Birthday and Hockey Memories
Today is my birthday and as usual, whether I want to or not, I usually have thoughts about where I have come in my life thus far. Last year, I believe I was rather disappointed in myself as I hit the double decade mark feeling like I hadn't achieved much success in life. This year, however, I care little of worldly success. It doesn't interest me, being famous isn't something I am going to strive for and neither is great wealth. I use to also say that just so long as I can provide for myself, I'll be happy. I'm not even so sure that is necessary anymore. I was thinking about my writing and I think it reflects it. I want to write books and stories, not for the money or the possible fame, I just want to write stories because I love creating stories and telling them. Stories are an amazing medium with which to pass something onto someone else.
On a different note, I was watching the Edmonton Oilers and the Detriot Red Wings hockey game on Saturday night as I was tired from writing a paper. I saw Ethan Moreau sacrificially block a shot from the point. It brought back a lot of memories from my days of playing hockey. I felt like writing about them on my blog. The memory that it brought back the most was from my second year of hockey, we were down 3-2 to Hollyburn Country Club (we were the West Vancouver Thunder) and there was less than a minute in the game, so we were getting desparate. I played the left wing in all of my years in hockey (except for one when I asked to spend a year on defence), so I was by the point covering one of the defencemen as the puck was in our zone. I skated back into our zone a bit to follow the play and the puck came to the defencemen that I was suppose to be covering, I skated out to him quickly as he wound up for a slapshot. I dropped to my knees and got in front of the shot and blocked it (it hit my hockey pants) and the puck when out of our zone and the defencemen was caught offguard. I got up quickly and had a breakaway, but I saw the defencemen was catching up to me. My teammate Devon had caught up and I shuffled it off to him and he went in alone and took the shot. We didn't score, we didn't tie the game, instead we lost. So why did I have memories of it? I was 9 years old and kids blocking shots was unheard of then apparently (perhaps because we had never been taught how to do it properly, so it could've been dangerous). After Devon took the shot, the game was practically over and I skated to the bench and my coach grabbed me and shouted at me in admiration “where did you learn to do that?” I told him that I saw it in the NHL and tried it out of desparation. He said he was impressed by the “selfless act” especially since I gave up my breakaway for Devon to take the shot. Devon came back to the bench and said it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen. When we got back to the changeroom, everyone was talking about my blocked shot and going on about how “fearless” I was and I took one for the team (think of any hockey cliche that involves someone being selfless and it was said to me that day). I felt very proud that day. I was recognized and it felt good.
Another memory I had was when we were playing against Hollyburn Country Club again, same year. There was a guy named King on the other team who everyone on our team seemed to hate. He was one of the tallest and biggest players in the league. He threw his weight around and was physically dominant on the ice. It was a similiar situation to the last game, in that, it was the last few minutes of the game, but this time we were tied. We were in their zone trying to get the go-ahead goal, when a bad pass or something sent the puck out of our zone and the puck drifted to centre ice. Now, one of my only great skills in hockey that year was my speed. All I ever seemed to be good at in hockey was my quick skating and my passing ability. I couldn't hit the broad size of a barn with my shot, I think it had something to do with the pressure. In any event, King had made it to the puck before I did and had a breakaway. I skated after him and left my teams and opponents behinds with the exception of King who continued to skate in. Another thing you need to realize is that although I was one of the fastest skaters in the league, I was also one of the shortest. I did have my growth spurt until I was 15. So physically, I was mismatched with King. He was much taller than I was and much bigger. He crossed the blueline and I realized that I wouldn't be able to stop him from getting a shot, so I simply gave him a bear-hug from behind and pulled him down and we went crashing into the boards and our goalie stopped the loose puck. I had technically “saved the game” as my coach said, but I got called for a penalty. And what is worse is that it was my first ever penalty. And honestly, I've heard from other people as well, when you get your first penalty, it is a big deal emotionally. You are being punished for doing something wrong and inappropriate. You feel guilty, especially when you know you did something “illegal” in hockey. I started to cry when I was in the penalty box (and at Hollyburn Country club, the penalty box is right beside your own bench). My coach asked me what was wrong and wanting to appear tough, I said that I hurt myself when I crashed into the boards, but I said I'd be fine. The truth was, emotionally, I was upset about getting my first ever penalty. One other thing, as I had skated towards the penalty box, the referee said to me “get in the box, ya goon” (sounding eerily-like a line from the Mighty Ducks 2). In my six years of hockey, I got six penalties, so you should see the amusement of me being called a “goon” especially since I'm not very good at being mean. It was from here that I got the nickname “hockey goon” as my Uncle terry got word of gentle ole' Joel getting a penalty and heard what the referee said, so he began to refer to me as “hockey goon.” When people hear of that nickname, usually it is met with laughter.
