What was he thinking?



Kayla Watkins - Ousted from her team by a another parent

Today I read an article in the Toronto Star about a 12 year old girl who was ostensibly forced to leave her single A boy's hockey team due to an irate parent of one of the boys on the team.  www.thestar.com/sports/hockey/article/910773--controversy-pushes-girl-off-coed-hockey-team  The article explains that a12 year old girl, Kayla Watkins, was extremely embarrassed by the actions and more so the words of George Atis, the parent of another player on the Single A Toronto Ice Dogs Pee Wee Club.

George Atis, a lawyer, and not part of the coaching staff, called a meeting to address what he considered weakness in Kayla's hockey abilities.  He also said that he was voicing the concerns of some of the boys on the team who were squeamish about changing in a co-ed environment.  His agenda stated that Kayla lacked the necessary skills to play with the team and that a more appropriate spot should be found for her.

What must be put into consideration is this is a 10th place, Single A team in Toronto - This is not the pipeline to the NHL.  To play in Single A, players have to try out and obviously Kayla had the skills to make the team.  If anybody should have voiced concerns with regards to her level of play, it should have been her coach, Paul Macchia.  Yet Macchia contends that he wanted Kayla to remain on the team, and he points out that the team has remained in 10th place even after Kayla's departure.  Obviously her skills or lack thereof were not part of the problem, more likely it was interfering parents who can't be bothered to volunteer their time to coach, but feel that a hockey team is some sort of democracy that requires their self important input.

Kayla chose to leave the team after accidently view the email in which Atis coldly enumerates what he perceives as Kayla's faults. 

I do understand the issues of change room and as kids enter puberty, it can be fraught with awkwardness.  I never thought twice about changing with my male teammates, though we had reached the age where seeing anybody's "bits" had completely lost its thrill.  We worked it out easily and I'm sure Kayla's team had the issue well in hand.  Even on an all male team, boys enter into puberty at different ages and thus there will be an element of awkwardness present.  With wisdom and guidance on the part of parents, it could have been dealt with.

I also understand that we're dealing with double standards.  Girls want to be allowed to play in boy's leagues, but conversely, boys are not allowed to play in girl's leagues.  I know the argument, if a girl is good enough to play with the boys, she should be allowed to play, but what if a boy isn't good enough to play with the boys, should he then be allowed to play with a girl's team?  There aren't any clear cut answers, though inevitably, top male athletes will out muscle females, though I don't think that was an issue for the 12 year olds in question.

At the end of the day, George Atis had no excuse for doing what he did.  If he had a concern, he should have dealt with the coach and if he didn't find resolution, he could have taken his son to play for another team next season.  He had absolutely no right to target a 12 year old girl, who was simply playing the game she loved.

Oh the shame, oh the ignominy

Imagine having this attached to your butt!

Well when you last left this intrepid author, I was off to the chiropractor after have endured a pain filled weekend due to what I thought was a pinched nerve.  I hadn't been to a chiropractor in about 20 years, this was not due to any dislike of the profession, I simply hadn't required their services in general.  Back in the day, I used to bartend at various clubs around Toronto and working long shifts slightly bent over a bar pouring drinks was not good for my lower back, thus the chiropractor.  Yet, lo and behold, I stopped bartending, the lower back pain stopped and I no longer required a chiropractor.

Well it's 20 years later, my criteria for finding a chiropractor this time around, was who could take me right away on Monday and make the gosh awful pain stop!  I managed to luck into a cancelled appointment at a local sport injury clinic, so off I went, making sure I had on clean underwear (actually I wore my under armour shorts, since they hold everything in nicely).  After filling out various forms, I was led to a consultation room to await the Dr.  A few minutes later a smokin' hot young man comes in and introduces himself as Justin.  Now you have to realize I'm old enough to be this young man's mother, but that doesn't prevent me from appreciating his gymnast build (you know, squat, but well muscled).  Turns out this paragon of masculinity is my chiropractor to be!  After a series of questions, he leaves me to get into a gown and to closely inspect his degree that was mounted on the wall, since he looked young enough to be just starting his undergrad, but no, he had graduated five years ago.  That's a true sign of age - when the Drs start looking like grade school kids!

Justin returned to my lovely gowned self (still had my socks & under armour on, since I felt more lady like that way and my feet were cold) and had me try to touch my toes.  Now even in my healthy state, I can't touch my toes.  I am a very inflexible person, but in my present state I could barely make it past my knees!  He had me on my stomach on the exam table while he prodded the base of my spine trying to find the issue, by following the trail of pain he found the culprit in a walnut sized knot and scar tissue in the middle of my butt pressing on my sciatic nerve.  When he pressed down on the walnut, I let a yell of pure pain out!  Yup that was the spot!  By this point I had lost any qualms about having the young Adonis manipulating my lily white and rather fleshy behind, I didn't care if it was Brad Pitt (or really in my case, my preference is Colin Firth) digging his thumbs into my nether regions, I was just hopping that all this pain would bring some sort of eventual relief.

Justin and I have progressed to acupuncture, which I had never tried before, but I was willing to keep an open mind towards the whole concept.  Imagine have your butt used as a pin cushion and you've got an idea how I feel, to be honest I can't even feel the needles in my behind, it's the ones he puts in my toes that are a little 'ouchy' .  Tomorrow I'll have deep tissue massage before my treatment since the whole area has seized up!  I'm lucky in that we have a health plan that covers this stuff.

This is the first physically debilitating issue I've really had to deal with in a long time.  I'm used to bouncing back quickly from an injury, but it doesn't look like it this time.  I know that at my age (48) that is takes longer to heal, but I'm not ready to hang up the hockey skates quite yet.  Heck, I can enjoy the sight of my chiropractor (even though most of our time together I'm face down with my butt in the air).  I still think the hottest thing on skates is my husband John and enjoyable part of our time together is spent playing hockey, that's my reality and I'm definitely not giving that up yet!



Death Be Not Proud

Chrissy

Yesterday, my sister in law's (Laurene) niece and goddaughter passed away due to complications induced by cystic fibrosis.  She was just nineteen.  She had been sick for a long time.  Her passing, though not unexpected, is still difficult to understand.  We have a certain expectation of life, one is born, lives, ages, then dies.  The disruption of this process unsettles us.  I only had had a fleeting connection to Chrissy, since she was my brother's wife's sister's daughter - a somewhat tenuous connection to say the least, yet our families intertwined at times, and I had the privilege of meeting her a few times.  Because of her frailty, I would always inquire about how she was doing before I would ask about the rest of Laurene's extended family.  I guess it's akin to cheering for the underdog, you knew about the strikes against her, but you still couldn't help hoping the best would happen for her.

