But What About Hockey?

I thought this was a blog about hockey?

Start weight:  208.5

Weight on Day 9:  196

Loss so far: 12.5 lbs

This blog initially was entitled Madwoman of Hockey.  At the time, oooh about 4 years ago, I thought the hockey was the game.  I could envision myself playing it for years ...

Unfortunately, the effects of age had their inevitable effect.  I simply had started too late.  

It didn't help that I (and John) never found a league that was right for us.  When it came time to sign up again in the Russell Hockey League that we played in for the previous season, the game time had been changed to past 10 pm.  It was simply too late for us.  We decided to pass on playing.

Honestly I haven't missed it that much.  I do miss the socializing, but I don't miss being the slowest person on the ice. 

I'm so happy that I played hockey.  Yet I'm content to let it go.  Unless you the innate skills learned in your youth; it's a young person's game.

So it's on to a focus on golf.  Plus, who knows what else is out there?  

The journey itself is fascinating. 

And So It Continues ...

My husband John came home from his yearly physical last week with a generally clean bill of health.  Of course there was the usual caveat about the need to lose some weight - this in turn forced me to confront the fact that over the course of the summer, I too had slowly put on a few ... maybe more than a few pounds.  I had been assiduously avoiding the scales since early July when I came within 4 pounds of loosing the thirty pounds that I had originally set out to loose earlier this year.

Let me back track a bit.

I had been quite good about going to the gym, the 5K run that I completed with Julie had been an excellent goal, but my knees were really not taking too well to the continual pounding that I was subjecting them to.  I was constantly popping anti-inflammatory aspirins.  I knew that I was too heavy to be running so much, that a wiser course of action would be to lose the weight and then start running, but I was in such a hurry to lose the weight.  I had such grandiose plans about competing in triathlons ... but you know what they say about best laid plans ...

I fell off the exercise wagon with a whimper not a bang.

I started to play golf more and more.  It's a game I enjoy and something that John, the kids and I could do together.  We generally walk the course and it's a very hilly course.  I thought I was getting enough exercise with the golf and let the gym fall by the wayside.  I was also playing hockey once a week.  I thought I had my bases covered.  I thought wrong!

Walking the course, even in the extreme heat that we had this summer wasn't much of a cardio workout.  Then after we played 18 holes, I'd be tired and we'd order pizza for dinner.  With hockey, we played at 6:45, which meant there was lots of time afterwards for pizza and beer - you can see where this is all leading ...

I put back on 10 pounds this summer, plus the muscle that I had so painfully cultivated in the gym returned to its rather nasty, jiggly state.  I'm not back at square one, but I'm not where I should be.  So it's time to get back in the saddle again. 

I had a great summer, but it's time to head back to the gym.  I've realized that this process is a marathon, not a sprint.  This time, there will be no desperate plan to lose weight, but a return to regular exercise and eating healthily in moderation.  There'll be treats here and there, since let's be honest, life has to be enjoyed too!

So stay tuned, as I continue my weight loss journey.  Maybe as I progress, I'll actually admit how much weight I really have to lose.  Let it suffice to say it's a lot.  The thirty pounds that I initally set out to lose was just the first step ... now I have many steps. 

I will do this.

Practice ... I Mean We're Talking About Practice!

 One of a least 100 pictures I have of

Guinness leaping in the air to catch the ball

He's a dog who puts everything he has into chasing a ball -

every single time he goes after the ball

The other day, John, Madie and I were playing nine holes at our golf club.  The course at our club is a challenging one with narrow fairways, a great deal of water (the Don River intersects the course 14 times over 18 holes) and some challenging bunker placements.  Overall the course demands forethought and an ability to place the ball; rather than hitting it and hoping for the best (which is how I usually play the game).  But, lo and behold on the 9th hole during my approach shot to the green, from about 130 yards out, I sunk my shot!  It was a spectacular shot to an elevated green, that landed about 10 feet from the pin and promptly rolled in.  If I was a pro and it were a televised game, it would have certainly made the highlight reel!

