As hockey fans well know, the national anthem is a staple of the hockey game experience. It gives us pause to hono(u)r our home countries, and provides us with some "American Idol"-like entertainment. It also allows the suspense to build nicely before the drop of the puck.
As a player, how you experience the anthem depends on where you're standing.
Being on the bench gives you the opportunity to really soak in the experience, whether it be helping to sing after an adorable 8-year-old girl has her mic cut out, or in just indulging in a chuckle when someone goes Christina-Aguilera-at-the-Super Bowl on the thing. In the minor leagues, there are plenty of professional Anthem Botchers to enjoy.
But when you're on the ice, it's a whole different experience, especially in a big game.
You really want to soak in the moment (and, sometimes, you let yourself for a few seconds), but you can't get lost in it. And that would be easy to do -- from where you're standing, you can hear the fans singing the anthem in a whole different way. The voices come together in a more singular, solitary sound than when you're on the other side of the glass. The ice is pristine, the jerseys are sharp ... the whole pregame presentation could easily distract the weak-minded into forgetting that there's a game to be played.
But for successful players, this is the final moment or two to focus on that first shift, and that's all you want to think about. The more experience guys have, the less they hear the anthem, the crowd singing, the single guy yelling out something obnoxious towards the end.
For me, I was only thinking about one thing: Getting into the game with a big hit, whether it be taking it or making it.
Given that my specialty was hardly body contact (understatement), I'm sure a lot of other players were thinking the same thing -- you need that slap in the face right off the bat to remind you how intense this thing is about to get.
Sometimes the young guys are just straight nervous. The first college game I started was in Grand Forks, N.D., versus the Fighting Sioux -- I was so obsessed with a good start, I completely spaced on taking my helmet off. There I was, cage and all, in front of some very unhappy people, the Canadian apparently making a political statement.
Not a proud moment in my career. You have to learn to balance excitement with composure.
Coaches want you to have the mindset for two things, and anthem time is the ideal few minutes to review them: On a won faceoff, you think about getting the puck to the red line, getting it deep, getting body contact and making a play. It's Keep It Simple Stupid hockey at the start of the game.
The other is reviewing the neutral-zone forecheck in case your center doesn't win the draw. In most cases, that means the center will remind himself to go through on a lost draw and try to stop the defensemen from going D-to-D, forcing them to make a play up the ice and into pressure. As a winger, I'd remind myself to hold up my winger for a second or two, then stay just on the offensive side of center, and try to stop them from gaining that red (if you can stop them and get your first hit, that's one hell of a good start).
Sounds and spotlights bathe the ice in a beautiful spectacle while you're supposed to focus on this stuff. It takes some getting used to.
Think of all the players you see rocking on their skates -- guys have spent the entire day prepping to have the most energy possible when that puck drops, and it's about to boil over. Meals, naps, Sudafeds, smelling salts; it all goes into that moment where you're visualizing how you're going to react in mere seconds. It's tough to sit still.
While players on the ice are prepping for the big start of the game, the guys on the bench tend to soak in the surroundings a bit more -- they'll make jokes about attendance (I'm sure "it must be dress like a red seat night" is in heavy rotation on the Phoenix bench), quips about the anthem singers, comments about opponents -- it's a whole different mindset when you have a shift or two to prepare before getting your crack at the ice. You get to see the pace before remembering what you have to keep up with.
In the short minute or two it takes to finish the song, guys work through those final superstitions, their "triggers." You have the guy who always stands on the same spot on the blue line, the guys who soak themselves in cold water on the bench as a wake-up call, the guys who do some weird tapping ritual.
It all seems a bit bonkers, but having a trigger is healthy.
The bottom line is, the song can't be over fast enough. Like the way it must feel for racers at the starting gates, the final seconds before release seem to drag on forever.
The truth is, it's the crowds roar when the anthem ends that's the real music to the players' ears. It's go time.