Cystic Fibrosis is a vicious disease, in that one's own body produces the debilitating effects of the disease in the form of a very thick mucous that covers the lungs, making it impossible to breath.  In addition, people with CF have a very difficult time absorbing nutrients through normal eating and generally have a difficult time growing at the pace of their peers.  About half of the people who have CF will survive to their 40s, the other half ... well, Chrissy was in the other half.

There is no known cure for CF.

About a year ago, Chrissy and her family came to Toronto for a visit from Western Canada.  Jamie, who was working at Canada's Wonderland at the time, managed to procure a deal on some tickets for them.  Afterwards they came to our house for a BBQ.   I had inquired ahead of time as to what foods the girls would prefer and I was informed that Chrissy didn't really eat anymore, or more accurately, her body had far too difficult a time digesting food and she was on a special diet.  I think 10 people sat down for dinner that night and Chrissy chose to hang out on the couch, though the raucous conversation and laughter tempted her enough to join us at the table for the later part of the meal.  Like a typical teen, she was more interested in texting and checking her cell phone than anything else, but she did seem to enjoy the camaraderie.  After dinner she played a little pool, but more than anything, she loved playing with Guinness, our dog.  She desperately wanted a dog, but her mom wisely kept putting it off, knowing that it would be too much for the family to handle.  Chrissy ran and ran around the pool table, playing 'tag' with Guinness, she was exhausted far too quickly, and went and lay down under the pool table - Guinness with a wisdom that animals sometimes posses, did not bother her to play further, but quietly lay down beside her.  A special moment of quiet enjoyment on both their parts.

Maybe if you're looking to donate some money this holiday season, you'll think about Cystic Fibrosis
http://www.cysticfibrosis.ca/en/index.php

Chrissy was on the list for lung transplant.  Today I made sure my donor card was signed and visible in my wallet.  Tonight I'll discuss with John my wishes with regard to organ donation.  Tonight I'll give Madie a good hug and send Jamie an email about how special he is.  Tonight I'll ask God to look out for an amazing teen who's coming His way.

In the Wee Hours

The internet is a dangerous tool when it's three in the morning and you're in so much pain that you can't sleep.  Inevitably you boot up your computer and start searching for a diagnosis for the symptoms that you have.  This really isn't the best of ideas, since in the wee hours of the night, your imagination takes flight and you become convinced that what you have can only have the direst of consequences.

I've been progressively having problem with pain in my left leg, but I shrugged it off as one of those inevitable aspects of aging.  I became a tad more diligent with regards to my glucosamine consumption and tried to improve my core strength at the gym.  I accept that by playing hockey I'm likely to suffer a few injuries madwomanofhockey.blogspot.com/2010/10/thats-gonna-hurt.html, if I didn't want to take a chance on being injured playing a game, I'd try a tamer sport, but I thrive on the intensity of hockey!  Of course this cavalier attitude went to heck in a hand basket once the real pain set in.  Somehow, and I still don't know how, I managed to pinch a nerve at the L2 portion of my spine (this is the area just at the top of your butt, right below your lower back).  I can't attribute it to any particular injury, hockey or otherwise.  During my Friday night game I was impaled by my own stick into my abdomen, a combination of not being able to stop in time while going in for the puck and being pushed by an opposing player.  I have a lovely bruise on my tummy - you know that section below your shoulder pads and above your hockey pants - ouch!  Yet even with my High School anatomy, I know the stomach muscles are not connected to the spine and this was enough to bruise, not damage anything severely - heck I even kept playing, I was more worried about my stick, since it had been bent quite a bit.

My left leg had been bothering me all day Friday, but off I went to hockey with a I'll just skate it off attitude.  It actually felt better after the game and I felt justified in my decision to play, but later that night I woke up in incredible pain, unable to find a comfortable position lying down or sitting.  I spent most of the night pacing the floor and looking up maladies on the internet that included pain in one leg accompanied by numbness and a tingling sensation.  Of course it was during the darkest hours that I was convinced I had ALS (Lou Gehrig's Disease) or perhaps some sort of tumour pressing on a nerve.  Yes, as wonderful as the internet can be, it can be very dangerous, since a little bit of knowledge can be very dangerous at three in the morning.

The weekend was a haze of pain, heating pads, ibuprofen, and constant shifting of my body in an effort to find a comfortable spot.  With a heavy heart, I decided not to play Sunday night since I was terrified of injuring myself any further.  This is the first time I've missed a hockey game due to injury.  Sure I've missed for family vacations, family functions and to donate blood, but never for sickness or injury!  I guess it was bound to happen some time or another, but I still felt badly for doing so.

I spent a few hours at the chiropractor today.  The intense pain is gone, but it's still stiff and the numbness and tingling still remains.  I'm getting a good look at my mortality or at least my frailty.  I have exercises along with ice/heat regimins to complete and I'll be back with the chiropractor on Wednesday.  I know I have to treat this like a bump in the road, but pain is a cruel taskmaster and I'll be hesitant to return to hockey until I'm convinced that I won't have to spend the wee hours wondering if I have to undergo an amputation.  I think if it happens again, I'll stay away from the internet and just read a good book.

It Was Here a Minute Ago!

The Great One

One of the greatest hockey players of all time was attributed as having said "A good hockey player plays where the puck is.  A great hockey player plays where the puck is going to be."  Gretzky had an incredible sense for the game, in that he could anticipate the various nuances that would indicate where the puck would be.  One could argue that that's what made him such a legendary player and somewhat mediocre coach, in that he could anticipate on an intuitive level, but found it difficult to verbalize what came so naturally to him. 

Of course I'm left in a quandary, since if a good player plays where the puck is, and great one goes to where it will be, what do you call a player like me, who intends to get to where the puck is, but usually misses it?  Oh, don't bother, I don't want to know.  Sometimes ignorance is bliss!

