World Cup fever? More like Stanley Cup hangover

Alec Martinez of the Los Angeles Kings, left, scored in double overtime of Game 5 of the Stanley
Cup Final to clinch the team's second Stanley Cup championship in three seasons.

Forgive me if I haven’t yet gone full soccer hooligan and tattooed John Brooks’ likeness onto my body.

This won't be happening anytime soon, but it’s not for a lack of patriotism.

And it's not because I'm rooting against the U.S. National soccer team in this year’s World Cup – the global spectacle that seemingly unites all corners of the planet in sporting frenzy every four years. 

After all, I watched the Americans’ gutsy performance against arch nemesis Ghana on Monday and even let out a guttural “Yes!” when Brooks delivered what proved to be the game-winning goal in the waning minutes of play.

John Brooks' late goal lifted the U.S. over Ghana, 2-1, in
Monday's World Cup opener.

But as the World Cup kicks into high gear – and so do the Americans’ hopes for a berth in the knockout round -- forgive me as my inner sports fan sluggishly lags behind.

That's because for the last two months, I have fervently worshipped at the alter of the hockey gods as my beloved New York Rangers’ rode a magical ride through the meat-grinder that is the NHL Playoffs.

For the last two months, I watched the Rangers withstand a seven-game series against the rival Philadelphia Flyers, rally from three games to one down against the Pittsburgh Penguins, KO the Montreal Canadiens and skate their way to an improbable berth in the Stanley Cup Final.

For the last two months, I found my team at the center of the hockey world and watched the Blueshirts become the apple of the Big Apple’s eye.

For me, that was nearly enough.

You see, when you lay claim to the Mets, Jets and Knicks as your teams, championship runs are about as rare of an Italian soccer game without an Oscar-worthy flop.They just don't happen often.

Thus, the last two months have infused my daily life with a surreal feeling – a quality that became more and more palpable with every step the Rangers took toward the Stanley Cup.

Yet, it all came to an end early Saturday morning when the Rangers dropped a 3-2 double-overtime verdict to the Los Angeles Kings in the Stanley Cup Final, capping what was as dynamic and gripping of a five-game series as you’ll see in any sport.

Yes, the Kings took a 3-0 series lead, and yes, they wrapped things up in what one day will surely be mistakenly described as a “tidy” five-game victory. But it took a pair of two-goal comebacks in Games 1 and 2, and Friday’s double-overtime crucible for the Kings to assume their throne atop the NHL and plunge this Ranger fan – and all others – into an instantaneous fog.

And yet the general sports malaise I find myself in now is not just about my team’s defeat. It’s bigger than just the Rangers.

I spent the last two months gripped by what is pound-for-pound the sporting world’s best event, the NHL Playoffs. If I wasn’t watching the Rangers, I surely had the Blackhawks or Bruins on.

Perhaps more so than any other, the NHL’s postseason presents the sport at its very best. And any attempt by me to wax poetic about the rigors – and beauty – of postseason hockey would ultimately fail, because Sports Illustrated’s Steve Rushin already did so in what might be the greatest bit of sports writing I’ve ever laid eyes on.

“Playoff hockey games begin with a frenzied first period more akin to sudden death and end with a sudden death that resembles something much closer to actual death,” Rushin wrote in his opus that ran during last year’s playoffs.

“The NHL playoffs are one long, pressurized Ponzi scheme: The sooner you get out, the more likely you'll be made whole again. After all, with no guaranteed payout, the teams that advance are doubling down on their potential misery.”

Just ask Henrik Lunqvist and the Rangers.

For these reasons, among dozens more, there’s simply nothing comparable to NHL’s annual “Ponzi scheme” – not the NBA, not March Madness. Sorry soccer fans, not even the World Cup.

This was all evident as I sat on a bar stool during Game 5, nervously chomping on my fingernails while my hockey team poured its guts out onto the ice. At some point during the overtime chaos I received an unexpected call from my friend, Kevin.

“Are you watching this game?” he asked.

Of course I’m watching the game.

“This is ridiculous,” he said. “You know I hate hockey, but this is ridiculous.”

During that brief phone call, why I love playoff hockey crystallized: It’s so unmistakably thrilling to watch, so maddening in its unrelenting intensity, that even casual fans and haters alike can’t turn away. 

And yet it’s all over now. Hockey diehards are left itching for just one more game, while fringe observers cannot deny the way they felt when they tuned into a game they thought they cared little about.

So as this year’s World Cup picks up speed with more excitement like we saw Monday, forgive me for not coming down with the soccer fever everyone seems to have.

I’m still nursing one heck of a hockey hangover.