var yuipath = 'clientscript/yui';
var yuicombopath = '';
var remoteyui = false;
else // Load Rest of YUI remotely (where possible)
var yuipath = 'http://yui.yahooapis.com/2.9.0/build';
var yuicombopath = 'http://yui.yahooapis.com/combo';
var remoteyui = true;
Having moved far enough north (ugh.) to where the ponds actually freeze and you can find people that actually play hockey, I've learned something about hockey that I would have never learned in Indiana. Hockey fans are not sports fans in general, but they love hockey as Hoosiers love basketball. Up here in Chicago, there's a very solid Blackhawks base that couldn't tell you the first thing about either baseball team (can't blame them, it is baseball), the Bulls (viewed as the evil competition because they play a slow, non-ice sport and take up too much of the arena time for their taste), and they're the only segment of the population that isn't outright Bears homers. In their view, and shared by most Canadiens, there is only one major sport as its the only one played on ice.
Contrast that with the typical sports fan that follows at least two to three of the remaining major teams (around here, its the Bears and whichever of the Bulls or WhiteSox actually has a chance to be a contender, and then there are thousands of fans of the World's Greatest Bar that go to the games but don't care if the Cubs win or lose as long as the beer is cold.
For everyone south of I-80, where the ponds don't freeze, hockey is an acquired taste because nobody (not literally nobody of course, but probably less than 1% of the population) has actually played it or understands it.
Why do the things that we treasure most, slip away in time
Till to the music we grow deaf, to God's beauty blind
Why do the things that connect us slowly pull us apart?
Till we fall away in our own darkness, a stranger to our own hearts
And life itself, rushing over me
Life itself, the wind in black elms,
Life itself in your heart and in your eyes, I can't make it without you