Me (#15) streaking in to make a play

The more I play, the more I'm getting to realise where the play is going.  I know when John rifles the puck around the rim of the boards on the near side, I'm supposed to streak in and pick it up on the far side.  See I know that ... it's just that execution is a tad shaky!  Plus I know when we're breaking out of our end I'm supposed to be watching over my shoulder to see if the defenseman is passing it up to me.  I've finally learned how to skate and look over my shoulder at the same, sort of like walking and chewing gum at the same time!  Course I'm usually looking over the wrong shoulder .....

Oh well, as the say "the best laid plans ...."   Now where is that puck?  I could have sworn it was here a minute ago.

Accessorizing

I've been playing actual hockey games for about 2 1/2 years now.  Before that, I took a year to take a basic adult skills class through Canlan Icesports.  OK, for those of you who've seen me play, you doubt the veracity of the adult skills segment, but I assure you it's true!

Now with each new team, one inevitably ends up with a new jersey.  My first actual team jersey was from a short lived stint in the ASHL adult instructional games session.  I signed up, showed up for the first session, got my jersey and then the lessons were cancelled the next week onward.  Well at least I got my jersey!  After that I received my all time favourite jersey, from my first real team, The Toronto Thrashers.  This was the team that was formed in a beginner adult hockey league (the actual name of the league is the league who can't be named - John and I had major issues with this league and one day I'll blog about it when I can figure how to do so in a way where I won't be sued for libel, even though I'd be in the right).  The jersey was arbitrarily assigned to our team by the league, and was frequently, but lovingly refered to by our team as a "poopy yellow" in colour.  When our team graduated out of the beginner league into the next league up, we decided to get a new jersey and thus the Thrasher symbol on the Tampa Bay Lightning coloured shirt was born.  The guys on our team loved this jersey thinking the black made them look tough, the only problem was that many of the other teams echoed the same sentiment which created problems since the league did not require home & away jerseys, so both teams would show up wearing black! 


Because of our issues with the aforementioned League who cannot be named, I'm now on two new teams, ironically one of them is has the same colours as the original Thrasher's jersey!  This works out because I had yellow/black/white socks that went with my original uniform.  Which brings me to my main point - I know you were wondering if any of these musing were actually leading anywhere?  My point is "Accessorizing in Hockey" cause when you stop and think about it, hockey is a highly accessorized sport.

In the NHL teams need three sets of jerseys (Home/Away/Alternate).  Each jersey requires separate accessories in the form of socks, helmets, pants, and gloves.  When you think about it, these NHL jocks are more accessorized than some of the ladies my mother plays bridge with at the Country Club!

Of course, at the level at which I play; there is neither the interest nor more importantly, the funds to have so many choices.  Plus we don't have guys that carry our gear around for us either!  Thus one follows the basic tenets that any fashion savvy woman knows and that's black goes with everything!  I have a black helmet, black pants and black socks.  I actually have blue/white/black gloves, but that's just because they were on sale, which is also important as any fashion savvy woman knows!

So it just goes to show you, that you can succumb to your fashion instincts and still play hockey!  Who knew? 

I Just Don't Get It

Traditional Playing of the Anthem(s)

before the game

I've decided that I'm old.  There I've admitted it!  I guess the first step in solving a problem, is admitting that you have one, but I'm really stymied as how I'm going to solve this one.   My problem?  Well there are aspects of modern society that seem to elude my understanding.  Let me explain.

I realise that time does not stand still, that society is an ever evolving entity.  I also understand that each generation creates and recreates their own reality, genres and concepts.  See, so far I sound pretty hip!  I know that fashion is fickle; as is what's trendy in food and restaurants; plus music and art will constantly reinvent themselves in the name of progress.  Overall it seems that I have good grasp on society and its evolution, plus I accept that that there are some things I simply won't like, even though they're perfectly acceptable to other people.  This is somewhat like the fact that I don't like peas, though other enjoy them thoroughly. 

Some things I don't like per say, but don't thing detract from the greater good of society:

• a need to reveal your underwear, while the crotch of your pants reaches your knees, more than looking ridiculous, it looks uncomfortable
• a need to talk loudly and publicly on your cell phone - believe me, I'm attached to my iPhone, but am under no delusions that my conversations, as scintillating as they might be to me, have any bearings on the people around me
• twitter - I'm trying, I even have a twitter account, but it reminds of the CB craze, when people tried to speak in a vernacular and ended up just sounding inane
• obsession with celebrity - whether it be for film, sports or politics, they neither deserve the respect nor the income that they garner
• reality TV - see above

When I look back over that list, I even sound old to me.  I don't get it, but I don't think any of the above mentioned items really detract from the greater good of myself or the world around me.  They're simply like a mosquito buzzing around your head when the lights go off - more annoying than threatening.

What I really don't get is people not standing and/or removing their head gear for the anthem.  Now before you jump all over me, I know there are religions, such as Jehovah Witness that don't do either.  Believe me, I was a teacher in the public school system, I respect their right to practice their beliefs. 

Yet the last time I was at the Marlies' game or before that, the Legends' game or before that, the Leaf's game, I saw an inordinate amount of people not removing their headgear for the anthem, but they were standing.  Thus if they were Jehovah Witness, they would not be standing.  What I don't get, is why so many young men (mostly under the age of 30) choose not to remove their headgear during the anthem.  Before the anthem is played the announcer comes over the PA system and announces who's singing the anthem and to please remove all headgear. 

Maybe it's because I'm old, that I can remember the Lord's Prayer being said each day in school.  As the ethnic and religious make up of the schools changed, I agreed that the Lord's Prayer had no role in a secular setting.  I guess I always viewed the playing of the anthem in the school and at public events as an affirmation of all that our country offers us, plus a chance to respect those who defended this country, thus insuring the rights and freedoms that we enjoy today. 

Traditions change, society changes, wearing white after labour day is now OK, gay marriage may raise an eyebrow or two, yet it has found acceptance overall.  I get it, overall I really like the way the world is going, but the next time you're at a hockey game and the anthem is playing, remove your headgear, cause if you don't, the lady behind you may do if for you (nah, probably not, but she'll be thinking about it).

