I will do my best to illustrate my love for the game of hockey. It is a sport unlike any other, full of intangible events, smells, sights and sounds. There are specific things that are only associated with ice hockey that stir emotion inside of me like no other sport.

Growing up in Slidell, Louisiana until the age of nine, the introduction to ice hockey came courtesy of  (the late) George Michael and his Sports Machine. As the local sports guy on WRC-TV in Washington D.C., (and not the former Wham! front man) Michael also hosted a nationally syndicated highlight show on Sunday nights.

This was back in the early 1980’s folks. There was no overdose of sports media and Sportscenter had yet to take over the universe. The Sports Machine offered a crude (by today’s standards), but thorough examination of the top highlights of the week in all sports. There were the token “best and worst” of the previous week and updates from outside the Baltimore and D.C. market that I didn’t have regular access to.

It was during one of the more memorable episodes that I caught a highlight of a Detroit Red Wings-Boston Bruins free-for-all brawl. It was hardly a line brawl; it was just a mass of low-definition players punching the hell out of each other during a sporting event. I could not look away. I was hooked by the semi-organized chaos that played before me. I read everything I could about ice hockey, told every friend I could about the mayhem and carnage I had witnessed. I wanted desperately to be a part of it.

I taught myself to skate after being told that among other things, ice hockey was too dangerous. I used some old figure skates that my dad had kept from the civil war era and saved every penny I could scrape together until I purchased my first pair of Bauer 90’s. When I was old enough to drive, I used my dad’s military window stickers to access the Naval Academy ice rink.

Remember folks, this was a secured military campus, but pre 9/11. So as a resourceful and ambitious spark plug I managed to procure unlimited ice time at the Navy’s Dahlgren Hall after the regular business hours and after the Zamboni had cleared the ice at close.

There is nothing, and I seriously mean absolutely nothing, like a fresh clean sheet of ice. It smells like winter no matter what the calendar says, and the low hum of the condensers keeping the surface frozen is the same in every rink on the planet. The sound of galvanized rubber slapping, bouncing and then sliding on a 16 to 22 degree frozen water surface as you toss your pucks is as distinctive as the Buffalo Sabres’ goal horn.

The clap of a stick blade hitting ice and puck simultaneously. The thunderous “BOOM” of the puck hitting the old boards behind the goal. The “DING” of a wrist shot hitting the post. This hiss of skates digging into the frozen surface as you stop on a dime. These are the sounds that I remember as a teenager during my midnight hockey lessons. They are as unique to hockey as the sounds you would associate with any sport of your choice.

I imagine the first step onto the ice, feeling the blade at your toe digging in is a lot like Tiger Woods stepping in to the tee box on the first hole at Augusta. Lionel Messi trotting out of the tunnel, taking his first steps onto the pitch at the Nou Camp on match day. Justin Verlander stepping over the first base line on his way to the mound. Peyton Manning yelling “razor” seven times before taking the snap. This is the stage. For me, that empty hall was a packed house at the Joe Louis Arena. Those first strides and glides across that clean sheet echoed throughout the ancient building, end to end on the blank glassy canvas in front of me.

I was already in love with the sport that I couldn’t play competitively (yet) but those hours upon hours skating solo in the low lights at the Naval Academy were absolutely amazing. No one in the history of mankind has finished more end-to-end rushes to win the Stanley Cup than this guy. Believe it or not, I actually turned into a pretty good player in college and beyond despite having never been coached or having any formal training.

The passion for sports, any sport, is shared by billions across the planet. Sport is the ultimate reality show where anything can and usually does happen. For those lucky enough to compete in the sport that they are passionate about, it doesn’t matter if you never get to play for pay. It’s the love of the game, not the cliché, the absolute love and passion for the sport that makes your heart skip a beat or puts butterflies in your stomach.

As a fan of almost every sport that exists, hockey, specifically the NHL does it for me. My playing days have long since passed, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a competitive fire still inside of me. I cheer for the teams that I like and grumble about those that I don’t. But the beauty of the NHL is something that I appreciate regardless of the jerseys on the ice.

Hockey is a niche sport right now. I’m honest enough to admit that. The keepers/leaders of the NHL continue to take two to seven steps back for every step taken forward. A season was salvaged at the eleventh hour last December, but the fans came back because they love the sport. In spite of the best efforts to drive people away, the NHL consistently puts out one of the best products in the world.

There are players in their prime right now who will go down in the NHL record books as some of the best to have ever played. The advances in training and technology have helped hockey more than any sport where they have potentially hurt the NFL, MLB and NBA.

The size and speed of the athletes in football has overtaken the technology designed to protect them which has compromised player safety and caused a “watering down” of the product. NFL apologists will say it is the evolution of the sport, but I say that the league is moving at a pace that will see it become a 7-v-7-drill league in 15 years. The adjustments that need to be made at full speed are unreasonable for any decent defensive players, and the competitive balance has shifted unfairly to the offense. Oh, and NFL, stop preaching about player safety unless you get rid of at least two preseason games, abandon the 18-game season idea and implement a legitimate drug testing policy.

In the NBA, evolution means no hand-checks, no contact and unlimited offense. They have an amazing product with some of the best athletes the sport has ever seen, but too often the “association” looks like a glorified pick-up game until the third round of the playoffs. The players are better now than they have ever been historically, but the coaching gap, or lack thereof from college to pro makes for sloppy play until games matter.

Baseball, I love you, but it’s time to get with the times. They are in fact “a-changin’”. The historical purists grumbling for the modern day whippersnappers to collectively “get off their lawn” can be summarized in Bud Selig’s ignorance to embrace technology and institute a legitimate instant replay system and viable drug testing policy. The PED system in place now is about 15 years too late and still has enough loopholes to keep the cheaters a half step ahead of the testers.

Trust me when I say that the NHL is not without flaws. For Christ’s sake, the commissioner of the league has almost single-handedly crashed the league into a burning dumpster at least three times during his tenure. Labor disputes notwithstanding, the Gary Bettman era has embraced technology and it’s virtues along with the athletes who play the game.

The days of chain-smoking between periods are legendary but long gone in the NHL. Cross-training and year round fitness are representative of the new age professional athlete and the NHL is better for it. The sport is faster, more physical (minus some head shots) than ever before with players who are more gifted than, gasp, Gretzky and Orr. Yeah, I said it, but let’s face it, those guys would be mid level players in 2013. Sorry 1970’s hockey guy, but it’s the truth.

I’m not trying to win more fans for the NHL, but I am strongly encouraging you to check it out if you haven’t already. For LeBron James, Peyton Manning and Miguel Cabrera the NHL has Sidney Crosby, Steven Stamkos and Henrik Lundqvist. There is more diversity (internationally) than any major sport not called soccer. It has the speed and violence of football, the graceful elegance and fluidity of basketball and the hand-eye coordination of baseball. Oh yeah, and they do it all while they skate on ice at 15-20 miles per hour. What’s not to love?

Don’t worry about learning the rules, the teams or even the players just yet. Tune in to NBC Sports because they’ll have a good game on almost every night. I don’t expect you to fall in love with hockey the way I did, but you never know until you give the NHL a chance.