To say the least, I was absolutely gobsmacked (such a great word, that North Americans don't utilize enough)!  Though I have to admit a great deal of luck went into the shot and I probably couldn't come close to repeating it ever again in my life.  I ended up double bogeying the hole (I know, quite the accomplishment given my final shot), due to a rather unfortunate tee shot that ended up in the river, yet even with the unfortunate score, I was quite happy, because what I think is happening, is that all my practice is starting to pay off.

I practice golf, far more than I practice hockey.  It shows in my golf game and it certainly shows in my hockey game!

Guinness, is our family dog.  He's a rescue dog whose highly attached to our family and to chasing a bright pink tennis ball.  At times, I think he'd have a hard time deciding which is the more important to him, and in my heart of hearts, I fear the tennis ball would win out (but only if it's bright pink).

Guinness is walked three times a day now.  Actually the term 'walk' is a bit of a misnomer, since the only walking that takes place is on our way to or from the park (or school grounds or beach).  Once there Guinness single mindedly chases a ball.  Oh, there are odd interruptions to take care of doggy bodily functions and he might deign to give a fellow pooch the odd sniff, but all in all, he's incredibly focused upon chasing said pink tennis ball.

He's absolutely amazing at leaping and twisting to catch the ball in mid air.  He's never been taught to do so and he's quite aware that he can remain on the ground to catch the ball, but I think he prefers the challenge of an acrobatic catch.  We use a device called a "chuckit" which is an elongated arm that holds a tennis ball and allows the thrower to gain far greater distance with their throw (another positive to this device, is that it allows the thrower to pick up the ball without touching it, an important feature with a doggy saliva soaked ball).  We throw and throw and throw ....  Guinness loves it.

Today while I was throwing the ball for Guinness I got to thinking and then to timing.  I throw a ball approximately every 30 seconds and usually we're out for an hour - which means

1 outing = 120 throws (catches and returns)  ... yes we are approximating
3 outings per day (120 x 3) = 360 throws (catches and returns)
7 days per week (7 x 360) =  2520 throws (catches and returns)
52 weeks per year (52 x 2520) =  131,040 throws (catches and returns)

OK I know there are days he doesn't get three outings, but there are other days, like on the weekend when John takes him to the beach for a couple of hours or when we go to a cottage and it lasts all day ... so I think it all works out ....

This since Guinness is 3 ... 3 x 131,040 = 393,120 throws (catches and returns).  Or 3 hours per day x 365 days per year 1095 hours per year which is 3,285 hours over Guinness' lifetime so far ...

No wonder he's good.  We're talking about a lot of practice .... now only if I could do that with my golf or hockey skills ... I'd still never be as good as Guinness is ... and I even use pink golf balls!  Maybe I should look for a bright pink hockey puck!

Getting Naked

Recently I've been spending a great deal of time at the gym.  This new found, or rather renewed relationship is necessary for my physical well being, especially at this point in my life!  Just scroll back through some of my previous bloggings and you'll see the whole story behind it.  Suffice it to say, I'm skipping off to the gym 4 or 5 days a week ... OK, skipping might be a bit of misnomer, but I do manage to drag my sorry behind there with alarming frequency.

This particular entry is not about my trials and tribulations with regards to fitness (yeah I did manage to go 30 mins on the treadmill at 4.7 mph today - I so rock).  This entry is more to do with what happens after I work out.  I'm a sweater, no I don't mean the kind you knit & wear, that get adorned with sparkles and reindeer at Christmas - I mean that I'm the kind of person who sweats a great deal when they work out.  No ladylike glistening for me, no sensual dewy face, no erotic single bead of sweat dripping down between my breasts - no, I sweat!  I soak through a T shirt to the point where it can be wrung out, sweat flies off my face when I shake my head and worst of all, a rather clear snot continually runs out of my nose.  My sweatiness is not the stuff of erotica; rather it is the stuff of hard work and let's be honest, smell.  A gasping, premenopausal, sweaty woman is an entity unto itself.