Ménage à Trois

John & I in all our Splendor



Marriage means commitment.  Of course, so does insanity.  ~ Author Unknown

I am someone, to whom words have always come easily.  I was that kid in your English class who could pull together an essay at the last second and receive a great grade (I was the antithesis in math class - see, God is fair).  I've been meaning to blog about what it's like to play hockey on the same team as your spouse, but for some reason I've found that it's a topic that has so far been able to defy my ability to craft some semblance in to my unique situation, without digressing into some schmaltzy Hallmark moment (the today I married my best friend kind of cheese).  I consider myself to be an incredibly lucky lady to have found, albeit later in life, my soul mate and a great defence man all in the same person.  At night I can spoon together with a man who I find incredibly attractive, who protects me from the things that go bump in the night and who manages to cover up for me when I let a pass get past me. 


This is a second marriage for both John and I.  A second marriage is best described as hope triumphing over experience.  Perhaps meeting each other when we were older and wiser put certain aspects into perspective for us both.  When John and I met, I had already made a conscious decision that my divorce, though incredibly painful, would not define me as a person and that I would not let it tarnish my viewpoint towards love and commitment.  At the time, I was busy rebuilding my social life through involvements in sports, something that I had let slip.  Thus I found myself in whirlwind of softball and curling and eventually, through John's suggestion, hockey.  I find it ironic that the great loves of my life, came along together somewhat.  While we dated, my involvement in hockey grew.  Many a date were spent in various arenas watching Jamie, John's son, play competitive hockey, then on weekends we would meet at Toogood pond in Markham to skate on a massive outdoor pond.  My first time stick handling (other than standing in front of a garage door, receiving slap shots from my brother), was with a borrowed stick, as I skated around the pond, watching John interact with his kids, patiently picking Madie up from a snow bank after yet another spill, that I saw the man I was learning to love as an incredible father as he played hockey with his kids.

As John and I became more and more involved, the only aspect that made leaving him at the end of a weekend bearable (we lived about an hour apart), was that I had my adult hockey lessons on Sunday evenings to look forward to.  I'd call him after the lesson, regaling him with all that I had learned and experienced.  He let me prattle on and make sensible suggestions on ways to improve or practice. 

We were living together by the time I started with my beginner team.  He watched our first practice/lesson and was wise enough to respond to my inquiry as to how I did with a simple, "Looked like you were having fun."   He understood and supported the fact that I wanted to play hockey the day after we were married and thus delayed our honeymoon. 

John joined my beginner team after we had become experts (said with tongue in cheek) after one season.  He'd be the oldest on the team and hadn't played and organized game in about 25 years, yet he brought far more experience and expertise to the rink then the rest of our team combined.  At this point I was playing games twice a week and picking up a game of shinny once in a while, we saw it as a way to do something together - a sort of "date night."  Both kids were there for our first game together.  I won't describe that game, let it suffice to say that we were soundly defeated and terribly outplayed (we had moved into a new night and division).  John was the only player on the ice who could really do much to stop the inexorable tide of the other team.  He was exhausted and frustrated by the fact that most of us couldn't take his pass (his shot was a tad more forceful than ours) and that we really didn't know our positional play (I guess that one year had taught us too much).  It was silent in the car on the way home until we started to get close to home.

"You really should backcheck more, you know" he said in an exhausted tone of voice.

"I was backchecking," I replied, "They were 20 years younger than me and faster."

"'Oh."

That's the last conversation that John and I have about my level of play in hockey.  It's now two years later, and we're still playing together!  He's still playing at a level far below his abilities, but since it's easy for him to play down and impossible for me to play better than I am, it suits us. 

I'm 48 and John's 52, I don't know how much longer our bodies will allow us to play hockey.  We've met an incredible array of new friends through our involvement in hockey and don't have any immediate plans of quitting.  I could end this all off with a double entendre with regards to taking and giving a pass between us, but I think by this point you've got the idea of how things are between John, myself and hockey.  Who said a ménage a trois wouldn't work in a marriage?  The three of us seem to be getting along just fine. 

Hockey Parents

a typical scene from any hockey rink

Take a step into any hockey rink during non school hours and you'll usually see the same spectacle.  A lot of happy, sweaty kids and a lot of parents drinking Tim Hortons and hauling their kid's stuff around. 

For those 6 a.m. games!

Without parental (or adult) support, no child could ever play hockey.  The sheer logistics of getting one's equipment to and from the rink is daunting enough, but add in the cost and time lines, then you see that unless one (or preferably both) parents are on on board, then hockey remains out of reach for an unsupported child. 

If you read about the backgrounds of any pro hockey player, you will definitely see a common thread of parental involvement, but more importantly of parental sacrifice.  For a child to succeed in any sport, it usually requires parental sacrifice, but you'll find it even more so in hockey.  A kid can take a soccer ball and walk down to the local park to practice for hours on end, but to play hockey you need a parent willing to chauffeur the kid and the equipment back and forth to the rink.  Ice time on the weekends is at a premium, so frequently it means very early mornings for both the kids and the parents.

It's not too bad watching your kid play a game, but watching them practice is pretty tedious.  I remember Jamie's weekly practice were just far enough away from home that it didn't make any sense dropping him off and returning home, then picking him up later, since by the time you'd drive home you simply had to turn around and return to the rink to pick him up.  Thus you would sit around and watch him practice, drinking the requisite coffee and conducting desultory conversations with the other parents.

Of course there are the tournaments and the hockey training camps all of which require parental involvement, and more importantly parental time.

Even Madie's house league means ferrying her back and forth (thankfully she's old enough to carry her own equipment).

Why do parent's do it?  All you have to see is the look on a kid's face while they're playing to know why you do it.

In the end it's really quite simple.  If the kid loves it, a parent should do whatever they can to help their kid enjoy such an incredible sport.  If the kid doesn't love the game and a parent only has them in to live vicariously, then that's wrong, respect your kid, let your own dreams go and let the child find his/her own true passion.

I know I did.



Exhaustion, The Boys & Booty

How I felt after two hours of shinny with a short bench

(I know they're stretching, but they still look tired)



On Saturday night, John and I went to play some shinny at York University.  We're lucky, in that we're a married couple who think that spending time playing hockey and drinking beer with friends, is the perfect way to spend a Saturday night.  Little did we know that this particular evening would provide such unique and interesting insights into the mating rituals of the North American university student, but before I digress into the bizarre, let me first deal with the shinny, which was incredible - in length, fun, intensity and laughs.

