In a development that has left both sports fans and romcom enthusiasts concussed with confusion, British screenwriters have apparently decided that the missing link between 'Love Actually' and 'Slap Shot' was always a Zamboni. Yes, dear reader, the as-yet-unnamed genre of Hockey-Romance (Hock-Rom? Rom-Hock? Let's workshop it over a lukewarm gin) is reportedly dominating telly schedules. And who better to craft this frostbitten fusion of brawls and banter than the nation that gave the world both 'Pride and Prejudice' and the hooliganism of a Premier League derby?
Let's be clear: nobody asked for this. The public was quite content with their gentle period dramas about repressed letters and their grim Scandinavian noir about repressed murders. But now, a new breed of screenwriter, presumably huddled in a Soho production office warmed only by the heat of a MacBook and the bitter memory of a rejected Radio 4 pitch, has decided that what the nation really needs is a will-they-won't-they set against the backdrop of a high-stakes game of frozen pucks and missing teeth.
The logic, if one can call it that, is both baffling and bleakly hilarious. Ice hockey, that glorious Canadian import where violence is not a bug but a feature, is now apparently the perfect vessel for emotional vulnerability. Because nothing says 'I love you' quite like a five-minute major penalty for boarding. The formula writes itself: He's a washed-up enforcer with a secret poetry habit. She's a fiercely independent figure skater who needs to learn to trust again. They meet when his wild slapshot sends her into the boards during a charity mixed-singles tournament. Cue slow-motion eye contact over a bloody nose.
British screenwriters, of course, bring their own special flavour of repression and rain to the genre. Expect the love story to unfold not in sunny arenas but in perpetually damp municipal rinks that smell of stale chips and regret. Expect dialogue that sounds like a therapist's manual rewritten by someone who's only ever seen hockey played on a Wii. "You can't just keep boarding your emotions, Damian." "You skate right through people, Olivia, but you never let anyone in." The puns will be relentless. The punditry will be insufferable.
And yet, I can't entirely hate it. In a world gone mad, a bad hockey romance almost feels like a comfort. At least it's upfront about its absurdity. So let the British invasion of the pink-rink begin. Let the screenwriters have their day. Just don't expect me to watch more than the first five minutes. I've got a date with a gin bottle, and unlike these fictional pugilists, I know how to keep my stick on the ice.
