Greetings, from beautifully wooded, peacefully secluded, sometimes sunny, but mostly not, Petticoat Lake where the nights are cold, the days are tolerable, and we are a mere 6 days away from Ground Hog Day. Of course, that means 6 more weeks of Winter, but hopefully, the worst is over?
A while back, I did something I had never done before - I attended a hockey game. Hockey - now there's a sport. Why anyone would participate, or encourage a child to participate, in such an activity is beyond me.
Let's begin with where hockey is played. Hockey is played in a building that is necessarily cold. And that smells like socks. By, "smells like socks," I don't mean the sweet, clean fragrance that one associates with freshly laundered socks that have been tumbled in a dryer with a lightly scented dryer sheet. The, "smells like socks," I'm referring to is the fetor that only comes from wearing the same socks, many times, inside leather skates which do not allow the wearer's feet to breath. The wearer eventually stores the damp socks in a small locker where they ferment until the hockey player's mom asks – "Where are all your hockey socks?", which prompts the owner of the fermenting socks to open the locker door to remove said hockey socks so they can be stuffed into a duffel bag where they will stay until hockey mom removes them. While the locker door is open, the fermenting sock odor is released into the cold atmosphere where it cannot evaporate; it is carried out of the locker room on cool air currents and permeates the entire building, except the concession area, which, thankfully, smells like hot chocolate. FYI - if you ever find yourself in a very cold building where the air smells like socks, you are at a hockey game.
The game of hockey is quite simple and easy to understand; players from opposing teams hit a puck - a 1" thick, 3" diameter disk of vulcanized rubber that is kept frozen until used in the game - across the ice into the opposing team's net, thereby scoring a goal for their team. The team with the most goals after 3 periods is the winner.
A hockey team consists of several young men who are fit, fast and apparently oblivious to pain. They wear an assortment of protective gear; mouth guards, helmets, pads, gloves and something or other to protect the delicate reproductive area. Their feet are clad in skates, which are made from some type of indestructible material, and that have big, sharp, metal blades attached to the bottom. The players are also armed with sticks; long, L-shaped sticks that have been wrapped in tape which will hold the sticks together after a couple of frenzied rounds of, "Hit one of those players real hard with your taped up stick."
Each team usually has 6 players on the ice at one time - two defensemen, two wings, a center and a goaltender. The Coach frequently substitutes one player for another so they can each play, then rest, then play, then rest - like that. Except the goaltender. He stays out on the ice for extended periods of time.
There are two goaltenders, or goalies - one on each end of the ice and they each stand in front of a large, u-shaped net. The goaltender's job is to stop the puck from getting into his net, thereby preventing the opposing team from scoring a goal. Despite the fact that the goaltenders are padded up and look like a masked Mr. Mattress, goaltenders are necessarily flexible - they can do the splits and bend their bodies in ways that would make the most devout yoga practitioner envious. Goaltenders are necessarily brave - at any given time, one of them may be charged by a group of young men on skates wielding sticks. Goaltenders have necessarily amazing reflexes - at any given time, one of them may be charged by a group of young men on skates who are flailing their sticks around, attempting to slam the puck, as hard as possible, into his net. Goaltenders are necessarily crazy.
In addition to the 12 men on the ice, there are two linesmen and one referee. They are the Officials. The linesmen do not call penalties, but the referee does. But not very often. In this particular game, there were only three penalties called, and they were questionable, at best. I can't imagine why, but I assumed that the referee would at least attempt to stop the players from pounding the pulp out of one another. I assumed incorrectly. After watching the officials at work the other night, I have concluded that in order to earn a living as a high school hockey official, one must be partially or completely blind, one must be totally apathetic about one's employment as a high school hockey referee and one must have very, very short legs.
The game begins when the centers from each team skate to the middle of the ice and wait until a referee drops a frozen puck on the ice. When the puck hits the ice, the armed men on sharp blades flail their sticks around, sometimes on the ice, trying to hit the puck. This first skirmish is called a Face-Off and despite the unsavory title, it is the least violent aspect of the game. Once the puck hits the ice, it is in play and the 10 armed men on skates charge after it at breakneck speed. They do this for 1 period of 15 minutes - without stopping.
