Glory is Fleeting

I clearly remember reading Houseman's poem To An Athlete Dying Young when I was teen.  For those of you who didn't read poetry books (and to those of you who are thinking "what a geek"), the poem is a poignant ode to a fictional runner whose untimely young death at the peak of his athletic abilities causes the narrator of the poem to reflect upon the poem's theme of:  "glory is fleeting."  The poem is rather cynical in nature, in that it's message is that to achieve greatness, one must die at the height of one's prowess in order to be remembered as a hero.  Thus, as a teen, I thought such a message made perfect sense, it probably struck a chord with my disenchanted, angst-filled, self-centered teen self (doesn't that describe every teen?  Remember I have two of them in my home).

My first hockey team was (and still is) called the Thrashers.  It was a disparate group of virtual beginner hockey players brought together in, what else, a beginner league.  We came together united only by the fact that we wanted to play hockey, that we didn't know how to play hockey and, well, that's about it.  We varied in age from early 20s to early 50s.  We were a team of men and women, varied ethnic backgrounds, varied socio-economic backgrounds and varied athletic abilities.  It was the love of hockey that put all those issues on the back burner and led us on our path to glory ...

In our first full winter season we won our divisional championship.  The road to glory was long, labourious and contained a great deal of beer drinking.  Ultimately we were the victors of Primeau Division.  It was the adult timbits equivalent of winning the the Stanley Cup.  For those of you who don't follow the excitement of adult recreational hockey (and your numbers are many), let me inform you that there are numerous adult hockey leagues out there, most of which are split up into divisions, mostly by ability.  Thus the best players go to A division, the next best go to B division and so on.  In our league the divisions received names of hockey players, thus the A division was called Apps, B division Bower and so on.  We were in the Primeau division.  There wasn't any other divisions below us, maybe because there hasn't been a pro hockey player with a name that starts with a Q.

We won the Primeau Division! 

As you can see by the above picture, we were delighted by the win.  We won in overtime.

For over a thousand years, Roman conquerors returning from the wars enjoyed the honour of a triumph - a tumultuous parade.  A slave stood behind the conqueror, holding a golden crown, and whispering in his ear a warning: that all glory is fleeting.

Yet I've discovered, that when you win as an adult (please see previous blog as to the state of my adulthood), the glory is not fleeting.  We achieved what we could not even envision as possible a year before.  We developed skills and friendships.  We conquered nerves and personal fears.  We drank a lot of beer. 

The glory is still ours because we tried something, when a lot of us had reached a point in our lives where we could have grown complacent.  Though the day after our victory, we returned to everyday lives, we did so with the memory of being a winner.

The team today is different.  John, my husband and I are for the time being, no longer members.  Some people have joined other leagues and/or teams, some have other commitments, one is about to give birth.  Yet, we still have our victory. 

Actually, in retrospect, maybe my teen self was correct.  Glory is fleeting, but the memories are not.