Accessorizing

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

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


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

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

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

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

I Just Don't Get It

Traditional Playing of the Anthem(s)

before the game

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ménage à Trois

John & I in all our Splendor



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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

"'Oh."

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

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

Hockey Parents

a typical scene from any hockey rink

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

For those 6 a.m. games!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I know I did.



Exhaustion, The Boys & Booty

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where's the Intensity?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Remembering

Sometimes it's not all about hockey.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today, I remember and I am thankful.