My gym is pretty awesome and the locker rooms are wonderful.  The women's locker room at The Donalda Club has a card playing area, hot tub and steam room; there's frightfully well lit make up area with lots of make upy stuff such as q tips and cotton balls, various hand lotions, sunscreens and hairsprays;  there's an unlimited supply of  fluffy Egyptian cotton towels both in bath and hand towel size.  The showers have a personal changing area and contain razors (disposable), shaving cream, shampoos, conditioners, body wash and even little disposable shower caps.  Oh there are even paper slip on flip flops (that don't fit my big feet). The men's locker room purportedly even has a full size billiards table!  In short it's a veritable locker room paradise and a definite step up from my local Good Life! 

But back to the issue of nudity, which is why I know a great many of you are reading this. 

I was at my locker, stripped off the sweaty work out stuff, wrapped a towel around me and headed off to the steam room.  To my surprise, there was another woman who was already ensconced within the steam room, which wasn't really a big deal, since the room could hold at least 10 people, but what surprised me was she was almost completely mummified in towels!  Far be it from me to judge what one wears to the steam room, but I felt rather scantily clad in my single towel.  The one thing I've noticed in female locker rooms as I've aged, that the older one gets, the more one covers up. 

A million years ago I used to work out in the Yonge and Eglinton area of Toronto.  The gym was quite the singles place, which worked for me because I was single.  Most of the clientele were in their 20s and 30s and fairly fit.  The locker room back then had a lot more nudity than the locker room I inhabit today.  Mainly I think it's because, on the whole,  the members at Donalda are much older (which is OK cause I am too).  There are the sins that too much good food, too much good wine and too much gravity have played upon our bodies.  A good towel is a good thing.

I mentioned the whole towel thing to John, who has also experienced too much good food, too much good wine and just as much gravity (if not more cause he's older than I am), yet he was immensely unconcerned about wearing a towel to cover the imperfections of his body.  His attitude was "if I never wore a towel in a locker room before, why would I wear one now?"  It's kind of hard to fault the logic and demonstrates are far more healthy bodily image.  According to him, it's an attitude that shared by most men in his locker room.  With a little introspection, I think it all ties into the expectations we're fed by the media.  Women have become so self conscious as well as self critical, it's no wonder they take solace in a towel.

Maybe I shouldn't worry about what size my jeans are, but instead I should worry about the size of my towel!

When Men & Women Collide

Hockey can be pretty daunting when one player is substantially

bigger and stronger than another



John and I play in a low to mid level skill league called HockeyToronto.  It's a fairly loosely run organization of nine co-ed teams who are supposed to playing at a recreational level.  On the whole it's a pretty good league and we've met some great people, which to John and I is really the primary purpose of recreational hockey.  We get to have a night out together, get some exercise and enjoy some social beverages - all positive things!

Right now we're in the playoffs, which in itself is a bit of a misnomer, since we entered the playoffs tied for sixth place and the first place team is firmly entrenched in their dominance of the league.  The league is touted as being co-ed, yet a few of the teams (including the first place team) don't have any females on their rosters (which in of itself is a whole other issue that can be explored at a later date).  Yet by labelling a game a 'playoff' it lends itself to a whole aura of expectations and heightened tensions.  At the game last night, the tensions boiled over and when all was said and done, John was ejected from the game and received a subsequent suspension.  John hit a girl ....

