The first rule is…….you do not talk about fight club

It's been a few months since my last delve into the world blogging so it is with great delight that I have decided to stop being so lazy and continue my journey. I would also like to point out that this blog does reflect true events it is not done in an entirely regular basis as you will no doubt notice many months have passed.

I would like to start with a word "goalie". Since I started the whole skating "malarkey" time after time I kept on considering what my role would be on the team. At first and under advisement I thought, "I know, I could be the goalie!” Since my skating was crap and I did not know the rules I figured that I was onto a win-win situation, "just buy the gear, crawl if necessary to the net and stop any high velocity rubber puck with my funky new pads." It was during my naive discussion with fellow staff members on the topic of my being the goalie when it was pointed out that the team already had a goalie and his name was "Dave - Dave the Goalie". Feeling a bit defused I continued with the discussion anyways to see if I could somehow oust "Dave the Goalie" from his goalie position. It was not going to happen, Dave was the goalie and that was that and no one, and I mean no one, was going to muscle in on his goal tending action, especially not some plucky young upstart from....."Where is it again, oh yeah Scotland"? Taking Dave’s goalie crown would be about as easy as taking a polar bear cub from its mother, you get the picture! I can thank my co-workers for saddling me with the burden of inadequacy due to my lack of skill. But still I asked myself the question where was I going to fit in now?


Saddened by this news I ended up sending our company hockey manager and all round nice guy "Commander Chiggy Chigworth", several emails delaying my emersion into the company hockey team. So two weeks became 3 week and 3 weeks became 4 and so on. With every moment the blades of my cheap skates from Canadian Tire hit the ice the more panic I began to feel. This was grim, very grim and it was about to get worse, a lot worse. It was looking like fulfilling my dream, and I mean quite literally the dream I had about scoring a goal, was fading fast, too fast.

Not long after being told that I would have to fight "Dave the Goalie" is a bare knuckle fist fight to the death to actually be the goalie I was fortunate enough to meet "Dave". So in walks this mild mannered slightly grey haired man sporting jeans and a t-shirt promoting the virtues of Canadian beer (which Dave’s does quite a lot, in fact he collects beer but that's a whole other blog). After an introduction with a hand shake that is more grip than shake from his leather hide hands (unlike the rest of us, Dave actually works for a living so no panzie assed silk) and some small talk I cut right to the chase. "Dave how much was your gear". "Oh about $1500." Shit, big shit, super shit. Not only would I have to fight to the death to be the goalie I would then have to spend a bucket load of money to play the part. Talk about going from bad to worse and just to add insult to injury Dave is a really, really nice guy. Dave also loves being the goalie so if it came down to the bear chested bear knuckle fight he would quite literally fight to the death. At this point I am a broken man with nothing to show for it but sore feet and a serious hockey identity crisis.

Was giving up an option, a very painful yes, but I did not want to give up. Something inside kept on driving me forward. I think that it was just plain old delusion but onward I went. After several back and forth emails to "Commander Chiggy Chigworth", I was invited to attend one of the hockey matches, but only as a photographer and only for the 2 minute practice. But crushing blow number 3 was about to hit me the moment I stepped out on to…”the rink”.

I was fortunate enough to be driven to the game by the ever helpful and insightful “Frenchman” or “Coach” as he prefers to be called! I was so excited, I was actually about to attend my first ever hockey match. Most Canadian men attend their first hockey match with their fathers of uncles or even in the womb but for me I was with “The Coach” and it could not get any better. After a quick review of the schedule, with hop skip and a jump we made our way to “the locker room” to meet with what were soon to be “my team mates”. For anyone, especially the women, who are interested in what it is like in one of these “dens of masculinity”, there is not a lot that can be said apart from one thing. It stinks and I mean really stinks, to give you a better idea it has more “nose” than the bedrooms of ten teenagers.

I made a quick observation and another revelation hit me. When I eventually get my hockey equipment who is going to show me how to put it on? It looked a bit complicated with all the bits and straps and skates and tape, Jesus Christ this is like preparing for battle never mind a game.

I chatted for a while with the team and proclaimed that I would be match fit for the next game or two and that this day was special because I was going to practice with a stick and a puck for the very first time. With boundless encouragement the guys egged me on and could not wait for me to join the team as a full time member. Man this is what it is all about and for a moment I felt like I could score a goal right there and then. But I was quickly brought back to earth with a bump when I was handed a helmet and told that I could only go out on to the ice wearing it. Fair enough and rules are rules. You know the scenes where boxers emerge from a smoke filled doorway to the throng of a cheering crowd, well that’s what it felt like waiting in line to get to the ice but, and oh yes but, as soon as my skates hit the ice every minute of my 3 months of practicing left me. I had the team flying around me skating like NHL legends hitting slap shots like it ain’t no thing on the net and generally making me look very, very stupid. It should be noted to any would be hockey player, do not get in the way of a slap shot…..it really hurts.