Another memory I have is when we were playing one of the many North Vancouver teams. There was always so many of them. For some reason or rather, this one team in particular team had two massive players and it was my last year of hockey (which was also the first year that body-checking was allowed for my age group). I was 14 I believe that year, so I was still only 5'0” and one of the big guys was probably about 5'8” already, but he was rather wide, thus he was probably 220-230lbs. It wasn't muscle, it was probably largely fat. The other big guy was at least 6'0” He was insanely tall and he was well-built for being 14 (this kid no doubt had more growing to do. Wouldn't be surprised if he was 6'7” by now), probably was 170-180lbs already. On top of their massive size, we quickly learned that both of these big guys loved to throw around their weight. Remember, I was only 5'0” and one of the shortest players in the league. I had a couple of shifts and witnessed each of these guys level several of my teammates each, although they had not hit me yet since I didn't have the puck much. The big guys were also on the same line and they always seemed to be out against my line, which was the top line. I wasn't on it because I was any good, rather I was there to even out the lines since the other two guys on my line were really talent. Great, huh? I skated back to the bench after our shift and regained my breath. I was not eager to go out again. I didn't want to get slaughtered and I was positive that my time to get leveled was coming. When it came time for my line to go out, my coach hollered “change them up” (calling for a line change) and I shouted while still on the bench “no! Keep them out there!” and they stayed out there. A couple of minutes later, the period ended and the coach was giving us a talk about our effort and he made the comment, “I thought it was a great sign of maturity when I heard one of you guys recognizing that the guys were playing well and told them to stay on, thats a big step for this team.” I couldn't help but laugh cause when I said what I said, I couldn't have cared less about how the guys were playing, I just didn't want to go out there. This memory doesn't end there, however, as in the third period I was on the ice again. I had retrieved the puck along the boards and I was by myself in my zone. I saw the big chubby guy skating after me. He wasn't interested in the puck, he was definately skating hard to level me with a massive hit. I panicked and wanted to scream, so what did I do? As he came close to me, I simply flopped and fell to the ice, cause him to trip over me and fell to the ice and into the boards. I lost the puck in the process, but at least he didn't get it and I prevented myself from probably being slaughtered with an open ice hit. Who knows, maybe I saved myself from yet another concussion. Yup, I was a big chicken, but at least I had my health. Screw taking one for the team.
There was another game in my last year where five of my teammates were thrown out for fighting, which was not tolerated. It was punishable with a one game suspension by the league as well. Needless to say, we were short for the rest of the game and the next game. My team that year was very rough and rowdy. I don't suppose I could forget the negative memories that I have associated with hockey. My coach, always had a habit of giving the Captaincy to the leading scorer of our team. The thing is, the leading scorer was always the leading scorer because he wouldn't let anyone else have the puck. I remember one year in a tournament in Seattle, I had a breakaway with the leading scorer, I had the puck. Realizing that I had a terrible shot, I passed the puck to him to take the shot since I thought the goalie had committed to me. He shot but missed the net. When we got back to the bench, he shouted at me and demanded to know why I had passed him the puck. It bothered me because I knew that if I hadn't, he would've been demanding as to why I had not passed him the puck. I knew I wouldn't be able to win in his books. Unfortunately, since he was the best at scoring, I was always on his line and he had been the receipient of many of my passes which turned into goals.
