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”.

Bonding?

"What in the name of God am I doing?" I have sore feet, my knees hurt, my confidence is low and not only that I have never even touched a hockey stick. I seem to be engaged in this freaky internal dialogue that keeps on telling me that in a couple of weeks I will have just enough ability to play for the company team and not kill myself or anyone else. Damn those nice mild mannered polite co-workers who convinced me that this was a good idea! Damn you all to hell. But there was no going back, I had to struggle on, I joined the team and my reputation was at stake. This was challenging my personal creed that if you say you are going to do something, do it. What a dilema I got myself into.

I had visions of me playing hockey and being shunned by the team for being a useless fool, the other players would skate around me and laugh at the newbie "hey newbie you're new, newbie, hmmmm, can you skate, hhhmmm, had any lessons, hhmmm" (said with a Stewie Griffin voice) . There was only one thing for it, I needed to ask for help. As there is no shortage of hockey enthusiasts (hockey nuts to be exact, let's just be clear, a hockey fan is like nothing I have ever encoutered before, they watch, eat sleep, play and consume the game) so at work I sent out a 'skating SOS'. The first man to take up the gauntlet was 'The Guru', a fun guy with a smile and a wink who is always fun at parties. This is the guy who knows more hockey statistics than Don Cherry (very egocentric old hockey dude) and laughs harder than Buddah.

When we arrived at the rink, things were going slowly and I was eager for my first skating lesson, 'The Guru' needed the right fit of skates and was taking his time tieing his laces. Chomping at the bit I headed up stairs and out on to the ice. Eventually 'The Guru' showed up and met me on the ice. We skated like men do, around for a while in relative ignorance and avoiding the obvious issue that we both needed lessons. Nevertheless I was undetered and enjoyed my skating experience with my very accomodating work colleague. But I still needed lessons, I need to learn how to do the cool slidey stop things and turning, and skating backwards (yes I wanted to sprint before I could walk), I was in luck though because there was one offer I could not refuse. I was going to have a lesson with 'The Last King of Scotland'.

Thomas James Stewart is a half Scottish Persian (sounds like a kind of rug!), he speaks great French, Farsi and English, and he is a Stewart (the surname of the Scottish Royalty), first in line to the throne of Scotland (not really but it sounds good). This was the man for the job, my coach, my teacher, my King. He was going to help me regain some dignity and self respect and he was doing it for free, which is a total bonus for a Scotsman as we are well renowned for being so tight that when we drop a coin it hits us on the back of the head. Anyway, one day after work, "TJ" (Thomas) managed to get some skates and offered his services. Brimming with excitement and nerves we navigated the gauntlet that are the streets of Montreal (or Rues) and headed to the Gauche Rink. I would like to point out that "TJ" chose to remain in his work clothing for my skating lesson, in a nut shell, he was dressed in a suit and not his jeans, thankfully he was not wearing his white ostrich skin shoes (the kind my GF would never let me wear!). What a sight to behold I can tell you, but not uncommon down at the rink.

And so we began. First "TJ" assessed my skills and then set to work on showing me some new techniques. The first obvious skill I wanted to learn, apart from not falling down, was how to do the cross over thingy. "TJ" was very concice with his instruction and I began to practice, practice, practice. It's not an easy thing to do for a novice skater but with "TJ's" patience I was starting to get the hang of it. The next step on the road the NHL draft was to learn how to skate backwards, this I was not looking forward to. People make it look so easy and I suppose in principle it is easy but the risk of knocking yourself out on the ice is about 90%. I should point out that since my first fall, the fear of hitting the ice was engraved in my mind, so to ensure my own survival and to avoid a lengthy court battle between my family and the owners of the rink, should I have injured myself, I decided that wearing my cycling helmet was a very sensible option. I did not look cool and I was not concerned about looking cool, the main thing was to live.

