From the Glass to the Press Box: My Unexpected Journey Through the Ranks of Hockey Fandom

(Credit: Ross Bonander/Texas Stars)

I used to measure hockey games in inches – from the loud snap of a puck against the glass, to the players who would have their celly right in front of me. I could swear at times that I was part of the game. I was the fan pounding on the glass, living and breathing every shift, every soul-jarring hit, and every goal. 

But somewhere between the roar of the crowd and the quiet moments between periods, I found myself drawn to a different vantage point – one where the view is higher, the coffee is hotter, and the sounds of the players calling their play replace the hilarious (and sometimes explicit) echoes of the fans chirping the opposing team’s players or the refs. This is the story of how I went from a die-hard fan in the front row to a reporter in the press box - and how the game I loved changed when I started covering it from above.

My journey with Texas Stars hockey started in 2022. My husband and son had been season ticket holders for a few seasons before I first set foot in the H-E-B Center at Cedar Park. Using some of their buddy passes, my youngest daughter and I attended our first game, and we were immediately hooked. After that game, I talked with the rep handling my husband’s account and signed up for a full season package.  From that moment, the new season could not start soon enough. 

I dove in headfirst. I followed all the Texas Stars socials, bookmarked the websites, joined the fan groups, and tried to learn everything I could before puck drop. Thankfully, my husband and son were more than happy to help fill in the gaps – explaining lines, penalties, and what to yell (and when). I became fully entrenched in all things Texas Stars: theme jerseys, meet-and-greet events, watch parties – you name it.

Then, midway through the summer break in 2024, my oldest daughter spotted a post on the 100 Degree Hockey page – they were looking for staff writers. As a technical writer for a Fortune 500 company for the past 20 years, I jumped at the chance to combine two of my favorite things: writing and hockey. After a few emails and an interview, I eagerly accepted the offer.

From that moment on, one question lingered in my mind: What about my seat on the glass? I thought about it often in the weeks leading up to Media Day. But I set it aside long enough to embrace the new opportunity that awaited.

Life in the press box is different. There are rules – many of them. And one, in particular, has been the hardest for me. As my counterpart Nicholas Kingman noted in his own story, you don’t “cheer or openly root for the team you cover.” Your attire is professional (no jerseys or team gear), and no matter the circumstance, you don’t react. My job is to observe, report, and remain neutral. For someone as vocal and energetic as I am, that neutrality felt like a muzzle.

As a fan, I lived for the adrenaline – the highs of a game-winning goal, the lows of a blown lead. I yelled until I was hoarse, hugged and high-fived strangers, and cursed refs with the best of them. But in the press box, emotion must be filtered through professionalism. I had to learn to watch the game with a different kind of intensity – one that demanded focus, not fervor.

At first, it was disorienting. I missed the chaos, the camaraderie, the feeling of being part of something bigger than myself. But slowly, something shifted. I began to appreciate the game in a new way. I noticed the subtleties – the way a defenseman angled his body to cut off a passing lane, the quiet leadership of team captain Curtis McKenzie during a TV timeout, the rhythm of line changes and bench communication. I wasn’t just watching hockey anymore – I was studying it.

My emotions didn’t disappear; they evolved. The thrill of a great play is still there, but now it comes with the satisfaction of capturing it in words. The heartbreak of a loss still stings, but now I channel it into storytelling. I’m not just a fan anymore – I am a witness, a translator, a bridge between the game and the people who love it.

And as for my seat on the glass – it is still there. Every now and then, I trade my press pass for my favorite Military Appreciation jersey, jeans, and sneakers. With a beer in one hand and popcorn in the other, I return to Section 116—not just to cheer, but to reconnect with the part of me that first fell in love with this team.