Sideline? More like the front line.

Being the sideline reporter for a professional hockey team (or as some of the young, French-Canadian rookies who don't know my name call me: "interview girl") might seem like a pretty neat job - especially for an intern.

However when the pressure is on for the players (like now, during the playoffs) trekking onto the ice in my patent leather heels can be like walking straight into a war zone.




The moment the buzzer sounds at the end of a period and the door flies open, it's always a race to delicately and gracefully scamper to the corner before the guys charge off the ice. I always pray the play ends at the far end so I have as much time as possible.

If the play ends near the door, it turns into an unfair game of dodge-the-Canadian where I, a 5'1", 115-pound blonde girl, has to duck the massive, sweaty, hairy rush of (sometimes) angry hockey players.

I always get this intense visual of a sweaty, agitated stampede of water buffalo on skates.

They deserve some credit though, every player tends to be very sweet towards me and no one has ever blown me off for an interview regardless of how pissed off he might be (which can range from somewhat irritated to absolutely furious).

Over time I've learned to keep a solid distance from the really sweaty ones (Colin Nicholson), which one can articulately describe a play (Ryan Lang), to which one will call me out on lame questions with a touch of playful sarcasm (Ross Carlson).

For the team, round two of the playoffs continue this Saturday night versus the Reading Royals.

For me: round two of dodge-the-Canadian, playoff style.