For those of you who don't know John, he's the quintessential accountant.  Quiet, reserved and dependable;  he's middle aged, greying at the temples and wears glasses; conservative in views - both politically and fiscally; he loves his family, golf, and his dog (I hope I got the order right).  He wears cardigans for goodness sake!  In short he's everything you would envision an accountant to be (he also has a very wry sense of humour that you'd never expect an account to possess).  John is also a very experienced hockey player who played competitive hockey growing up and even had some interest in him demonstrated by the OHL (he wisely chose the scholastic route instead).  Until two years ago he hadn't played hockey in at least thirty years, though he has been closely involved in the game through coaching.

John is also physically imposing.  He stands 6'4" and weighs 230 lbs.  On top of that he's an excellent technical skater, with awesome puck handling skills (he once scored a goal while standing at his own blue line), but his strongest weapon is his intimate knowledge of the game garnered over thousands and thousands of hours spent involved in the game.

The reason John plays in the aforementioned low/mid league, is in order to play hockey with me.  I can't bring my skills up (lord knows I've tried), but he can ratchet his down.  John plays defense and focuses mainly on passing the puck to set other people up for goals.  He's got a wicked wrist shot (no slap shots allowed), which he rarely utilizes since he's worried about hurting people and doesn't think it's fair to use it at this level.  He might rush with the puck once during a game, but generally claims he's too lazy to do so.  He relies on his long reach to poke check the puck away from onrushing opponents and is uncannily good at doing so, except for last night, where it all went horribly wrong ...

We'd just tied the game up with a few minutes left to play, tensions were running high.  One of the better, bigger and faster (every team puts their best people on at the end) players on the opposing team came rushing with the puck towards our end.  John took his position at the blue line, the onrushing player tried a head deke, but John was far too wise and went for the poke check, the opposing player careened right into John - John didn't fall (see aforementioned height and weight), but the other guy did.  No whistle went, because John hadn't done anything wrong, he didn't have to get out of the player's way for goodness sake - he had the established position!  John turned to get the puck but the player who had careened into him came up charging at John thinking that John had purposely hit him, whereas the puck carrying player should have been charged with body contact, instead  he crosschecked John in the back, causing John to fall to his knees, while another player on the team started hitting John while he was down. 

In all honesty, I think both players thought that John had purposely hit the first player, their own ignorance of the rules causing them to overreact.   Of course everything happened so quickly.  The ref tried to get hold of the player who had first swung at John, but his adrenaline allowed him to keep hitting John from behind, while the second player was hitting him from in front.  John came to his feet and tried to escape when suddenly a third opposing player came right into the fight, instinctively John defended himself by crosschecking the third player - unfortunately the third person in the fight was girl, a rather small girl and John absolutely decked her ... she went down very hard.  All hell started breaking loose.

First of all let me say that I think John was wrong in cross checking.  The fact that she was/is a girl should have nothing to with it.  The ref started freaking out on John in an extremely unprofessional manner about John hitting a girl, completely ignoring the fact that two of their players had hit John (had hit him hard enough to drive him to his knees).  The ref completely ignored that the girl was the third man (girl) in, which should result in a game misconduct.  I honestly have no idea what she was thinking in injecting herself in the middle of fight ... I highly doubt she'll do it again. 

John was put in an untenable situation, the refs couldn't control the fight and a melee ensued. 

Should John have been ejected and suspended for the crosscheck?  I think yes, no matter how justified, it was still a major infraction.  But what about the other players on the opposing team?  All three of them were considered blameless and were allowed to play in the next game, while John had to sit on the sidelines.  The major issue that the ref kept reiterating, was that John hit a girl.  Yet John did not hit a girl, John simply hit an opposing player, who never should have been there in the first place.  In the scant seconds in which the whole incident took place, John never had a chance to asses the sex of the incoming player, he saw the jersey colour only, plus she was wearing a full face cage, further obscuring her sexual identity.

If women want to play hockey with men, they should be treated as equals.  I think in this situation the whole societal taboo of male hitting a female came to the forefront, and obscured the actual hockey rules that should have been in play.  Nobody wants anyone to get hurt and thankfully she was shaken but OK.

