Hockey = $$$$$$



My Hockey Equipment (staged for a photo op)



To play hockey you need a lot of equipment, I mean a lot of equipment.  You also need an ice rink, preferably indoors.  I know a lot of people from previous generations would argue that you can play just as well on an outdoor rink, but I'm all for playing indoors, where there is heat, toilets and running water (call me pampered)!  To play hockey in a league, you also need refs (two, for the level I play at, 3, for the higher levels), and most importantly you need team mates who have also spent a great deal of money on their equipment.

Hockey requires a lot of equipment. 

Basically one is covered from head to toe. Besides ice skates and sticks, hockey players are usually equipped with an array of safety gear to lessen their risk of serious injury.  Most adult leagues have a strict "no contact" rule, but usually a great deal of contact occurs, usually accidentally, due to an inability to stop or turn.  This equipment usually includes a helmet (in my case with a cage), shoulder pads, elbow pads, gloves, padded pants, that are more like long shorts, a 'Jill' athletic protector (the female equivalent of a Jock), shin pads and a neck guard.  Covering all this are hockey socks (think leggings from Flash Dance) and a hockey jersey.

That's a lot of stuff.

When you first start out, you have 3 choices

• Buy new, top of the line, intended for NHL player, type of equipment.
• Buy inexpensive/cheap, (think Canadian Tire), intended to fall apart quickly, type of equipment
• Beg/borrow/steal used equipments from friends, family and pretty much anybody who will give you their used stuff.

I went the later route.  Though I have to admit, I did buy a new Jill (Jock), I mean, come on, there are some things you just don't share!  I also bought a new helmet, there was no way I was going to get someone else's cooties (see my previous point re. the Jill). 

I already had an old pair of hockey skates that my ex husband had bought on sale at Canadian Tire, some 12 years previously, while we were dating, so we could skate at Nathan Phillips Square.  They were used once,  (shows how successful that date was), then put away until resurrected for my hockey career.  I asked around and various people would offer up old bits of equipment from the caverns of their basements.

At the inception of my hockey career, I was dating John, my future husband (not to be confused with my first husband, Neil, of the unsuccessful skating date).  John's son Jamie, was playing competitive hockey and as a typical boy (who now at the age of 18 stands 6'3") had some equipment he had grown out of.   Many of the GTHL teams require team gloves, hockey pants and helmets, as well as the jersey and socks, so Jamie had quite the collection.

Jamie had just got his new gloves that he needed for his present team, thus he took his gloves from the year before and left them in the garage to practice shooting .... I got his old shooting gloves.



Kaitlin wearing Jamie's old gloves at the Not a Rehearsal Party

Jamie claimed they were "still good."

He would shoot a few hundred, yes that's correct, a few hundred pucks a night at a net his dad had set up in the garage from a sheet of plastic that was similar to ice.  It was hard work.

Teenage boys sweat a lot.

When I started to play hockey, I used the gloves you see above.  I would drive home after a practice or a game and be disgusted by a smell that I thought was emanating from my hockey bag.  I thought it must be especially pungent to be able to waft it's way out of the trunk.

I clearly remember the day, driving along the 401, when for some reason I smelt my hand.  Egad!  It is I who smelt like a dog's breakfast (in truth our dog's breakfast smell 100 times better).  I was imbued with the smell of eau du sweaty boy!  Only those of you who have lived with teen boys, can know how they simply go through a stinky stage and everything they touch takes on their ambiance. 

I bought new gloves the next day.

Since that day, I've purchased very little.  I'm old enough and wise enough to know that better equipment won't make me a better player.  I also live with two good hockey players who scoff at players of my ability buying $200 sticks, when they don't even have a decent wrist shot yet. 

I had originally intended to add up the cost of the equipment that I have, plus all the money I've spent on lessons and leagues.  Yet somehow it doesn't really matter.  It really becomes one of those MasterCard ads, when you itemize the cost of everything, yet the really joy of playing is priceless.

P.S.  The infamous gloves are now gone.  Jamie wanted to try to sell them at Play it Again Sports, but I was afraid of potential lawsuits for the spread of a noxious odour!

