with a spine full of static and a heart split down the center. When the Scale Breaks At 3:14 a.m., the footsteps returned. This time, they were not gentle. Callum didn’t reach for the flashlight. He didn’t hide. He walked toward the sound. Down the hall, through the open door, into the bedroom where it all began. His wife sat on the edge of the bed. She looked real. More real than memory. More real than grief. Her eyes were tired, frightened, alive. “Callum,” she said. Her voice cracked like old paint. “I need you to listen. I didn’t leave you. I ran from them. And now—they’re coming.” The room swayed. The world tilted. Every ounce of balance he had left snapped like a pulled thread. “Who?” he asked. She trembled. “The man in the photograph. I wasn’t supposed to survive. But I did. I’ve been trying to get back ever since.” He crossed the room, sat beside her. He didn’t touch her, afraid she’d disappear like fog. “Why come back now?” Her eyes lifted to his. “Because the only place I’m safe is with you.” And just like that, the imbalance didn’t vanish. It became something new. Not steadiness, not order—shared weight. Epilogue They didn’t sleep that night. They packed bags. They planned. They prepared for a world that was no longer straight, no longer stable, no longer kind. Callum learned something in that moment: Balance isn’t the absence of chaos—it’s choosing who you stand with when the world tips. He had spent months trying to regain equilibrium, not realizing that maybe life isn’t meant to balance perfectly. Maybe it’s meant to be held, together, even when it shakes. Especially when it shakes.
By Muhammad Mehran14 days ago in Unbalanced