John was a true man and apologized to the girl in question and made sure she was alright, and also apologized to the guys on the opposing team. 

Nobody apologized to John. 

Family & Friends

The Ross Boys (Jamie, Justin, Kyle & Jordan) Between Games

Any parent who has put their child into hockey and especially competitive hockey, knows only too well what a huge time, as well as financial commitment that means.  It's a labour of love, both for the parent and the child, since that's what you require to make those numerous practices, games and tournaments; in addition to the never ending requirements for equipment as they grow in both size and skill level.  A cold hockey arena is really only fun for those play - those watching are there in a supportive (and chilled) role.   

In 1961, Ken and Mary Lou Ross started my husband John in hockey, his brothers Les and Doug soon followed.  The rule in the Ross household was the year you learned to walk, was the winter you started to skate.  All three of the Ross boys followed that maxim.  The Ross boys were all two years apart in age, so of course this necessitated various leagues, lessons and age groupings, but also allowed for a lot of hand me downs as well.  The Ross boys played a lot of hockey in the Lindsay/Peterborough area.  John talks about by the age of 12, play by play radio broadcasts of his games would be the norm.  All the Ross boys would experience this.  All of it was made possible by Ken and Mary Lou Ross.

Brothers, John and Doug Ross

Time would pass, and eventually the Ross boys gave up their dreams of playing in the NHL and started their careers and families.  They too would now spend countless hours ferrying their kid(s) to arenas, buying equipment, coaching, sending their kids to hockey camp ... now with the youngest of the group turning 17, the time spent continuing their parent's legacy is slowly coming to a conclusion.  The matriarch of the group, Mary Lou, has continued her involvement with her grand children's hockey (Ken passed away in 1993), she's still a keen fan and supporter.  Only time will tell if this generation of hockey players will create a new generation of hockey players.

Madie (the youngest grandchild) and Mary Lou

On Monday February 21st (Family Day), we had the rare opportunity of bringing the Ross clan together to play hockey in a tournament put on by Hockey Toronto.  The Ross boys (John, Les and Doug) had never played an actual game together growing up due to their age differences.  The same with the next generation (Justin, Jordan, Jamie, Kyle & Madie).  Somehow we managed to bring it all together, with the addition of myself, Les' buddy Dave and his son Paul, along with some Blues teammates, Aaron, Meghan, Tyler and Nick.

We had an absolute blast! Doug hadn't played in an actual game in about 30 years (his equipment clearly attested to this fact).  Justin had left hockey many years ago also, but it didn't really matter, what mattered was the fact that we had a chance to spend the day together, playing a game we loved.  For the fathers to play with their sons (and daughters) was a wonderful opportunity!  

I silently thanked my luck stars that I had been working out for a month beforehand, since otherwise I wouldn't have lasted through the third game.

We acquitted ourselves well, in fact we went into overtime against the team that won the tournament, so that says a great deal for some of the talent on our team.  Mary Lou said it was hilarious to watch our bench, since all the grand kids were standing up watching, while all her sons were sitting down (valiantly trying to regain their breath).

At the end of the day, we played some great hockey, went 1 - 2, drank a few beers and more importantly got to spend some fantastic time together as a family - now that's what Family Day should be all about!

Zen and the Art of the Outside Edge

Skating on the Outside Edge (learning it is scary!)

I am very slow when I play hockey.  It's been a long haul getting back in shape after the near fatal butt injury (OK it wasn't "near fatal," but it felt like it at that time).  Before the injury, when I played with my co-ed team, I was always a step behind the better players.  As a winger, when we broke out of our end, I couldn't keep up with the centre or other winger when they would streak down the ice.  I gave it my best though, I was usually back in the play if the goalie gave up a rebound (to be real, I was there if the goalie gave up a third rebound).  After the six weeks off due to my butt injury, I was more than a step behind and it's been really tough trying to get back to the slow state that I was before my injury. I've been working out five days a week for a month now and I'm finally back to the speed I was before the injury.  I guess that's just another thrilling aspect of age - injury recovery time is longer!