P.P.S. We're one month into Jamie's school year in University and he's still keeping his hockey equipment in his closet in his residence room.  There's a perfectly good locker downstairs that the residence provides, but he just hasn't managed to get around to it yet ...  I think he lacks the olfactory ability to detect Eau du sweaty boy

The Hockey Sweater

The Hockey Sweater

Yesterday I co-hosted a baby shower for my friend Kim.  I am quite open about the fact that I'm not a big fan of baby showers.  I have attended many and enjoyed few.  On the whole I find them cloying at best, and  annoying at worst.  Yet I have been blessed with a the fact that I have a lovely, large home, so when the opportunity presented itself (in that the co-host's home was undergoing major renovations), I didn't hesitate in offering up my home.  I am overjoyed for Kim, since she waited a long time for both her wonderful husband and this much anticipated baby.  Thus I offered to host a baby shower, with one caveat - I would not do baby shower games.  This didn't bother Kim in the least and the event went forward with great success.

Now once I had disposed of the issue of baby games, I was left with the predicament of choosing a gift.  I've never been one of those types of women, who coo all over baby items.  I've simply never have a strong maternal instinct.  Don't get me wrong, I love babies, I can get mushy as the next person when they grab your finger with their tiny fist or delight you with their wide eyed smile.  It's just that babies emit a lot of various forms of liquids and solids that I find rather unappealing.  I was quite happy to become a parent to two teens who were (somewhat) past their eruption stage in life.  Yet I digress (which I do quite frequently) away from the main issue, choosing a baby gift.

As a retired teacher, the choice was somewhat obvious.  I would give the gift of books, which I consider to be invaluable, since the development of a love of reading will bring life long enjoyment.  When I mentioned this to John, my husband, he said, "Of course, you'll have to get him The Hockey Sweater."   I had been thinking about Good Night Moon, Curious George and The Velveteen Rabbit, but The Hockey Sweater really made sense.  Kim's husband, Mike plays hockey and Kim even gave it a shot at my Rehearsal Party (in which we didn't rehearse the wedding, but instead played hockey).

That's Kim in the Avalanche sweater.  She had never played hockey before in life (as you can tell, by the figure skates and knee pads), but she took to it like duck to water.  Kim was even going to start taking some lessons and play hockey with me, when her pregnancy prevented such activity. 

The Hockey Sweater is the perfect story for Kim and Mike's future son (it would also be the perfect story for their future daughter, but the ultrasound says this one will be a boy).  The Hockey Sweater was written by Roch Carrier.  It was originally written in French and bore the title Une Abominable Feuille D'érable sur la Glace which loosely translates into An Abominable Maple Leaf on the Ice.  The Hockey Sweater is based on a real experience of Carrier growing up in an isolated part of Quebec in the 1940s. He, like many boys his age, was a big fan of the Montreal Canadians and their star player, Maurice "The Rocket" Richard.  When Carrier's Montreal Canadians hockey sweater wears out, his mother writes a note and sends money to the Eaton's Catalogue Service  to order a new one. The mother uses a handwritten letter since the company did not print French-language versions of their order forms in those days, and she could not understand English.  Unfortunately, the company sends a Toronto Maple Leaf sweater, the Canadiens' bitter  rivals. A loyal fan of the Canadians, Carrier protests having to wear the new sweater. But his mother refuses to let her son wear the old worn-out sweater and, apparently unaware of the business's traditional policy they advertised, "Goods satisfactory, or money refunded", insists that if they were to return the sweater it may offend Mr. Eaton, himself a Leafs fan.  As a result, young Carrier is forced to wear the Leafs sweater to his hockey game, feeling humiliated before the other players on the ice, each proudly wearing a Canadians sweater. The coach refuses to let Carrier play, and he angrily breaks his hockey stick on the ice before being sent to church, where he prays for God to send moths to eat the Maple Leafs sweater.

The NFB made a short film out of the story, both in English & French.

A excerpt from the story, both in English & French is on the back of the Canadian Five dollar bill.

I had to get Madie to read it out to me - the print is quite small

Apparently the story is widely considered an allegory for the linguistic and cultural tensions between anglophone and francophone Canadians.  But sometimes a story, is just a story.  I think The Hockey Sweater perfectly embodies the way the game of hockey can become an integral part of your life.  It certainly demonstrates how significant the game was and is to so many Canadians. 