My love for hockey was destroyed in my last year of hockey. Near the start of the year, I missed a Sunday game because of church and from then on, my teammates were relentless in making fun of my faith. I remember even being asked if I sacrificed cheese at church. What that was suppose to mean, I have no idea. It seemed really dumb to me, but everyone else found it funny. I was the butt of many jokes and my faith was continually made fun of. On the ice, no one seemed to treat me with much of any respect. In some sense, I can understand why because I didn't command any respect. I didn't stand up for myself. I guess I had hoped that if I ignored them enough, they'd get bored of it and move on. They didn't, they kept it up. I remember as a 14-year old, crying as I went to sleep after a game thinking of Christ's commands to pray for those who persecute you. I feel silly calling it “persecution,” but in reality, it hurt and at the time, it certainly felt like persecution. Several times, I fell asleep in tears as I prayed for my teammates, not only that they would stop, but also trying to pray for the best for them in spite of how they treated to me. It was one of the hardest things to do and I didn't see any “fruit” from it. Nothing seemed to have come of it and it felt as though my prayers were unanswered. I am not bitter towards God whatsoever though. I can look back at that time of my life and realize how important it was to my life. It was formative in many aspects and it wouldn't be until I started working with a guy named Danny that I would finally learn to stand up for myself in a good way. =)
Me after the conclusion of probably my 3rd year of hockey
On a different note, I was watching the Edmonton Oilers and the Detriot Red Wings hockey game on Saturday night as I was tired from writing a paper. I saw Ethan Moreau sacrificially block a shot from the point. It brought back a lot of memories from my days of playing hockey. I felt like writing about them on my blog. The memory that it brought back the most was from my second year of hockey, we were down 3-2 to Hollyburn Country Club (we were the West Vancouver Thunder) and there was less than a minute in the game, so we were getting desparate. I played the left wing in all of my years in hockey (except for one when I asked to spend a year on defence), so I was by the point covering one of the defencemen as the puck was in our zone. I skated back into our zone a bit to follow the play and the puck came to the defencemen that I was suppose to be covering, I skated out to him quickly as he wound up for a slapshot. I dropped to my knees and got in front of the shot and blocked it (it hit my hockey pants) and the puck when out of our zone and the defencemen was caught offguard. I got up quickly and had a breakaway, but I saw the defencemen was catching up to me. My teammate Devon had caught up and I shuffled it off to him and he went in alone and took the shot. We didn't score, we didn't tie the game, instead we lost. So why did I have memories of it? I was 9 years old and kids blocking shots was unheard of then apparently (perhaps because we had never been taught how to do it properly, so it could've been dangerous). After Devon took the shot, the game was practically over and I skated to the bench and my coach grabbed me and shouted at me in admiration “where did you learn to do that?” I told him that I saw it in the NHL and tried it out of desparation. He said he was impressed by the “selfless act” especially since I gave up my breakaway for Devon to take the shot. Devon came back to the bench and said it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen. When we got back to the changeroom, everyone was talking about my blocked shot and going on about how “fearless” I was and I took one for the team (think of any hockey cliche that involves someone being selfless and it was said to me that day). I felt very proud that day. I was recognized and it felt good.
Another memory I had was when we were playing against Hollyburn Country Club again, same year. There was a guy named King on the other team who everyone on our team seemed to hate. He was one of the tallest and biggest players in the league. He threw his weight around and was physically dominant on the ice. It was a similiar situation to the last game, in that, it was the last few minutes of the game, but this time we were tied. We were in their zone trying to get the go-ahead goal, when a bad pass or something sent the puck out of our zone and the puck drifted to centre ice. Now, one of my only great skills in hockey that year was my speed. All I ever seemed to be good at in hockey was my quick skating and my passing ability. I couldn't hit the broad size of a barn with my shot, I think it had something to do with the pressure. In any event, King had made it to the puck before I did and had a breakaway. I skated after him and left my teams and opponents behinds with the exception of King who continued to skate in. Another thing you need to realize is that although I was one of the fastest skaters in the league, I was also one of the shortest. I did have my growth spurt until I was 15. So physically, I was mismatched with King. He was much taller than I was and much bigger. He crossed the blueline and I realized that I wouldn't be able to stop him from getting a shot, so I simply gave him a bear-hug from behind and pulled him down and we went crashing into the boards and our goalie stopped the loose puck. I had technically “saved the game” as my coach said, but I got called for a penalty. And what is worse is that it was my first ever penalty. And honestly, I've heard from other people as well, when you get your first penalty, it is a big deal emotionally. You are being punished for doing something wrong and inappropriate. You feel guilty, especially when you know you did something “illegal” in hockey. I started to cry when I was in the penalty box (and at Hollyburn Country club, the penalty box is right beside your own bench). My coach asked me what was wrong and wanting to appear tough, I said that I hurt myself when I crashed into the boards, but I said I'd be fine. The truth was, emotionally, I was upset about getting my first ever penalty. One other thing, as I had skated towards the penalty box, the referee said to me “get in the box, ya goon” (sounding eerily-like a line from the Mighty Ducks 2). In my six years of hockey, I got six penalties, so you should see the amusement of me being called a “goon” especially since I'm not very good at being mean. It was from here that I got the nickname “hockey goon” as my Uncle terry got word of gentle ole' Joel getting a penalty and heard what the referee said, so he began to refer to me as “hockey goon.” When people hear of that nickname, usually it is met with laughter.