After the face-off, the players skate as fast as they can while in possession of or in pursuit of the puck. While they skate, they are swinging their sticks at the puck, attempting to get it away from the player who currently controls it. The player in control of the puck is always in imminent peril because the players from the opposing team will stop at nothing to gain control of the puck. By stopping at nothing I mean that there is a very good chance that the player in possession of the puck will be subjected to boarding, charging, cross-checking, elbowing, high-sticking, holding, hooking, slashing, spearing and tripping. And those are just the infractions which may incur a penalty for the perpetrators. This does not include other types of "thuggery" (a technical term - thank you, Karen) which may occur on the ice when the officials are not looking. Or, even if the officials are looking. Most of the time, anything goes. Except blood. The game is stopped when there is blood. No blood allowed.
Hockey, like most other sports, has rules that must be followed. There's like, three, and they refer to the most devastating infractions that a hockey player can commit: Offsides, Offside Pass and Oh My God, NO - Iceing. It is a good thing that these three rules are in place and strictly enforced because without these three rules, hockey could easily be misconstrued as a game during which a bunch of yahoos on skates, armed with sticks, willfully and with malice, beat hell out of one another. And without rules, hockey could not be called an "organized sport".
A note about penalties. A penalty occurs whenever an official says so. A player who is penalized must sit in the sin-bin, or penalty box, for a pre-determined amount of time, which, of course, depends on the seriousness of the infraction, i.e., Unsportsmanlike Conduct. Unsportsmanlike Conduct is frowned upon in hockey and the perpetrator may receive a two minute penalty for this infraction. During the two minutes in the penalty box, the player spits, readjusts his protective equipment and cheers for his team that is now one player short. He also gets to rest and catch his breath.
The high school hockey game that I attended went something like this: The players take the ice and the puck is tossed onto the ice by the blind, apathetic, short legged official. The players thrash around and make lots of noise as their sticks hit the ice. Click, click, clank, whap, and they're off to the other end of the ice. Click, click, clack slam, bang; the player is slammed into the boards while the other players attempt to get the puck. Click, clack, slam; into the boards again and the player shakes it off and is in hot pursuit. The music from the loud speaker begins to blare throughout the building; "Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world, she took the midnight train going annnnyyyywwwhhheeeerreee." I was expecting something more organy, like "Da da da da, da da da da, da da da da da da! Charge!" But no – we got a few lines from a song by Journey. Click, clack, click, swish, whoosh (skaters passing the stands), click, clack, slam – into the boards again. The player shakes it off and is in hot pursuit. More music blares throughout the arena – "Hit the road Jack, and don't cha come back no more, no more, no more, no more, hit the road, Jack, and don't cha come back no more. WHAT CHU SAY? Hit the road, Jack, and don't cha come back no mooorrre." Clack, click, click, slam, click, click, click, clack, bang – that had to hurt - click, click, clack, whoosh. Clack, clack, click, AAARRRGGHH - the puck sails into the stands, nearly hitting a spectator. A puck is tossed back onto the ice by a blind, apathetic official with very short legs, click, click, clack, whoosh. The period ends when the scorekeeper hits a buzzer that sends out an ear splitting blast that frightens the bejeesus out of the fans, who jump out of their seats and clutch their chests. Meanwhile, the players head for the locker room where they spend twenty minutes doing something - perhaps changing socks and stuffing them into their lockers.
Then out comes the Zamboni to resurface the ice. The Zamboni is quite a machine, but after about 2 minutes of watching it go around in circles, the novelty wore off and I found myself wondering why they didn't use 2 Zambonis to speed up the resurfacing process.
During the remaining 18 of the 20 minute intermission, I had the opportunity to talk to "real" hockey moms and I discovered several things about these women. They were funny, smart and articulate. None of them resembled Rottweilers, and not one of them ever considered naming any of their children, "Zamboni".