Kim and Mike's baby is not even here yet.  He has yet to draw his first breath, let alone take his first tottering steps on skates.  Kim loves to dance, maybe this child will inherit his mother's love for that.  So much is uncertain and so much potential is awaiting to be explored.  I only hope that The Hockey Sweater does two things:

1.      Help develop a love of reading.

2.      Help develop a love of an incredible game.

Of course, if this unborn child makes it to the NHL and gives some of the credit to me, the person who gave him The Hockey Sweater, when then, all the better. 

Showing Up

Yesterday I stopped by Just Hockey/Source for Sports to get John's and mine skates sharpened.  Apparently they are skate sharpening experts.  Skates are sharpened by a rotating disk that is about the same width as your blades. The skate is clamped in and the disk grinds away a small part of the blade leaving a hollow groove.  It makes a lot of noise and sparks fly, so in my mind, anyone who sharpens skates is an expert, but as in all things, some are better than others and Just Hockey is supposedly one of the best.

To be honest, I wouldn't have a clue as to where to get the best skate sharpening experience.  We go to Just Hockey on Don Mills Road, because that's where Jamie used to get his skates sharpened.  Jamie is my 18 year old stepson, who when I first met him five years ago, had dreams of playing professional hockey.  Jamie played competitive hockey in the GTHL which meant two games a week, plus practice, plus hockey camps in the summer, plus spending a lot of money on the aforementioned items.  Jamie played defense, for more experienced skaters, particularly defensemen who are often making quick changes in direction, it's essential to have sharp edges as they need to be able to turn at sharp angles without having their blades give out from under them.  John plays defense too, thus the importance of sharpening. 

I like going to Just Hockey, cause it's only five minutes away.  Madie, my stepdaughter, likes going there cause there's lots of goalie equipment to look at (she has dreams of being a goalie, presently she plays out and her goalie dreams are awaiting her financial ability to buy half of her equipment when she's 18).

To get back to the issue at hand, I was getting my skates sharpened and they were somewhat backed up, most likely due to the start of the hockey season.  I had followed a young man into the store.  "Walking wall" would probably be more of an apt description. From the conversation between he and the skate sharpener, I gathered that he had made an OHL team, but that he preferred the flat bottomed V skate sharpening that Just Hockey did, over the sharpening that his own team provided.  After I got over my momentary illusions of playing on a team that provided sharpening, I was struck by the fact "Hey, they're different types of sharping skates."  Who knew?

I subsequently have found out that there are numerous ways to sharpen a skate and if you add the realm of figure skating, you're into a whole other issue altogether.  The Internet told me that the differences between a shallow and deep cut. are that in general, a shallower cut will glide easier and faster on the ice than a deep cut. It also allows you to feel the blade edges better, which are used for stopping.

When I went back to pick up my skates, I asked the guy sharpening the skates if the way he sharpened my skates would make me skate faster.  He looked down at my 15 year old CCM 540 Super Tacks that had laces to match my old jersey, he looked at me (very little resemblance to the flat bottomed V skate guy),  he was kind enough not to say, "Hey lady, at your age and size, it won't make one iota of difference what kind of sharpening you get." But this young man was obviously raised properly and he simply smiled at me and in the most encouraging tone possible, told me, "Sometimes just showing up is enough."

I think he's right.  But, just maybe, the next time I get my skates sharpened, I'm going to try the flat bottomed V sharpening.  Who knows, maybe that's the only thing standing between me and glory?

With Apologies to Gloria Steiman

Through either design, fate or even luck (both good and bad), I have played most of my hockey career with men.  Though most of these men act like little boys, especially in the dressing room, where farting takes on a whole new dimension, for the sake of this article, I will refrain from commenting upon male antics (thus saving such fodder for future discussion) and simply try to contain my comments to the act of playing hockey mainly with males.

When I signed up for a beginner league, I actually signed up to play in a female beginner league, but due to lack of intrepid females, the league was never begun and I was transferred to play with the beginner men.   Thus I began my hockey career, more through default than through design. 

I have to admit that I like playing hockey with men.  Early on, we decided that we would change in the same dressing room.  It created more of a team atmosphere and it was illuminating to catch a glimpse into male locker room antics and conversations.