Back to skating backwards, this was one of those intimate moments that happen between two men, special moments never to be shared with anyone. But hey I am in the mood for sharing! At the side of the rink we "touched". "TJ" grasped by arms with a delicate but firm grasp and issued his instructions (no pressure) about balance and stability and my centre of gravity. Slowly I started to glide backwards, if I had hair I would have felt the wind flow right through it (credited to the GF for that line, oh yes we laughed - hard), it was happening, I was going backwards! But then I stopped and fumbled and though it better to focus on skating forwards first, after all I was going to be puck fodder. By the end of the lesson "TJ's" shirt looked like someone hit him with a fire hose, man this boy sweats more than a horse at a glue factory (joke credited to "The Guru"). The lesson was great though and "TJ" is a fine teacher so if you want a lesson just look for a white BMW with smoke coming from the tyres.

So with my skating back on track it was time to challenge yet other obvious hurdle that was in the way of my getting drafted to the NHL, I needed to learn "the rules". And lucky old me the right man for the job made the right kind of offer (during lunch time, just in case anyone gets any funny ideas). There is not a lot that "The Main Man" does not know about hockey, so I was in good hands. Armed with a pen and paper and marching to the staff lunch room I was eager to learn from this wisest of master. But "The Main Man" has one flaw, he is a fan of the Boston Bruins, but we don't talk about that as this is a "I know nothing about hockey but I will support the Canadiens because I live in Montreal, blog type thingy". So all manner of talk about the Bruins had to be curbed during my lesson about the rules, it was best for the both of us.

So what did I understand about the rules? Well there are six player on the team, x2 defence, x3 forwards and a goalie. There are 5 lines and each one has a purpose, since I am a newbie, the line to pay attention to is the blue line (eazy peezy lemon squeezy). When heading down to the opposing team's net, the puck must cross the line first before the player. There is also this place called the neutral zone but I don't know why it's so neutral because they fight there as well.

There are also 3 periods, the duration depends on the league, since I would be playing in the NHL soon this was something I had to pay attention to. Then there is something called 'icing' not to be confused with the sweet yummy stuff found on cakes, no, icing happens when you whallop the puck from your halfway line and it travels, without hitting another player, past the opposing teams goal line. The penalty for icing is a penalty, which is 2 minutes in the penalty box (The Main Man has a special seat at the rink with his name carved into the bench, he did this with the broken tooth from another player that chose to hustle our goalie Dave out of beer, but that's old news). If a player finds themselves in the penalty box the opposing team has an advantage, this is called a 'power play' in French it is called a 'we have more people on the ice so therefore our chance of scoring is higher'. There is also the offside rule but that's a whole other blog, just like the footie back home the offside rule can baffle the most learn'ed man so it was not too hard to confuse me. As you can see "The Main Man" had done a great job teaching me the rules, but there was one thing he forgot to tell me, hockey is a bit rough and "The Main Man" likes it rough. So I am told - "The Main Man" has bigger brothers so when he learned to play hockey he could not let the big boys beat on him. But alas now every time he holds a stick and puts on his helmet everyone becomes a 'big boy' so Paul changes from the nice as pie work colleague to "Mr. Your Card is Marked and I am taking you down". Of course not wishing to offend "The Main Man" and very thankful for his tuition I though it only polite that I keep his infractions down to a minimum. We won't mention the jail time, warrants, bans, hospitalizations, near death experiences or federal injunctions that prevent him from playing in most civilized societies.

Next time I will break the news about watching my first game of hockey on TV and how EA sports really does "challenge everything".

It's How We Roll

After the initial adulation of purchasing my skates wore off I considered, with a degree dread, that learning to ice skate has its up and downs. But thankfully I was not the only proverbial 'newbie' in the boat, oh no, I was sharing the boat with another. Which to the novice ice hockey/ice skater can calm the nerves a bit. I had a skating buddy for my first time skating in Canada (were babies are actually born with 'Wolverine' like blades on their feet), Oh yes, let's make no mistake I was in the dragons den, the demons lair, the Jedi temple, everyone is Canada is a skating God. I have seen them with my own eyes during my trials and tribulations at the rink. Parents, those responsible forebear's of compassion, education and love, take their barely walking offspring to 'an ice rink' and instruct the child in the art of skating. The Canadians are made for winter sports, just have a look at this very funky ad promoting "The Bay's" Winter Olympic clothing line and you will get what I am talking about. A strange juxtaposition that a people with so much warmth have so much passion for snow and ice and also their country does not grind to a halt every time a snow flake touches a railway track, unlike the UK.