Our friend Anooj had booked the ice time, he managed to secure two hours of ice starting at a decent time (7:45 pm), which is a rarity in our hockey crazed city.  For $20, we could play for two hours, plus get a pitcher of beer and wings, heck, how could you turn down a deal like that?  Usually when Anooj books shinny time, he gets a pretty good turnout, yet for some reason or another we were short players.  We did have two goalies, but only eleven skaters which meant a lot of ice time, but a lot of ice time takes up a lot of energy, by the end of the two hours, everyone was pretty exhausted.

We played four on four, which allowed one team to have one on the bench and the other team to have two on the bench (that's the team I played on, hey I'm old and I need as much as a break as I can get).  Playing four on four is fantastic, especially when you're like me and just learning, it gives you more space and time to make decisions.  I had the opportunity to carry the puck and make some rushes, it wasn't pretty, but I'm getting better.  It was heartening to receive some compliments from Sunny & Dave over my improved abilities, Sunny even took the time to make some suggestions to better my play while we sitting on the bench (it was hard to hear him while I was trying to keep my lungs from collapsing).   Of the thirteen of us playing, I was the only female and was clearly the weakest player, but these guys were great.  They adjusted their level of play to my level when playing directly against me.  Some females might have taken that as an insult, insisting that they be treated as one of the guys, but I accepted their treatment in the spirit of goodwill of which it was given.   Let's be real, with all of 2 1/2 years of hockey under my belt and being a 48 year old premenopausal female, there's no way I could go one on one with a guy 20 years younger with ample playing experience.  The boys went at it hard when playing against each other, no quarter was given to my 52 year old husband, his advanced skills let him deal with the younger more fit guys, but even John was exhausted by the end and had a hard time recovering Sunday.

Two hours of hockey, with little time on the bench is exhausting.  My skills level went down as my exhaustion level went up.  Even the guys started to rely upon stretch passes and rarely challenged during breakaways that occurred in the last half hour.  We even left the ice before the Zamboni came out, there wasn't anybody on the ice afterwards, so we could have kept playing, but a body can only take so much!

Afterwards we went upstairs for the wings and beer.  The rink as I mentioned is located at York University, yet whenever we played there, we wouldn't see any students in bar, which seemed to cater exclusively to the hockey crowd.  This night was an exception.   They were carding for ID at the door (I was crushed when they didn't ask me for mine), and there was a DJ playing extremely loud bizarre dance mixes, he seemed to specialize in mixing vocals and underlying rhythms that didn't match.  To make it even more annoying the bar hadn't turned off their canned 'muzak,' so we had that emitting from a dinky speaker over our heads, though it was no match for pounding sounds coming from the DJ's speakers.  Now I live with a 16 year old female and watch Much Music every morning,  I know my Katy Perry and Taylor Swift - but there wasn't anything that this guy played that I recognized,  we all commented that we felt old and out of it.   When we first entered, there were only confused, somewhat sweaty hockey players in the bar, along with rather large security men wandering about and the only person dancing were the DJ and his assistant.  We would have left, but remember that our price to play hockey included beer and wings and though the music may have been annoying, we weren't crazy enough to walk away from beer!  As time passed a trickle of students started to enter the venue, I thought Jeff's head would swizzle off as he turned to watch the parade of scantily clad girls that entered the bar.  The unifying aspect of dress for these girls seemed to be an attempt to display as much of their bodies as possible in micro minis, short shorts and plunging neck lines.  Jeff didn't even try to be circumspect as he watch them saunter by, squealing as them met their friends, his attitude was that girls dress this way for attention and he was merely providing it!

It was quite the dichotomy, older sweaty hockey players and young exhibitionist females.  Sure there were a few university aged males in the mix, but they seemed to lack the desire to reveal as much skin as possible (remember I had just left the change room with a bunch of guys, I had seen as much male skin as I needed).  It was like entering a bizarre subculture where you thought you belonged (hockey bar), but you ended up feeling like Alice in Wonderland.  In a way it all made sense, since the hockey players clear out around midnight, the bar added to its income by holding a university event that would go till the wee hours.  I have a live and let live attitude, if the girls wanted to dress this way (and especially those that had the body for it), hey it's their lives.  I just wonder if they would have put the same wares on display, knowing that their audience would be an aging group of hockey players, who may have been shaking their heads, but enjoyed the spectacle none the less. 

I'm lucky that a lot of the guys I play hockey with read my blog ... I bet the next time we have shinny at York University we'll have a few more players.

Where's the Intensity?

It's not easy being a Leaf fan.  Back in October when the NHL season was dewy and fresh, I blogged about the Leaf winning streak of four games http://madwomanofhockey.blogspot.com/2010/10/jumping-on-bandwagon.html, and how so many people were jumping on the Leaf's bandwagon.  Now it's a month later and the bandwagon is getting rather lonely due to the Leaf's record of 5-7-3.  The Toronto media continually lambastes the team and its management, the fans bemoan the dearth of ambition and grit on the team and many people have simply shrugged and chalked it up to another typical Leaf's season.  Just today, the Toronto Star questioned where the leaf's intensity was.  The team may lack intensity, but its true fans do not.

There are very, very few true Leafs fans, but my friend Anooj has to be at the forefront of them.  Like a true love affair, it hasn't all been smooth sailing, in fact love affair with the Leafs is like trying to have a love affair with a skunk; sure they can be cute at times, but often they stink!

Anooj carries out his affair with the Leafs in the very public forum of Facebook.  Sometimes one has to wonder how his long suffering wife Jalpa feels about this other spectre in their marriage.  As you can see by the above status update he has also promised to love the Leafs "Till death do us Part!!!".  Actually that statement was made in uppercase letters, a technique that Anooj often employs.

According to "netiquette", writing in capital letters is akin to shouting.  Anooj shouts a lot. 

Anooj will vehemently defend his team, usually employing quite descriptive and visually evocative language, though frequently a comparison to some type of excrement is usually made as may be seen by the above reference to llama excretions or rhino turd.  In the interest of family viewing, I've chosen not to include any reference to human excrement, but yes, that finds its ways into his updates too.

The language may be puerile and adolescent, but you have to admit that it's really funny and amusing.  Frequently I find myself on Facebook during a Leaf's game, simply because Anooj's running commentary is more entertaining than the play-by-play commentary of the so called experts.  If I miss watching the game, there's no need to tune into TSN's updates, I simply have to log into Facebook and I have access to all the information that's pertinent to the game, plus emotional input such as the Billy Madison and a orifice reference with regards to the parking cone, as seen above.