It was on the ice that the differences really started to show up.  The young 20/30 year old, single males quickly became better hockey players, though we really all started at the same level.  They had both inclination and more importantly, the time, to dedicated to the sport.  Whereas I, both married and with kids at home would show up once a week and muddle through the drills.  By the time actual games took place there was a large divide in abilities. 

But then I discovered the magic of the pony tail.  I found I could get away with a lot more things than the guys could.  The refs (mostly middle aged men) went pretty easy on the females.  The first time I discovered this, was when I doing a sharp turn, which in my case was the approximate radius of a double decker bus, when I speared an opponent with my stick.  Of course my stick was supposed to be on the ice, but that's another matter altogether.  The ref shouted out, "Hey number 11, watch the high stick!" I replied, "Sorry, but sometimes I lose my balance." The ref gave me one of those benign  smiles that are indicative of male who feels eminently superior and responded "That's OK then, just try your best." At that point I realized I could probably impale the opposing player on my stick and the ref would tell the hapless victim, "Well, she was just trying her best."

The other night I was playing and a much faster opposing player was making their way around me.  I tried lifting his stick and was successful, thus he lost the puck.  When I was sitting at the bench, the ref said to me" You know that was hooking?" I actually did know that I had got my stick into the gloves, but innocently replied, "But I didn't mean to" and then I got that same benign smile with the reply, "Oh I could tell you didn't mean to do it, that's why I didn't call you on it."  

Yup, I think I've brought the woman's movement back a few decades.  I figure though, that at my age (and speed), I might as well use everything God gave me.  Consider it brains over brawn.

I have also never received a speeding ticket from a male police officer.  Each time I've managed to talk my way out it.  The one ticket I did receive, was from a female officer, she wasn't inclined to chat. 

Next Sunday I start playing in a female league with female refs.  I think I'm going to have to come up with a new strategy.

The Pre-Game Meal

My old hockey team started their season yesterday.  To celebrate (prepare?), Anooj (and his ever patient wife, Jalpa) hosted a BBQ at their house.  The game was at 7:45 pm, the BBQ started at 2:00 pm.  When you play at the adult rec level, the pre game meal takes on a different spin.

I brought cookies.

Mark Nemish, the Strength Coach of the Washington Capitals, advises the serious hockey player to eat lightly before the game.   Pre game meal should not be too large…some lean protein like chicken, fish or steak (fillet or very lean strip) that is grilled or broiled ...

Chicken ... we had chicken wings!  Hey, they were grilled brilliantly by Jay along with some awesome burgers, which may not be steak, but meat nonetheless.

... some carbohydrates (brown rice, pasta, baked potatoes) and vegetables (greens or other colorful veggies) ...

OK, it gets a little tougher at this point.  There's a lot of carbohydrates in beer!  There was a lot of beer consumed at the BBQ!  As far as vegetables go ...  well there were corn chips and salsa (salsa has tomatoes in it, yeah I know a tomato is classified as fruit, but really).  There was humus and guacamole, so there you have chick peas and avacado!

I brought cookies.

You know you're getting older, when bringing 24 freshly home baked cookies, evokes more of a positive response than bringing 24 beers.

... If you eat too much at pre-game, your legs may feel heavy in the first period because you are still digesting a big meal.  Eat enough to satisfy but not feel full.

The boys ate handfuls of cookies.  Jay even put his beer down to eat cookies.  The girls didn't eat handfuls maybe, not because of required game performance, but because they're required to be seen most of the time without hockey equipment on.  Yes, hockey equipment hides a multiple of sins.

... Drink plenty of water as well.

Well we already covered the beer issue.  We all know beer contains water ... so it really just the same ...

Nowhere does Mike Nemish include Chocolate Chip Cookies in his pre-game meal menu.  I think it was simply an oversight.

The Thrashers won their game last night. 

I think it was the cookies.

On the Hockey Range?

Yesterday I spent some time at the driving range working on my swing.

Like hockey, I have taken up golf somewhat more seriously later on in my life.  To be honest I see more longevity in my golf career.  My uncle played hockey into his 70s and that's an inspiration, but he had a lifetime of experience to draw upon, whereas I try to muscle my way through crossovers and backwards skating with more determination than grace.

We joined a golf club this summer and with that, I started working with a golf pro.  Now private golf clubs in the heart of Toronto are not an inexpensive commodity, so frequent usage is the best way to get one's money worth.  So I'm to be found whacking away at golf balls with varying degrees of success, but just like my mother told be about my piano playing, the only way to get better is to practice.  So, lo and behold, the more I practice my golf swing, the better I get.