So I had a "buddy" to share in my first tentative steps out there on the ice with, and not just your normal skating buddy, no, I had "Sal" from the IT department at work."Sal (Salaheddin)" shares his name with a very famous Muslim historical figure, Salaheddin the liberator of Jerusalem and smiter of the infidel hordes. And I witnessed first hand the power of this most noble name as "Sal" smited some dude when he played him online at PES Pro Evolution Soccer, very impressive. Anyway Sal claimed that he had not skated for a number of years, which made me feel okay because if fools we shall be then fools we shall be together! But to my shock and awe, his most modest claim was far from the truth, no, the fact is that Sal was very comfortable and graceful on his skates were as I looked about as comfortable as a walrus on a tight rope. With my confidence in tatters there was only one thing that I could do to salvage what little dignity I had left, "don't fall". But this was not to be the case, fate was about to deal me a fatal blow. In a nut shell, I ended up on my arse, but only once. Having skated around a few time I was really starting to like this whole "skating" thing, I felt more "Canadian". I felt that the I could call a moose out from the wilds or even say "aboooot" like one of the natives, I had Molson X running through my vein and nothing would stop me, NHL here I come. So with my mind firmly wrapped in delusion I was paying little or no attention to where my feet were and in an attempt to slightly shift direction I crossed my blades and "voila". I end up in a rather ungraceful heap on the ice. That was it, the deal was done, in my mind I had failed, totally failed. I fell, I had no dignity and no self respect, kind of like your dad when he confidently steps on your skateboard and proclaims "watch this son" (a sight which I have seen first hand, although without the proclamation.)

With arse on ice I was stuck by an obvious fact, I was getting too old for this and the whole "You've bitten off way more than you can chew" ghost slapped me in the face as a 4 year old child skated passed me giving me a look of sympathy. Thinking about it now I can only imagine the conversation that this child had with their parent during their drive back home, "mummy/daddy why was that man lying on the ice looking sad?" and the parent replies "That's what happens when your imagination far out weighs your ability." And the moral of the story, if first you don't succeed, make sure you do it again in private!

But being a plucky Brit and brainless Scot I could not let this get me down, so with Mel Gibson`s historically "Freedom" speech from Braveheart (which was filmed in Ireland and featured an Aussie lead actor who sported the worst Scottish accent in cinema history), ringing in my ears, I thought to myself, no, I have to do this.

Did I mention that several months prior to my decision to join the company hockey team "I had a dream", much like Rev Martin Luther King, that I scored a goal playing ice hockey wearing a Montreal Canadien's jersey (and for the GF's dad, yes I had other clothes on and not just the jersey!) A somewhat deluded dream but I felt amazing, it felt like Rockey beating Ivan Drago in Rockey 4 to the fanfare of the theme tune playing in the background.

I totally forgot to mention that "the rink (1000 De la Gauchetiere" where I practice is only 10 minutes walk from where I work in downtown Montreal and not only that it is slap bang in the middle of a high rise business type building. And this can be rather intimidating as people peer over the barrier from the food court or from the balcony above the rink. The last thing one wants is to skate head first into a full on dignity stripping moment in front of a crowd.

And being Montreal where anything goes, the walk to the rink is like watching death race 2000 all up close and personal. The folks here drive like absolute psychos and it's a wonder that there is anyone left in the city to actually drive.

My next post is a rather royal affair as I get a skating lesson from the last king of Scotland, and not only that, remember the dude from the first post who is nice as pie in the office and turns into a total loon on the ice? Well during lunch this fine man teaches me "the rules of ice hockey". And it is then that I learn my second lesson about ice hockey, "it's a bit rough".

Keep cool!