Another memory I have is when we were playing one of the many North Vancouver teams. There was always so many of them. For some reason or rather, this one team in particular team had two massive players and it was my last year of hockey (which was also the first year that body-checking was allowed for my age group). I was 14 I believe that year, so I was still only 5'0” and one of the big guys was probably about 5'8” already, but he was rather wide, thus he was probably 220-230lbs. It wasn't muscle, it was probably largely fat. The other big guy was at least 6'0” He was insanely tall and he was well-built for being 14 (this kid no doubt had more growing to do. Wouldn't be surprised if he was 6'7” by now), probably was 170-180lbs already. On top of their massive size, we quickly learned that both of these big guys loved to throw around their weight. Remember, I was only 5'0” and one of the shortest players in the league. I had a couple of shifts and witnessed each of these guys level several of my teammates each, although they had not hit me yet since I didn't have the puck much. The big guys were also on the same line and they always seemed to be out against my line, which was the top line. I wasn't on it because I was any good, rather I was there to even out the lines since the other two guys on my line were really talent. Great, huh? I skated back to the bench after our shift and regained my breath. I was not eager to go out again. I didn't want to get slaughtered and I was positive that my time to get leveled was coming. When it came time for my line to go out, my coach hollered “change them up” (calling for a line change) and I shouted while still on the bench “no! Keep them out there!” and they stayed out there. A couple of minutes later, the period ended and the coach was giving us a talk about our effort and he made the comment, “I thought it was a great sign of maturity when I heard one of you guys recognizing that the guys were playing well and told them to stay on, thats a big step for this team.” I couldn't help but laugh cause when I said what I said, I couldn't have cared less about how the guys were playing, I just didn't want to go out there. This memory doesn't end there, however, as in the third period I was on the ice again. I had retrieved the puck along the boards and I was by myself in my zone. I saw the big chubby guy skating after me. He wasn't interested in the puck, he was definately skating hard to level me with a massive hit. I panicked and wanted to scream, so what did I do? As he came close to me, I simply flopped and fell to the ice, cause him to trip over me and fell to the ice and into the boards. I lost the puck in the process, but at least he didn't get it and I prevented myself from probably being slaughtered with an open ice hit. Who knows, maybe I saved myself from yet another concussion. Yup, I was a big chicken, but at least I had my health. Screw taking one for the team.
There was another game in my last year where five of my teammates were thrown out for fighting, which was not tolerated. It was punishable with a one game suspension by the league as well. Needless to say, we were short for the rest of the game and the next game. My team that year was very rough and rowdy. I don't suppose I could forget the negative memories that I have associated with hockey. My coach, always had a habit of giving the Captaincy to the leading scorer of our team. The thing is, the leading scorer was always the leading scorer because he wouldn't let anyone else have the puck. I remember one year in a tournament in Seattle, I had a breakaway with the leading scorer, I had the puck. Realizing that I had a terrible shot, I passed the puck to him to take the shot since I thought the goalie had committed to me. He shot but missed the net. When we got back to the bench, he shouted at me and demanded to know why I had passed him the puck. It bothered me because I knew that if I hadn't, he would've been demanding as to why I had not passed him the puck. I knew I wouldn't be able to win in his books. Unfortunately, since he was the best at scoring, I was always on his line and he had been the receipient of many of my passes which turned into goals.
My love for hockey was destroyed in my last year of hockey. Near the start of the year, I missed a Sunday game because of church and from then on, my teammates were relentless in making fun of my faith. I remember even being asked if I sacrificed cheese at church. What that was suppose to mean, I have no idea. It seemed really dumb to me, but everyone else found it funny. I was the butt of many jokes and my faith was continually made fun of. On the ice, no one seemed to treat me with much of any respect. In some sense, I can understand why because I didn't command any respect. I didn't stand up for myself. I guess I had hoped that if I ignored them enough, they'd get bored of it and move on. They didn't, they kept it up. I remember as a 14-year old, crying as I went to sleep after a game thinking of Christ's commands to pray for those who persecute you. I feel silly calling it “persecution,” but in reality, it hurt and at the time, it certainly felt like persecution. Several times, I fell asleep in tears as I prayed for my teammates, not only that they would stop, but also trying to pray for the best for them in spite of how they treated to me. It was one of the hardest things to do and I didn't see any “fruit” from it. Nothing seemed to have come of it and it felt as though my prayers were unanswered. I am not bitter towards God whatsoever though. I can look back at that time of my life and realize how important it was to my life. It was formative in many aspects and it wouldn't be until I started working with a guy named Danny that I would finally learn to stand up for myself in a good way. =)
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posted by SillyPickle at 2:45 PM
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