Poetry in Motion: A Hockey Story

So after my three-point night last night (a goal and two helpers), I have decided to write a blog on hockey. Not the NHL, no that will be a different day. I’m talking about the proud Canadian heritage of beer league puck. 

I played a lot of hockey as a kid, a lot of hockey. Hell, it’s all I did until I was 15 and I was so burned out that it took me 10 years before I even considered putting steel to ice again. But I have always loved the game, and always will. I still day dream on the bus about playing for the blue and white on a Saturday night, having my parents glued to the TV at home, cheering as the legendary Bob Cole announces, “What a goal by the youngster White, his second of the night!”, as it’s broadcasted coast to coast, in english and in french.

However, this dream is nothing but, so I have to learn to be content with playing with all the other wana-b’s, and just doing it for the fun of it. Which really, is all I wanted to do anyways, even when I was playing competitively.

Some people out there however, have yet to figure this out. Some players still feel that they are going to get called up any day now, and sign that big contract. The joke of it is, is that these are the shittiest guys ice. They suck. They can barely even skate let alone make a decent pass. This would be fine, except somewhere along the line, someone forgot to tell these bums that we all have to get up tomorrow morning and go to work.

For instance...

We were chirping this team about a week or so ago, full of losers. By definition losers. We were telling them to “calm the fuck the down” or  “asking why they paid $500 just to come and be pissed off all night”, making comparisons between them and kitty cats, or politely informing them of the relations my teammates and I have had with their wives/girlfriends/mothers.  Anyways, this guy looks at a guy on my team and says, get ready for this... “Stop fucking smiling! Why the fuck do you keep smiling?”   

...Stop smiling? Dude, we’re playing hockey. Why wouldn’t I be smiling?...

So a fight broke out. ya...  It didn’t really matter because we were up 7-1 or something stupid like that, but it happened. I wasn’t involved. It was inevitable really, the writing was on the wall, what with  all the hacking and cheap shots, and just stupid crap that goes on when one team is blowing out another. As all *this* continues, this pissing contest; I couldn’t help but shake my head. This is the same bullshit I had to put up with as a kid. It was the same story. I just wanted to play the game and have fun. But nope, some jackass  out there still thinks they’re in the NHL.

 On the way home after our victory beer, I thought to myself... one day this year, I’m going to do it. I’m going to drop my gloves, pay the $100 fine, and beat the crap out of one of these well-deserving... (insert whatever here that makes me sound the most bad-ass)

Not, and let me be clear on this, to be tough, or because I like to fight, but because someone needs to do it. It needs to be done. For me, and for them. It would be therapeutic for me, and a good lesson for them. Sometimes it’s all these guys understand, they just never figured it out. 

Now I’m not foolish enough to say I don’t want to. That would be a down right lie. I’m also not trying to sound virtuous. I want to do it, I just want to make sure it’s someone REALLY DESERVING. Sit back and think, I’m sure there is someone you’ve meet in the course of your life, who you’d love nothing more, than to just smack them upside the head.  

See, that’s all I’m doing. There’s no harm in that. It’s fun. It makes you feel good. And I’ve been on the losing side my last few bouts, so I think it’s time I settle one on my terms.   Plus it’s hockey, It’s part of the game!

At the end of the day (take a drink!), there is no better game. There is nothing I would rather be doing on a Monday night than hanging out with the boys, playing some puck. Everyday I feel myself getting it back. I’m starting to do things a little more naturally and with less thought. It’s re-establishing the zen needed to be perfect in a game based on mistakes. It’s tapping in to the art of hockey, finding the finesse which turns brute strength into elegance. It’s the reason I, or anyone else, ever started in the first place. It’s having fun. It’s that wonderful feeling: flying around the rink with the puck on a string, breaking down the wing, and wiring one right under the cross bar from the just outside the circle.  It’s the stuff that dreams are made of.  It’s poetry in motion. It’s Hockey.