In a move that has sent shivers down the spines of cynics and warmed the cockles of cliché merchants, British broadcasters have announced a coordinated assault on the nascent genre of ice hockey romance. Yes, you read that correctly. The same executives who once commissioned 'The Only Way is Essex' have now deduced that the missing ingredient in televisual romance is, apparently, a puck and a Zamboni.
Multiple sources confirm that no fewer than five separate projects are now in development, each set in the grim, grey rinks of Britain rather than the glamorous arenas of North America. Because nothing says passion quite like a damp changing room in Milton Keynes, smelling of Deep Heat and regret.
The logic, if one can dignify it with such a term, is that the inherent drama of ice hockey – the violence, the speed, the teeth scattering across the ice – provides the perfect backdrop for the delicate dance of modern courtship. I propose the alternative theory: that television commissioners have been struck by a collective bout of hypothermia from sitting too long in their cryogenic pods, and this is their brain's final, frozen gasp before turning to slush.
Consider the archetypes. The brooding, monosyllabic enforcer with a heart of gold and a jaw of titanium. The feisty physiotherapist who can fix a dislocated shoulder and a broken spirit in equal measure. The washed-up veteran given one last shot at glory, who must choose between the Stanley Cup and the love of a good woman who runs the local chip shop. It writes itself, which is fortunate, because original thought clearly left the building some time ago.
This is, of course, the same logic that gave us 'Strictly Come Dancing', 'The Great British Bake Off', and a thousand shows where people renovate French chateaux. The television industry operates on a simple principle: find a niche, fill it with stereotypes, and pray the Americans don't notice. But ice hockey? In Britain? The land where 'ice' is a four-letter word and 'hockey' is played on a field with a ball and a vague sense of disappointment.
Let us not forget the practical challenges. British ice hockey rinks are, by and large, damp, cold, and populated by a hardy band of enthusiasts who would rather fight an opponent than share a tender moment. The romance, one fears, will be as convincing as a politician's apology. Expect scenes where lovers gaze deeply into each other's eyes while a fight breaks out in the background, and the hero delivers a soliloquy about the importance of good dental insurance.
I can already see the trailer: a woman in a sensible beanie hat, standing by the boards, watching a man with a missing tooth and a questionable perm skate slowly towards her. 'I never thought I'd fall for a guy who smells of liniment,' she whispers. 'And I never thought I'd find someone who understands my need for a good forecheck,' he replies, dropping his gloves and proposing with a loose tooth.
The BBC, eager to justify its licence fee, has reportedly commissioned a series called 'Slapshot Hearts', in which a Zamboni driver from Hull falls for a figure skater who has lost her way. ITV, not to be outdone, is developing 'Face Off: Love Story', where two rival team captains discover they are secret online pen pals. Channel 4's offering, 'Puck the System', involves a polyamorous throuple between a goalie, a linesman, and a hot dog vendor. It is, by some distance, the most credible of the lot.
One cannot help but wonder if we have reached the terminal point of television's imagination. Having exhausted the dramatic possibilities of hospitals, period dramas, and property shows, the industry has turned to a sport that barely registers in the national consciousness. Next week, I am told, a bidding war will erupt for 'Curling Courtship' and 'Bobsleigh Babies'. Mark my words.
In the meantime, I shall be writing my own pitch: 'Ice Maidens', a gritty drama about a women's league team in Sheffield, where the love interest is a Zamboni machine. It's pure, it's honest, and it won't say a word. That's more than I can say for the commissioning editors.