A passionate love affair is never a smooth and simple process.  Anooj readily admits the faults of his team, but steadfastly remains loyal in his support.  One can only hope that the Leafs win a Stanley Cup in his lifetime as a reward for such staunch loyalty.

In Anooj's succinct reply to his own status update (a rather unique process that I've really only ever seen employed by Anooj, along with 'liking' his own updates), he tells the world that "HATERZ SUUUUK IT!!!!!!"  No matter what, he'll stand by his team, though it may require vast quantities of alcohol  to do so, though I do worry that if the Leafs ever do win the Stanley Cup, he won't now how to deal with such a popular girlfriend; right now it's easier to vehemently defend the honour of the girl who doesn't look like she'll ever win a beauty contest.  Somehow, you've got to like a guy like that, I know I do.

Remembering

Sometimes it's not all about hockey.

I lead an incredible life.  I'm blessed with a loving husband and family; I have a wonderful circle of friends; I enjoy good health and financial security.  I am free to worship God in the way and manner that is right for me.  I live in a country that is controlled by an imperfect democracy (I've never been able to figure out a viable alternative).  I am at peace with myself and the world around me. I sleep soundly in my bed each night, knowing that I and my family are safe and protected.

I never forget that the reason I enjoy so many of the above mentioned items, is because people fought and died to protect them for me and for my family.  I am thankful and I remember.

My father, Michael Joseph Mooney was 17 when he became a Flight Officer (a temporary rank that created during W.W II) in the Royal Canadian Air Force.  As a bombardier/navigator, he flew numerous missions over Germany in a Halifax bomber.  My father would never really talk about the war, like many others who fought, they couldn't convey the actual horror of war in mere words.  I know he left the Catholic Church at some point during the war, his loss a faith, which had to have been deeply ingrained within him during his upbringing in Southern Ireland, was simply another casualty of the the war. 

My father died when I was 11.  I remember poking around in his desk soon after his death, I guess in some way looking for a connection to a man that I deeply loved, yet barely knew.  I discovered a notebook that he had kept during the war.  It wasn't a journal, more a study guide for his lessons in bombing and navigation.  I was struck by the intricacies of the work and job that he had to complete.  With only a slide ruler to help, he had to figure out the trajectories of bombs in order to hit his targets.  Targets that meant the loss of human life. 

It wouldn't be till years later that I would travel through Germany after graduating from university.  I remember being struck by the war memorials - one forgets (or perhaps you don't want to think about), how many young men died for the other side.  How many 17 year old boys like my father, were doing what they thought was best for their country. 

I think of Jamie at the age of 17 and I'm thankful that he never had to face the choice of choosing to enlist. 

Today, I remember and I am thankful.

Making a Legend

Sittler taking the face off at the Legends of Hockey Game



John and I attended a fundraiser for a family friend a few weeks ago and one of the items that I bought via the silent auction were two tickets to the Hockey Hall of Fame Legends of Hockey game.  I have to admit that I didn't realize what I was purchasing; it was simply a chance to donate money to a young man who suffered an unfortunate diving accident and ended up as a paraplegic.  My main intent was to bid on only small items in the silent auction and though there were Leaf tickets that were garnering some hefty bids, I was attracted to the Legend tickets, because they were small (I've recently gone through the process of downsizing my mother from her home, into a retirement residence and am very aware of "stuff") and because no one else was bidding on them.  At the end of the night I had bought numerous items for the kids but the tickets were the only thing for John and me.  Thus on Sunday November 7th, John and I headed off downtown on one of our 'dates' to watch the game.

What a great game we saw!  Angela James and Cammi Granato, the first two women ever to be inducted into the Hall of Fame (about time women's hockey was recognized!), were playing in the game, along with some other highly recognizable names in women's hockey, such as Lori Dupuis, Shelly Looney and Sue Merz.  It was fantastic to see them skate alongside Daryl Sittler, Glen Anderson, Paul Coffey, Dino Ciccarelli and Bryan Trottier.  It must have been a really satisfying experience for these incredible women to play alongside some of the game's big names; a real justification of all their hard work and sacrifice.

If you've ever been to one of these Old Timer exhibitions, you know that the game is more about entertainment, than real hard core hockey.  There's absolutely no body contact and no slap shots either (sounds a lot like my Friday night league, except these guys have skills).  Think if hockey was professional wrestling and you have an idea what the game was like.  This is not to say that there weren't a lot of hockey skills demonstrated, those were still there in abundance.  These players can pass incredibly well.  Their eye hand co-ordination is remarkable, as demonstrated by Anderson knocking a waist high shot out of the air and into the net.  You just had to watch Coffey skate effortlessly backwards in smooth and graceful strides - the muscle memory of these players is still definitely there.  Maybe a few of them, like Sittler, were carrying a few too many pounds to accelerate effectively, but then again, I have that problem too.


As the game progressed, I was struck by the fact that the women fit in perfectly well on the ice.  The had the skill and knowledge of the game to work well with the Legends.  Sure they were smaller, plus they all wore helmets with face shields, whereas the most of the men didn't even wear a helmet or wore one quite loosely, but the women were more than capable of putting on a good show.  You would only the notice the difference in quick flashes when the men would loose the puck and either instinctively or consciously turn up their level of play to get the puck back - usually at will they could take the puck off the women, which when you think about it, really isn't unusual since most of them spent their careers doing such a thing at a very high level of play, whereas the woman didn't have the same level of competition or longevity of a hockey career.

At the end of the day it was a win-win situation for all involved. I got to give my money towards a worthy cause, a young paraplegic man is getting another shot at life, women were recognized in the realm of hockey, a lot of people were entertained, John and I got to eat a delicious hot dog, watch a game we love and spend the afternoon enjoying each other's company.  Life is good.



A Bit of a Difference!