The other night, after our game, I was bemoaning my rather plodding pace while I skate and John gave one of those rather offhand comments that your spouse will make when they're absolutely right, but they know you don't want to hear their absolutely right comment (if you're married you know what I mean); he said "You know you'd be better if you'd practice more and got up off your inside edges."  Now to give John credit, it wasn't stated in a derogatory manner, but in a simple matter of fact kind of way that brooks no argument, since he knows about a thousand times more about skating than I do.

I know I need to practice, but practicing skating isn't fun, playing hockey is fun.

So off to the rink we went (John, Madie and I).  Of course before we left I issued the caveat that "If I have to pee, we're coming home, there's no way I'm using the porta pottie!" (A girl has to have standards - it was an outside rink)  ... What my husband puts up with!

John had me practice getting up on just one skate and then making turns that would force me to use my outside edge.  So if I was standing on my left skate I had to turn left and vice versa with my right skate.  I guess it was an indication of how natural I feel on my inside edges, because the whole process felt totally alien to me!

Me (#15) on my inside edges (at least the other girl was too)

On and on I practiced.  Every now and then John would check in on my progress and encourage me.  He would proceed to effortlessly demonstrate the process over and over again.  He kept telling me to just do what he was doing ... I wanted to ask him how he'd feel if I demonstrated a two handed C major formula pattern on the piano and told him to just do what I was doing .... then again, I wanted to get better at skating and he has no interest in the piano ... sigh.

I just kept trying.  Snot was running down my face, I kept getting in every one's way as I single mindedly wobbled back and forth with my turns.  I was determined to be skating like Gretzky by the time I was finished.  In the end, we had to leave since we were scheduled to skype with Jamie later that night.  I must admit that I hadn't come close to mastering the use of the outside edge before we left the rink and we haven't been back yet because it's been so cold (remember it's an outside rink and the porta pottie issue).  Yet I am determined to practice some more and I did play a better game since I started learning the whole outside edge thing. 

Just watch out - one I get this whole outside edge thing, I should be in time for the first rebound!

It's Really Quite Simple

John simply having fun

A friend suggested to John that he read the book Younger Next Year written by a Chris Crowley, a former lawyer and Henry Lodge M.D. a board certified internist.  John hasn't read it yet, but I picked it up, since I'm one of those people who will read just about anything.  The book is supposed to be a "revolutionary"  change of attitude towards the aging process.  The authors base their plan on the idea that instead of looking forward to decades of pain as the body slowly deteriorates, it's possible to live as if you were 50, maybe even younger, for the rest of your life.  The book is clearly targeted towards baby boomers who are just now hitting their retirement years and are scared poopless of the aging process. 

To be honest, I didn't find it very revolutionary.  Clearly the masses don't agree, since it sold extremely well and even spawned a website http://www.youngernextyear.com/ that helps promote various spin offs from the original book that of course cost money.  The book follows a set of rules called "Harry's Rules" (Harry is Henry Lodge - I know it's confusing)

Harry's Rules

1. Exercise for six days a week for the rest of your life
2. Do serious aerobic exercise four days a week for the rest of your life
3. Do serious strength training, with weights, two days a week for the rest of your life
4. Spend less than you make
5. Quit eating crap
6. Care
7. Connect & Commit

Heck, all you had to do was watch Oprah for the past few years and you would know all about this.  I've never really followed Oprah that closely, but I remember watching one show, where she made it quite clear that she had more money than she could ever spend in a lifetime and if there was a sure fire quick and easy way to lose weight, than she would have bought it, not matter what cost.  At the end of the day, the only thing that really worked, was eating the right kind of food in moderation and exercising.  It's a fact we all know, but there's a billion dollar industry out there that feeds into the belief that there's a magic potion that can help you lose weight.  The book Younger Next Year simply puts the Oprah show into print (and profits from it).

