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!
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