So with stick in hand I tentatively made my way towards the nearest puck, this is the point where I hold my head in shame, no one told me about the difference in balance that is required. You see skating is one thing and skating with a stick is another and skating with the stick and trying to hit a small black rubber puck in a whole other different thing. So basically all of the practice boiled down to nothing because I simply could not hit the puck. To be honest I was quite thankful to get off the ice and end this frightening display of “noobieness”. I sucked, I totally sucked, this was going to be way harder than I anticipated. So scoring a goal was the least of my worries, clearing hitting the puck or just simply touching it was the key objective, after all one of the key principles of hockey is in fact handling the puck, that’s how goals and scored and prevented.

Shite!

Going Native

It is important that when one decides to take up hockey one needs to be honest and swallow the bitter sweet medicine of reality. Perhaps this is what the sane world would do, but not in Canada. In fact as the jungle drums started to beat within the company about my decision to participate with the team (I will leave the phrase 'playing hockey' to a later date until I can actually play) a mysterious tall dark stranger crossed my desk and recommended that to help me better learn the rules I needed to purchase a game. Not to play the game but to 'play the game'. This naturally appealed to my sense of damage limitation based on the injuries that I have currently sustained whilst learn to skate. (This was during the pre padding and pre hockey gear phase of my adventure) I would like to publicly decree that ice skating is dangerous and not for the faint hearted, especially the 37 year old faint hearted. If you are between 3 and 10 years old in Canada the slap of your own morality during the learning process completely misses your face and hits your parents, who worry and cry themselves senseless hoping that one day you will pay off the massive debt for you skating endeavors’ with a big juicy hockey contract. Mr. Scott Gomez I am pointing the finger right at you, well done! But for the adult skater, no such luck, this time the fist of mortality firmly lays itself slap bang between your eyes. Each step on the learning curve is another step towards possible injury and humiliation, trust me I know because to date I have whacked my wrist so hard on the ice that I thought it was fractured (healing time 5 weeks), next was the possible fracture to my lower rib on the left side whilst I was trying to stop, being sensible I was wearing plastic wrist guards but they slide on the ice, because they're plastic (healing time 4 weeks). I actually played hockey with these injuries (how hardcore am I). Then there are the injuries that are based on just plain stupidity, like tying your laces way too tight until you can barely walk or trotting out on to the ice and not paying attention resulting in a high speed face plant that strained my shoulder (4 weeks healing time). The point is this skating malarkey is very actually very therapeutic once you get home from the hospital!

So back to playing 'the game'. The tall dark stranger/ginger stranger was none other than big J from the IT department, yes I hang out with a lot of IT guys, "ya wanna make sumthin ov it?" With absolute glee I made my way out of the palace de travail and took a short but refreshing walk to the locally over priced but close to work "Future Shop". This is a store were you buy something for $600 and you walk out paying $800, no in fact most stores in Canada have this thing which can only be described as a "phenomenon", it's like something out of Star Trek. There is some serious rips in the space time continuum and its ass is sitting right over Canada. I first encountered this "thing" on my first ever trip to Ottawa to seem my buddy "The Rem". As a gesture of kindness I decided to buy him a CD, so off to HMV and I see something that he would like. It said 10 bucks on the label, "quality" I said to myself, completely unaware that the "phenomenon" was about to strike. So with 10 bucks in hand I presented the CD to the cashier with my ten dollars flapping with joy at the bargain that was about to be had. So a couple of pings and beeps later the cashier proclaims “that will be thirteen fifty". Nearly choking to death and not wishing to make a scene, this naturally tight fisted scot peed himself looked at the cashier with the twitch of a madman in my eye and said "excuse me". (Which was long and drawn out). Thinking that I had heard them wrong it was my first automatic reaction. "That will be thirteen dollars and fifty cents." Beaten down with the shame of not understanding the "phenomenon" I caved and bought the bloody CD for my friend, who I love very dearly, despite the fact that he hawked the CD, is later years for money because he was a skint student.