The game begins again - the players thrash around on the ice; click, click, clack, whoosh, bang - he's on the boards, but he shakes it off and skates toward the center of the ice for an attempted steal. The hockey sticks are on the ice, they're off the ice, they're back on the ice and the players skate, furiously, toward the goalie who is ready to take a hit. The puck sails across the ice toward the goalie, but he does the splits and deflects the puck. "Hurrrrrraaaay", the crowd goes wild and the players scramble to take possession of the puck. Click, click, click, slam, he's on the boards, he's down, he's on the ice, he's shaking his head, but he gets back up and the crowd goes wild! The music begins to blare from the speakers, "Un sah, un sah, un sah, who's your daddy now, huh?, who's your daddy now, un sah, un sah, un sah." The music stops - the crowd goes wild - they hated that song. The players skate to the left, they skate to the right, they skate down the middle towards the goaltender; he's ready for it, he watches the puck, the player takes a shot and he scores! The fans cheer, the scorekeeper blasts the horn three times; three long, loud blasts which causes noses to bleed, ears to ring, babies to cry and fans, once again, to clutch their chests.
The period ends and the Zamboni reconditions the ice, again. The fans use the time to stretch, go to the concession stand for a warm drink or do a few jumping jacks to get the blood circulating again. The building is cold, the seats are cold and the floors are cold. If you don't like to be cold, don't go to a hockey game.
The skaters return to the ice for the final period. The score is 1-2, and both teams want to win. This is the final game of the season for these two teams, and things are about to get ugly - which really means, play will continue as before, but with more intensity. The players line up for the face-off and they're off - one player controls the puck halfway down the ice, skate, skate, whoosh, click, click, clack, a player from the opposing teams steals the puck and skates toward the opponent's goaltender. The player slams the puck into the goal post and the sound of frozen, vulcanized rubber hitting the metal post reverberates through the building. Half of the crowd cheers, the other half boos, and the play resumes. Once again, music blasts from the sound system, "Where are those happy days, they seem so hard to find. I tried to reach for you, but you have closed your mind. Whatever happened to our love, I wish I understood..." It's ABBA! Someone is playing ABBA at a hockey game? Unbelievable and so very, very wrong. Songs by ABBA are not appropriate for hockey games. Neither are songs by Journey, Ray Charles, or the Un sah, Un sahs. I may not know jack about hockey, but I know what hockey music is and what hockey music isn't. I watched a program during which the interviewer spoke to an organist who performs exclusively at hockey games. He didn't play songs by Journey, ABBA, Ray Charles or the Un sah, Un sahs, no siree, he played real hockey music - "Roll Out the Barrel", "Sweet Georgia Brown", "Hava Nagilah" and "Don't Cry for Me, Argentina" – good songs, good times. That's what I'm talking about – real hockey music.
Thankfully, the music stops and the players skate furiously across the ice. They skate around the goaltender; he is alert and prepared. Bang, against the boards, click, click, clack, bang and the swish of the puck as it is batted across the ice toward the goaltender. At one point during the final period, the official blows the whistle, "Tweeeeetttt", goes the whistle, "2 minutes for nothing", yells the official. The player skates to the penalty box and I am confused. "Two minutes for nothing? Really" "Can they do that?" Laughter all around me – "Ha, ha, ha – that's a good one, 2 minutes for nothing, ha, ha, ha." Tor-Tor says, "Not nothing, roughing, he got two minutes for roughing." More laughter, "Ha, ha, ha." Oh, Really? The official must be joking – yea, that's it – he's just kidding. From where I was sitting, with my butt frozen to a cold, plastic seat, the entire game of hockey looks like a free for all and the official calls a penalty for roughing. I guess experienced hockey officials are better able to see the subtle differences between roughing and regular play, but they sure looked like the same thing to me.
At last the game was over. I was cold, tired and my ears were ringing. I also had a headache but I can't say for sure what caused it – maybe just the excitement of the game...
On the way home, I thought about the expectations we have for our children. We want them to excel in sports and academics. We push them to be the best, and we teach them to expect nothing but the best of themselves. The kids today know that in order to make it in the real world, they must be strong, determined and prepared to overcome hardships. Given that these students are willing to work hard to become productive members of society, and that their parents, family members, friends, coaches, school administrators and fans encourage them to be tough, strong and determined to be the best, isn't it ironic that despite everything these children have going for them, the powers that be won't let them attend school when it's 20 below zero?
And that's all I have to say about that...
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