John coaching in the Scarborough Shark's Open League

(notice how closely the girls are paying attention to him)

It can be hard to coach a girl's hockey team at the house league level.  It can be really hard coaching a bunch of girls in the 15 to 20 age group (Open).  All the coaches in the Open level are middle-aged males, not only do they have a hard time remembering what it was like to be a teenager, they're pretty much stymied when it comes to how a teen girl thinks.  They didn't get teen girls when they were teens, they're sure not going to get it now, that they're middle-aged.  Not only are they handicapped by mindset and age, they coaches have to extremely careful about entering the dressing room, along with watching any undue physical contact with the players (how many male coaches have you seen swat their male players on the bottom without a second thought?).  Nevertheless these stalwart group of men are out there twice a week, making line ups, making sure everybody gets a fair amount of ice time and opening and closing the bench door.  It takes a special kind of man to venture into that realm.

Craig MacTavish coaching the Edmonton Oilers

(notice he's getting a little more attention, but there's still players who

aren't paying attention - shows hockey player are pretty much the same)

When you think about it, NHL coaches have it a bit easier.  Sure they have to deal with the media frenzy and some huge player's egos.  Yet they can enter the team's dressing room at will, they don't have to knock frenziedly on the door, unanswered, since the girls are too busy talking, giggling and squealing to hear the knock.  An NHL coach doesn't have to worry if he'll have enough players on Halloween (John's game was defaulted since only 2 players on each team showed up).  The typical NHL star doesn't send out an email to their coach an hour before the game, saying they're parents won't let them play because they haven't finished their homework (I agree with the parents - homework first).  Lets be honest, the NHL coaches don't have to deal with players having their period and accompanying mood swings.

Alright, I admit that the NHL coaches are under huge pressure to produce winning teams, but when was the last time they had to deal with someone not wanting to be on their team, because they thought they didn't look good in a certain coloured jersey?  Of course, there's the issue of trades, these are carefully scrutinized in the NHL, but in girls hockey, if a girl is traded to another team in order to balance out the league, well then her friend has to go with her and if her friend has a friend ....

I'm not saying that the NHL coaches don't deserve their heft salaries, but maybe what I am saying is that the volunteer behind your daughter's bench deserves a lot of thanks - maybe buy him a beer at Christmas!

Looking Pretty

Life Magazine

An Artist's rendition of how goalie Terry Sawchuk would look

with all the injuries he received during his NHL career

I have learned that when John gets the puck at the point to get out of his way.  I know I'm supposed to be blocking the goalie's view and looking for a  rebound, but sorry, I'm not about to get in the way of the projectile that the puck becomes when he takes a shot.  In the co-ed league that we're playing in right now, slapshots aren't even allowed, but I still stay out of the way of his wrist shot.  Goalies on the other hand, do not share my viewpoint and willingly put themselves in front of such dangerous shots.  I have learned during my two and half years of playing hockey, that goalies are force unto themselves. 

A slap shot is when a player winds up his stick by raising it behind his/her body, then the player violently "slaps" the ice slightly behind the puck and uses his/her weight to bend the stick, storing energy in it like a spring. It is this bending of the stick that gives the slapshot its amazing speed. Just like a bow and arrow, the stick's desire to return to being straight is transferred to the puck, giving it much more speed than just hitting it alone could. When the face of the stick blade strikes the puck, the player rolls his/her wrists and shifts his/her weight so that the energy stored in the stick is released through the puck. Finally, the player follows through, ending up with the stick pointed towards the desired target.

I can't do a slapshot to save my life, during my few attempts, I've ended up on my butt.  It's a perfect example or how one can understand the theory, yet lack the ability to transfer the theory into reality. 

During an NHL skills competition, Zdeno Chara's slapshot was clocked at 168 Km/H.  Bobby Hull, during an era where goalies rarely wore a mask, was clocked at 190 Km/H, his wrist shot was purported to be even harder!  I know John's shot isn't anywhere near those lofty amounts; but all I know, is when he shoots, the puck travels at amazing speeds and makes a very loud sound when it hits the boards.  Thus I get out of the way

In 1927, Elizabeth Graham, a goaltender with Queen's University (my Alma Mater - Go Gaels!), strapped on a fencing mask during a game, supposedly because her father was worried about her mouth, since he had recently paid for extensive dental work.

Elizabeth Graham in the centre

(and we think young girls today all have the same hair style)

Elizabeth's actions, predate Clint Benedict, the first NHL goalie to wear a mask, by three years.

Clinton Stevenson "Praying Bennie" Benedict

Benedict wore the mask because of a broken nose, but chose not to continue wearing it due to the fact that the large nose piece obstructed his vision.  It wouldn't be till 30 years later that Jacques Plante would become the first NHL goalie to wear the mask on a regular basis.  Plante was only allowed to start wearing the mask (which he used for practice) during games, because his nose was broken by a shot from Andy Bathgate.  Plante refused to return to the game without the mask, and since he was the only goalie the team had, he was allowed to do so by the Canadien's management.  He was only supposed to wear the mask until his nose healed, but as the Canadien's winning streak mitigated the process, allowing Plante to integrate the mask into continual play.

Jacques Plante (1959)

Don't you love the his pads?

The goalie mask has changed the way modern goalies play the game.  In the pre mask days tried to remain standing, in order to protect their face from skates and sticks.  Today, goalies can make saves on their knees without fear of head or facial injuries. 

Gary Cheevers was the first goalie to start decorating his mask with hand drawn stitches where the puck hit his mask, representing the scars that would have been on his face. 

Gary Cheevers

I think he would have looked worse than Sawchuk

From Cheever's inspiration, goalies began to decorate the spare surface of their masks.  In 1970, Jim Rutherford of the Detroit Red Wings, added some decorative paint to his mask.

Jim Rutherford's Simple Design



Today's goalies utilize elaborate and intricate designs that are works of art in themselves.  For a sport that played by "macho" males, many goalies demonstrate their interests through the artwork on their masks.  Many goaltender's today can be identified by the motifs on their masks, often changing the colours when they're traded.

Patrick Lalime /  Marvin the Martin in Chicago

Patrick Lalime/ Marvin the Martin in Ottawa

There are thousands of google images on the Internet of goalie masks.  They're incredibly beautiful and artistic,  ... if I had the knees ...  no, there's no way I'd play goal, but I'd still love to design my goalie mask.  Hmmm, Madie has just turned 16 and will be driving soon ... think it would be appropriate to wear one, while I'm teaching her?  In the meantime, I'll be the one getting out of the way of John's shots.

The Girl is Kicking Ass

Mad in game mode!