Anyway I digress, so off to future shop but first I had to battle my way through all of the employee's who smoke in packs just outside the front door, and I am not kidding. To be honest I am surprised there was not full scale anarchy after they introduced the smoking ban here. It's like everyone and their dog smokes in this part of the world. And the funny thing is they hide the ciggies behind metal shutters to try and reduce smoking number, like, hello it's not bloody working politicians of Quebec. These people have x-ray vision, they can see right through the metal shutters, they know that the ciggies are there and they want them, and they get them and they smoke them......everywhere! Yet another side track, anyway, I get into Future Shop and make my way the shelves that have the xbox 360 game (and yes I am a gamer and yes I am comfortable with that). Since the game was just released I was in luck, they had millions of them right at the front of the store, yummy! To cut a long story short, I purchased the game without event, apart from the "phenomenon" happening again. So far no one has explained to me clearly why this thing happens, the game on the shelves is $60 then they do some funny calculations then say "that will be $69". You know they tax you twice in this state, once for Canada and once for Quebec, just in case my residency is wrong but I thought that I lived in Canada, anyway.

I returned home with game in hand (much to the delight is the GF). In it went and off I go into the virtual world of the NHL, EA Sports style! And yes "It's in the game". Now I am used to playing games were you set the level no novice, pick a gun and shoot everything that moves, simple. But EA hockey is a bit more refined and complicated. So the first thing to do was learn how to move my wee man, with his stick, with the puck, on the ice. There was a funny moment of truly divine comedy. The GF decided to have a go and "show me how it was done" since she is the GF. So while she is playing the game, I start to read the booklet, without much luck. With a mutter of dejection I look up to see the GF kicking ass on the ice and scoring goals. It was only when the laughter died down that we realized that we were actually watching a demo and the controls done nothing. But the delusion was fun while it lasted.

Secretly laughing at the GF she went off to leave me with my game. A button press here and a green A there, I managed to get to the practice mode screen were I was asked to enter my name, which I dully did. And then as the game loaded the first practice session to my utter shock and joy, my dude on the screen was sporting the name "Bardsley" on the back of his hockey jersey, yes I had made it to the NHL without even lifting a stick or hitting a puck, I was playing for the Pittsburgh Penguins. You have no idea how this made me feel, as far as I was concerned I was famous, "looks ma, I'm on the telly". After the pride and the chuckles died down I realized that I was not very good at this game (in Scotland we use the word shite). The French are not the only ones that can add and "E" to words to make them sound cool, ahah! Virtual hockey involves a lot of skill and patience, I have been offered virtual hockey lessons from "The Guru" which we will do at a later date. So never mind learning the rules I was confused at moving the wee man on the screen. Needless to say my EA hockey career has not taken off, yet!

Apart from actually being born the next massive event in my life that is worthy of recording was the day I watched my first hockey game, yes I am 37 years old and, until recently I had never watched a game of ice hockey. To help me navigate my way through this mine field of visual stimulation I called upon the watchful eye my dear friend and work compadre, the one and only “Monkey Boy Killer”, or “The Frenchman” as he is known to me. He is the Frenchman not because he is from France but because simply he speaks French, end off. But this new title of “Monkey Boy Killer” is something that the Frenchman is actually quite proud of because he is in fact killing “Monkey Boy” Aka “The Guru” in the hockey pool which I am a part of. And incidentally I am last because I know nothing about hockey. This particular pool is not for money, no, this hockey pool is for bragging rights and since the Frenchman is feeling pretty confident at the moment “the bragging” has already started. For the uneducated “a hockey pool” involves picking the names of hockey player and you get points each time they score a goal, the more points they score the more points you get and once the season is over whoever wins either gets money or the right to shove it down the throats of all the other participants concerned that he or she is the king of all hockey knowledge and you are a microbe under gods finger nail. Believe you me hockey based conversation are like listening to two college professors taking about the finer details of the space time continuum and “the phenomenon”, which are very difficult to understand.

So the Frenchman was my guide for the evening on my first journey into the world of hockey watching. And he did not fail me, after consuming the lovely curry that I prepared we sat down to watch “the hockey”. Well I sat down to watch the hockey, the Frenchman started recording this most auspicious occasion by taking photos of me pointing at the TV with a confused look on my face. Alas this was not a league game, no, it was only one of the 5 or 6 preseason games so the pace was a little slower, but never the less I really enjoyed watching a game of sport. It is really fun watching hockey, lots of ooohhhhhh’s and aaaahhhh’s as the player’s dart from end to end trying to place the wee black plastic puck into the back of the net.

After the game I felt fulfilled but only just enough that I wanted more, I needed more and I was not to be disappointed but that story is for another day. I will end by saying that as my journey has only started I can feel a love developing for a game and a sport that is fast paced, aggressive, painful and highly emotional, yip, I am one step away from being “a fan”.