How Hard Can it Be?

Have you ever thought to yourself that you have bitten off way more than you can chew? Well joining the company hockey team was one of those moments for me. After the throng and adulation had ended (which took place primarily in my head) I was left with a rather sobering reality, I have not skated since I was a kid and I had no idea how to play the game. I have never actually watched a game of hockey, which is quite disturbing in a sort of weird sadistic way because if I had actually watched a full game then I think that my gleeful optimism would not have lasted long. But saying that it seems that my ignorance is now the primary motivating factor with this little adventure because when I actually sit down to consider what I have actually done I am actually shocked, and so is my sister.

So after a micro-second of reflection and as yet still un-phased by the thought of actually playing hockey (non drug educed high due to buckets of encouragement still in full effect). I decided that the first thing to do was to get out there and buy a pair of skates. The next phase was to actually drag myself to an ice rink and start skating but that’s a whole other story, and I use the term skating very loosely when describing what I was actually attempting to do. Armed only with my Opus card (metro card) and fist full of Interac (that’s Switch for the folks back home) I took myself down to the Mecca of many a shopper ‘Canadian Tire’ and not to a sports equipment store which would have been the most obvious and sensible choice. Yes, only the truly ignorant or stupid would buy a pair of ice skates from this particular store and it’s not because the products are bad, in fact they supply very good top name brands at very affordable prices – no, because this shopper has absolutely no idea what he is actually buying coupled with the fact that no advice was acquired and no research was ever conducted, this brave Scot went in totally blind. Historically speaking nothing new there then, Culloden, the Edinburgh tram system, the Scottish Parliament, Alex Salmon, the list goes on.

It is only fair to point out that the Scots GF wanted to come with him to purchase the skates, which would have been the smart thing to do, but I foiled a major deception as she turned up to the mall unexpectedly with an ulterior motive. Oh yes the GF had other plans. She wanted to drag me into Zellers and look at TV units but I was having none of it, and with a blank stare and couple of “ooohhh’s and ahhhh’s” over some Xbox games I could see over in the next section, I wore her down sufficiently and I even managed to leave Zellers with some beef jerky, score! But I digress.

When it came down to actually choosing the skate it was easy, the criteria was simple “what would Darth Vader wear?”. Now despite Darth being a dude with a major chip on his shoulder he was one seriously sharp dressed man. So black was the color of choice for my skates and they had to ooze cool, forget functionality “what’s that”. To be more exact they are black with heavy embellishments in Death Star Grey and Clone wars Blue.

So I will emphasize again the workings of my mind, despite having no skating skills, or never having watched a game of hockey, or having any knowledge of the rules my skates had to look cool. My choice of Vader being a style reference is because I have no hockey idols on which to model style on (for those who encouraged me to join the hockey team take note for the next time). After a bit of walking up and down the aisle and a few funny looks from the staff I found what I was looking for. In a big orange box with “Nike Bauer” on the side I pulled them from the shelf and opened the box. I must confess that I am not exactly 100% ignorant because I have actually heard of “Nike” and “Bauer”

Imagine, if you will, a clueless 37ish Scots man trying on a pair of ice skates on an almost glass like ceramic tiled floor? I bet your thinking National Lampoons? Now does this individual know if the skate is appropriate for the task? Who cares, I have found Vader’s skates! No but seriously after trying on a couple of pairs with only a couple of minor stumbles I have them, my first pair of skates. After a short wait at the checkout and a brief phone conversation with the now in transit GF I had the skates in hand. Beaming like a Cheshire cat I could not wait to put them on and give them a go, so with a hop, skip and a jump I headed home with the GF after the Zellers deception (she will hate me for mentioning this) to try on my skates.

A note to the novice enthusiast, when trying on new skates for the first time do not walk around the apartment with wooden floors, stainless steel and wood do not mix well. So to avoid the hassle of picking up your GF who has just passed out due to blind rage at witnessing your stupidity, best use a rug or carpet!