One thing the book pointed out, is that the rules were much easier to follow if your spouse/partner/significant other/friend joined you in the process.  It simply makes sense that if you're trying to change your life style, than those that will affect and be affected by the change, are on board with you.  I'm really lucky in that respect, since John (even without reading the book) is totally on board with regards to all of Harry's Rules, even before we knew about Harry's Rules.  These days John and I are over at Donalda Club hitting golf balls in the indoor range, working out and sometimes skating on the outdoor rink.  We both enjoy it and we both enjoy cheering each other on in our efforts to drop some weight and get healthy.  On Friday nights we play together in co-ed league - it puts a whole new spin on date night.

At the end of the day, we're all getting older.  I don't need a book to tell me that I need to stay active and eat right ... I just need to do it.

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!



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.

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. 

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.

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!

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!



Say it Ain't So!

My Team (Wings) against the Ice Gators

(yeah, I know, who's on the point?)



There are few things that can get in between hockey and I, and one of them came up this past Friday.  I was scheduled to give blood, so off I went to the blood mobile.  The appointment had been scheduled long before I knew I would be playing hockey that night, so I treated the appointment like I did when I was dating (whoever made the date with me first, I would go out with, even if a better date came along later - this is not to say that that I was in huge demand when I was dating, but a girl's got to have standards).  The clinic didn't open until 4:30, so playing hockey at 8:30 just wasn't going to work, thus I went to the game with John to watch him and my team play.

The league is comprised of six co-ed teams and is ranked as being for low to mid level players.  Since John is really good and I'm really quite bad, I figure that we even out to a mid level player.  Of course such reasoning only works when we're on the ice together, otherwise, when I'm out there without him .... well, let's just say, I'm trying my best.  The games, when I play, always appear to be fast-paced, now that may be that many of the games, we've been short players and I get pretty winded, pretty quickly.  When I'm sitting on the bench waiting for my shift, I'm watching the play and cheering on my team, actually a lot of the time, I'm watching John, mainly because he's so good, that he makes it look effortless and because he's my husband, so I think he's great anyway.

John (see he does look pretty good)

Well, back to this past Friday.  I went to our game, but would just be a spectator, but oh my goodness, what an eye opener!  The last game in I which I was simply a spectator, was Jamie's hockey finals when he was in grade 12.  Let me tell that 18 year old boys, playing full contact hockey at the single A level are much, much faster than a Co-ed league of 25 to 50 year olds, playing non contact at the low to mid level range.  The whole game seemed to be played in slow motion, it was almost painful to watch.  What was even worse, was to know that I was one of the slowest players on the team.  What did that mean?  Did I play hockey in some vacuum of the space/time continuum?  I was aghast, to know you're not very good is one thing, to know you're that bad is another.

To be completely honest, I have no idea if we won or lost that game.  More than likely, we lost, since that is generally what our team does in this league.  I watched the play unfold and was dismayed by how rarely our team passed (John is the exception to this rule, mainly because he gets too tired if he rushes end to end), how rarely we could take a pass (maybe that's why nobody passes) and how rarely we got off a shot on net (John's the exception when he shoots from the point).  All in all it was a pretty dismal showing.

After the game, we met up with some of our teammates in the bar for a pitcher of beer (or two).  The conversation flowed, with those that had played enthusiastically talking about how well the game went.  Were they talking about the game I just saw?  Wisely, I said nothing, going with the "if you can't say anything nice" ... method. 

But once I started thinking about the whole process, I concluded it really wasn't about the level of play.  There wasn't a single person out there who would ever reach any level of hockey greatness.  They were there enjoying the game, getting some exercise and more importantly, enjoying an evening out with like minded people.  All in all, a very successful evening.

I've decided to schedule my blood donations on non hockey days - seeing as it's far better to participate than watch - which if you think about it, is true about most things in life.