The underrated charm of minor-league hockey
I live outside Pittsburgh, home to fans who bleed the black and gold of the Steelers, Penguins and Pirates (OK, well maybe not the Pirates, who have been mired in mediocrity for most of the twenty-first century). Surprisingly, though, I’ve discovered the most joy as a sports fan bringing my six-year-old son, Bates, to watch the minor league Wheeling Nailers hockey team play in the barebones, nearly fifty-year-old Wesbanco Arena. I came late to hockey, having played baseball through two years of college. It wasn’t until my early-thirties that — living in Washington, DC and fueled by the hockey mania that gripped the nation’s capital in the early days of the Alex Ovechkin era — I learned to skate and eventually graduated to beer leagues.