The moment I tried them on was truly exceptional, with absolutely no skill or research I managed to buy a decent pair of skates, not too tight but tight enough to feel comfortable, they cupped my ankle beautifully. Triumphantly I stood proud on the wooden floor of our apartment and proclaimed my joy. Yes my joy and not the GF’s joy because she pointed out my obvious indiscretion with a wide eyed stare and high pitched wail.

So here the tale of my skate buying ends, next time I will recant the story of my first attempt at skating with a work colleague who also joined the team as a novice and oh what a terrifying tale.

Thanks D

God Forgive Me for I Know Not What I'm Doing

As a passive individual with little or no tolerance for sport, or sporting experience of any kind; one could be forgiven for engaging in a scratch of the head and asking exactly why this none lover of sport would even consider entertaining the thought that he could actually play ice hockey. (Or just plain old Hockey to the natives) I should also point out that this is the guy that cried in his grannies arms when he came last in the 50 meter sprint after his first ever sports day. Since then me and sport have never seen eye to eye!

For the uninitiated ice hockey is a game played on a big slab of indoor ice called a rink where 6 individuals, including a goalie (goal keeper) put on ice skates and attempt to score goals in a net that could be best described as nothing more than an oversized fishnet cod piece or (Jock strap). The object of interest that is used to score the said goal is called "a Puck". The puck is about the size of a coaster and about an inch high made from black hard rubber. Please take note as this will make more sense when we look at the role of the goalie and his attempts to stop the said hard black rubber puck often projected at high speed. The speed renders the puck lethal to the unpadded. The game is played at break neck speed, which is unlikely that I will ever achieve, and each player roughly spends about 2-3 minutes on the ice where they chase the small black hard rubber puck with a stick and loose about half their body weight in fluid covered in a variety of pads and armor. All for about 40 minutes.

Despite being a non lover of sport I am aware that if aroused into a state of frenzy hockey players are allowed to remove several parts of their armor and proceed to wage war on the face of the opponent that has aroused their anger. In fact hockey teams have specific players that are encouraged to harass, intimidate and bully other players. There are two types, of which I have just been informed, which are called "agitator" and "enforcers". Agitators agitate, they basically attempt to piss other players off to such a degree that the other player snaps and engages in knuckle based dialogue, (in English "I am not very happy with you"). I believe there is a guy on our team, who will remain nameless until I get legal permission to use his name or to tell tales of his less than passive playing style, who not unlike the incredible hulk goes through such an extreme transformation it leaves many of his fellow team members utterly perplexed as to why their mild mannered co-worker becomes such a loon (for the Canadian reader a loon in this instance does not refer to the much loved bird that appears on the one dollar coin, no, in Scotland a "loon" is a lunatic, nutter, psycho or head case that is to be avoided at all costs, you may even use the term fruit cake which is my personal favorite!). And all this happens when he suits up and holds a stick.

As I mentioned earlier I guess it is only fair to point out that, my entertaining the thought that I could actually play ice hockey, is based on one thing, I decided to join the company hockey team. Whether or not I would consider this a foolish choice has still yet to be determined. The motivation behind my choice was not that high brow; it was not to get fitter or to improve my hand eye coordination or bond with my co worker, far from it. What motivated me was the fact that despite having no skating skills what so ever, never mind good enough to play ice hockey, or the fact that I do not know the rules, or the fact that I have no skates, armor or helmet (hockey gear) my fellow work colleagues are utterly unforgiving with their support and encouragement "Who cares if you can't skate", they cry "join the team!". So with that much milk and honey being poured in my ears how could I resist! As it happens new players with little or no experience, like my good self, join the company ice hockey team (hockey) and have a great time. Even without the after game beer.

So stage one of my ice hockey emersion processes (mission) is to learn to skate or at least to prevent myself from hitting my baldy head on the ice and causing cranial based damage, which has happened many times before, much to the distress of my poor mother.

Next time I will recall the amusing story of when I purchased my first pair of ice skates and when I saw a three year old skate with more composure and dignity than a 37 year old Scot with nothing more than handful for tentative enthusiasm.