I went to watch my stepdaughter play hockey the other night and had a blast watching the game.  Madie lives with her dad and I full-time, she's 16, and like me, started playing the game later in life (she started at 13 and I started at 45, not really the same thing, but for kid's hockey she started late, just as I did for adult hockey).  She plays in the Scarborough Shark's house league system in Toronto and it's the right level for her skills and interest.  She enjoys the camaraderie that team play brings, as well as the exercise.

As a kid, Mad's parents signed her up for the usual T-Ball and soccer, but ever since she was little, Mad's been a kid to follow her own path.  She was the kid out there picking the dandelions or looking for bugs, completely oblivious to whatever game was occurring around her.  Because of her undiagnosed ADD and learning disability in her childhood, she had a tough time following rules and verbal instructions, which made organized activities a disaster.  That her brother was a natural athlete and highly competitive made her even more adverse to getting involved in sports, especially hockey, which was/is his primary game.   Compounding the problem was her parent's acrimonious divorce, which resulted in Mad and her brother becoming a "pushmepullme" in their parent's vastly different parenting styles, as well as geographical locations.  Organized sports are difficult to maintain when you're away from home every other weekend and for a month in the summer. 

Once I came to live with John and the kids, things started to fall in to place for Mad.  As a teacher, I recognized her ADD and learning disability and those issues were dealt with appropriately.  Once she was on an even playing field with the rest of the world, Mad began to slowly realize her own potential.  She eagerly signed up for adult beginner hockey lessons with me (since she's 5'10", she easily passed for an adult and she didn't want to learn with little kids).  Because I was a beginner, she felt at ease with making the mistakes that beginners do and she no longer felt she was being compared to her brother.  After a season of lessons, I found the Scarborough Sharks for her.  It was one of the few House Leagues in Toronto that didn't play on the weekends (at that time she was continuing her visitation schedule with her mom), thus finding a league where she could play during a week night was great.  John, her dad (my husband), signed up as coach which allowed him to help Mad even more, since when she started, she was mostly playing with kids who'd played for years.  John could give her tips from the bench on positioning and how to avoid going offside (it took her awhile to get this rule, but then again, I know adults that I play with, who still struggle with it).  She took to the whole thing like a duck to water and has never looked back.  It has given her a whole new confidence that can be seen in her attitude to school and other extra curricular activities.

Mad (#13) muscling a player off the puck

Mad stickhandling

Coach John

When Mad entered High School she signed up to play girl's rugby, a game that no one in our family has ever played.  The kid who was afraid of needles and mosquitoes, signed up to play a sport where physical contact is an expected occurrence.  She took the confidence from her hockey skills and transferred them to rugby.  The attitude that she picked up in hockey about bumps and bruises being no big deal, was quickly transferred to rugby, whereby she'd proudly display her latest contusions with pride.

Mad (#6) playing rugby

.

I'm not saying that hockey is the only reason that Mad is the successful student and athlete that she is today.  The road has been a long and twisting one and certainly has much further to go.  The person who is the most responsible for Mad's success is Mad, she has proven to herself and the rest of the world that she is incredibly tenacious, simply because she believes if she tries hard enough, she'll get it.  So now Mad is an honour student; a hockey, golf and rugby player; as well as member of the school newspaper and writer's club. Not too bad for the kid who picked the dandelions!

An Interesting Technique

Me (#11) playing defence with a rather off balance stance in front of Sean (#33)

Wayne Gretzky once said:  "If you can't skate, you can't play our sport.  Skating is an art."

If I could do it all over again, I would have stuck with my figure skating lessons.  When I was a kid growing up in the 1960s, boys played hockey and girls figured skated.  My parents didn't prevent me from playing hockey, it never occurred to them or to me, that hockey was an option.  What was an option for me was figure skating and I hated it.  My lessons took place on an outdoor community rink, thus every Saturday morning in the winter I was bundled up to look like the Michelin Man and carted off to the rink to 'shoot the duck' and 'choctaw' with other overdressed six year olds.  My mother sat inside the community centre chatting with the other mothers, while I slowly froze to death as I tottered around the rink.  That the lessons occurred at all, were a result of my parents trying to be conspicuously fair and because I think my mother always wanted to figure skate.  By the age of seven, I declared I no longer wanted to figure skate and since it was taking all of my mother's energy to keep me practicing the piano, she decided the figure skating lessons could go.  In retrospect I should have stuck with the figure skating and let go of the piano, but seven year olds lack foresight and I didn't like the cold.

Well here we are forty-one years later.  I can play a mean Clair de Lune by Debussy, but I can't do a backwards crossover to save my life.  When you take up a sport later in life, you learn the basics, but that's all you really get.  You learn to stop (both directions, but like most players I prefer one over the other), frontwards crossovers (both directions, but like most players I prefer right foot over left, since it's something you can practice while pleasure skating), basic backwards skating (the C cut), then you move on to basic stick handling. 

Anooj (#15) & Brad (#18) in front of Sean

Some of the beginners that I started out with, have more natural skill (they're also younger, and truth be told, they practice more).  Hockey requires each maneuver to be performed with speed, agility, mobility, power, quickness, explosiveness and efficiency.  Brad (#18) in the above picture, has a natural ability, his technique incorporates the mantra that John preaches "Shoulders over knees over toes."

If you look at Sidney Crosby's stance, it stands in stark contrast to my own at the top of the page.  Crosby has had the benefit of a lifetime of training.  Today's stars fly down the ice at speeds unheard of even ten years ago.  Players who are agile and explosively fast dominate the game.  Crosby learned correct skating technique from the get-go!  Moreover he practice and practiced and practiced until the muscle memory was ingrained within him.  He doesn't have to think about force generation, center of gravity, acceleration, momentum, inertia, velocity, centrifugal forces - he just skates!

I lack the strong foundations upon which I could build hockey skills.  I sigh when I watch John effortlessly (OK it appears effortlessly to me at the time) accelerate backwards with efficient crossovers.  He knows and utilizes proper positioning, whereas I feel like most of the time I'm on the ice I'm the chaser in a game of "keep away".  John can shoot a wrist shot that hits the top corner of the net, whereas mine slides ineffectually across the ice.  John has technique from years of practice, Jamie has technique from practice and instruction.

I can play Rachmaninoff's C Sharp Minor Prelude, but I'd trade it in for a good wrist shot or the ability to do a backwards crossover!