Livin' the Dream

After a full-force odd man rush, Bob smothers a cross-crease pass and the opposing players pull-up and glide with their remaining, unused speed back out to center ice. This is the custom. The defenseman in white gently picks up the puck and toys with it for a moment on the jagged, third period-like ice, before he makes the obvious pass to Hooch, standing on the right-side boards. I swing around the back of the net in his direction and he hits me with a gentle break out pass, since the pressure is tired and hasn’t made an effort to pick it off. I make sure that the puck is safely on my blade-- much of the time, lately, this has not been the case. I begin a rush through the neutral zone. My choppy steps bring me up to speed and the gears start to turn. We wind it up.

Weasel streaks up the left side of the ice, open on his off-hand for a pass at any time, but he’s blocked positionally by the right defense. I dodge a half-hearted poke check from Doug, the blue phantom, at the red-line, and make for the right boards in an effort to draw out Swiffen, the right D. I put my shoulder down and fake a push to the outside. Swiffen bites.

Out of the corner of my eye at 7:00 I see a pair of Calgary socks and a stick blade that never fail to be in perfect position. These belong to Hooch, Hooch who has those magic hands—the kind that I wish I had.

With Swiffen safely out of my skating lane, and Weasel’s defenseman making a break for Hooch in the high slot—I fly to the far post as Hooch passes to an open Weasel, who quickly escorts the puck behind the net and out of danger. I weave a few strides backwards to an open slot as Hooch draws the defenseman with him to the right side of the net.

Swiffen is catching up to me. The backcheckers are closing in. Under the radar, with a cool authority and an air of magic, Weasel sneaks a pass onto my stick without the goalie noticing. There’s an open net, a puck on my stick. A goal is born.

I play this scene over and over again in soft tones with a little bit of an artistic blur on the lense in my brain before I go to sleep at night. (Yes, I know I have a problem). Thursdays and Sundays I play with the boys. There’s something about the mix of a good pace, perfect positioning, great people, and a competitive atmosphere that invigorates and fascinates me. I am infatuated with it—and I think that my teammates there think I’m kinda different because of that (Yes, I know I am). It may be a weeknight, our ice slot may be at 10:00, and the rink may be in a different state—but damned if I won’t fight tooth and nail to get there and play. Positional hockey—*Sigh*-- it’s the best, Jerry.

I’ve been playing “court hockey” (read: street hockey) with the guys at lunch where I work. I have been struggling a lot with my pass receiving and shooting on the ice, and I am attributing it to the difficulty of alternating between a lightweight, liquid-filled mylec ball and a heavy puck. I’ve often heard that stickhandling with a ball makes you better, but not with a koho stick on a tennis court. It makes you worse. In other news, check out this picture below! I got hit with a shot in court hockey-- my buddy Eric called it my "third ankle" lol.

Good luck to UD in their scrimmage tonight against the Hatfield Angels. Good luck to ‘Cats red this weekend— you may or may not see me between the pipes for you guys! ;)