I was thinking that if only I could have the equivalent of a golf range for my hockey skills.

When you're my age (soon to be 48) and still rather unsteady on your hockey skates, you need to practice to get better.  The problem being, when you take up a sport later in life, the learning curve is steep and athletic abilities plateau rather quickly.  I need a hockey range.

I need a place where I can go to perfect my crossovers, stick handling, wrist shot (I have resigned myself to the fact I'll never have a slapshot) and all round skating skills.  Malcolm Gladwell in his book The Outliers,  concluded it takes 10,000 hours of practice before one masters a skill.  In fact he started his book with the example of hockey, but extrapolated his argument to music, computer skills and great deal more.  Even with my current obsession with hockey, I haven't dedicated anywhere near 10,000 hours.  When I took hockey skills level one, it was an hour a week for 2 months - that's 8 hours, I probably put another 8 hours into another skill development class, and for the last two years I've played twice a week.  Of course in a game, you're not always on the ice, so I during a 45 minute game, I probably had about 20 minutes of ice time.  So over two years that's 34 hours.  Throw in the odd shinny game, where I probably picked up 10 hours of skating over two years and that gives you the grand total of 60 hours on the ice.  That's a far cry from  10,000 hours!

I know there are various places that offer low level hockey skills, but I've tried them and most of them are filled with 20 something, testosterone filled males, or worse, 20 something, testosterone filled females.

I need a hockey range, where I can go on my own time, and practice for as long as I like.  I need hockey pro, who like my golf pro, is endlessly patient and who knows that some improvement will need to be seen for me to continue payment.  I need a place where I can go and just practice.

The average player in the pros, had his 10,000 hours in by the time they were 18.  It's unlikely that I'll ever reach mastery level of hockey, but I can keep trying, keep having fun and keep meeting new people.  If only I had a hockey range, I might even amaze myself, acutally, I already have.

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.

At Your Age?

The other day, I read in The Star that 30 is the new 20.  This was not a mathematical conundrum, the article was simply referring to age.  Since the average Canadian woman now lives to the age of 83, middle age can be seen as being attained by the age of 41.5

Middle age is what adults are.  Census Canada puts it between the ages of 35 & 54.  Social Scientist, Erik Erikson, is a little more generous putting it at between 40 & 65.

I still think of my mother as middle aged, though at the age of 79 she's firmly entrenched in the Senior Citizen realm. 

Right now I'm staring down my 48th birthday.  Even with my limited mathematical abilities, I can't deny that I'm middle aged.  Though if 30 is the new 20, then 40 is the new 30 and thus my age of 48 can simply be equated with being 38.  Therefore middle age is avoided, as long as I ignore Census Canada (and who doesn't do that?).  My mathematical algorithms have always been more conceptual than realistic (which easily explains my high school math marks).

At the age of 45 I decided to take up hockey.  Yes, the hockey one plays on ice, with hockey skates, lots of expensive equipment and a hockey stick that was initially employed as rudder/outrigger during my first few outings.

Some might see such an action as a classic mid life action (though I'm still maintaining I'm not middle aged).  Some might be right.

The response to such an undertaking by friends and family was varied to say the least.  Those that were older than me were encouraging, seeing it as a last kick at the can.  Those that were my age, saw it as a somewhat eccentric exercise regimen, usually they suggested sports that were less confrontational in nature such as sumo wrestling.  It was the younger people in my life who would respond to the knowledge of my taking up the sport with that special look that only a teenager possesses - you know, the one that embodies disdain, disbelief and disinterest.  The would look at me, taking in my my less than trim midriff and slightly ever spreading bottom and state "at your age?"

Probably one of the most challenging statement that can be to (almost) middle aged woman is "at your age?" It's like a the battle cry of all premenopausal woman everywhere.  Get out of my way I'm buying a hockey stick to beat your head, thus messing your Justin Bieber inspired hairdo!  (Premenopausal woman are little hormonal at times).

Yes, at my age, at the age of  45 I took up playing hockey.   I'm now about to turn 48 and I'm loving it.  This blog is about my adventures in hockey.  This blog is about me, the madwoman of hockey.