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Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Week Fifteen (Jan. 29)

Week Fifteen of the Great Milk Crates Hockey Odyssey was slated to be a practice/skills session out at UMass, the first one we'd had in two weeks. As was the case when I was a kid, the practices usually aren't as fun as the games: drills aren't more fun than actual playing, being told what to do isn't better than just playing.

However, I'm in a beginner clinic, so learning the skills is pretty important. For that reason, I wasn't that down about having a practice session as I walked into the rink, 35 minutes early, ready to leisurely get dressed for once.

As I was getting ready, the guy sitting across from me, Yellow 37 (he's the same number as me, just the wrong color), we dressing in goalie equipment.

"Weird," I thought to myself, before remembering that he'd mentioned before that he had equipment and would bring it in case we needed a goalie.

Figuring he'd probably just play net during some shooting drills, I continued to get dressed. I walked outside the locker room to take in the end of B.C. High's practice, when I saw the other goalie we have, Powder Blue Plymouth Whalers Jersey guy.

I went back in the locker room and told Yellow 37 that the other goalie was here.

"The other goalie?" he replied. "I think I'd be the other goalie in this case."

We were all waiting for the Zamboni to finish its rounds, when someone informed Coach Joe that we had two goalies for the night.

"Oh, do we?" he said. "Maybe we can scrimmage instead. Would you guys rather scrimmage or practice?"

Believe it or not, "scrimmage" was the unanimous answer.

"Eh," he said. "We'll see when Other Coach gets here, he wanted to practice. Says you guys need it."

With that, he kept tying his skates and cackled, obviously agreeing that we needed the work. This feeling was something like being in high school and having your teacher wheel in a TV and VCR, only to tell you, "oh no, this is for next period. You're still having a test."

Such a tease...
We took to the ice, and I took my customary warm-up twirls. Still getting the hang of my slight stop, I tried it again a few times going around, and fared pretty well.

"Hey, maybe I'm finally getting this," I thought to myself.

"Nah, not quite," said Gravity, as I stumbled and nearly fell on my face the next time I tried it.

Maybe I was getting ahead of myself.

Other Coach blew his whistle after a few minutes and told us we were going to do some skating first. We were told to grab a puck and start skating, and to speed up/slow down on his whistle.

WEEEEP! *skateskateskateskate* WEEEEP! *gliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide* WEEEEP! *skateskategliiiiiiiiideandhopeheisntlookingatme*

That's how it went for a few minutes, after which we were told to line up on the far goal line.

"We're gonna do some starts and stops now," said Other Coach, who had apparently taken over coaching duties while Coach Joe took shots on Whalers Goalie.

"Great," I thought. "My favorite."

Since Other Coach and Whalers Goalie were occupying the far zone, we only had to skate two-thirds of the rink. Our first task: skate to the blue line, turn around and skate backwards to the red line, turn again and skate to the far blue line. It was basically a shorter version of the turning drill we'd done in previous weeks. You know, the one I was really bad at.

As I took my turn, I skated medium-speed to the blue line. I got about two strides from the line when I started thinking about how I was going to turn.

My thought process: "Uh oh. Uh oh. UH OH. Turrrrrrn...NO, NOT THAT FAST!" *stumble stumble stumble* Then I'd skate shamefully backwards, hoping no one noticed (wrong).

"There ya go, you got it, you got it," Other Coach yelled to me. I'm not sure what "it" is, but unless having it means I can't turn around, I certainly didn't "got it."

The next spin went similarly badly, but the third one was a plus for me. I tried to do it without thinking, and actually made the turn before stumbling a bit, regaining my footing, and slowly going backwards. Not bad.

Just in case I wasn't already struggling, our next drill was stops on the whistle. We were to line up on the goal line, skate until we heard the whistle, and then stop immediately, using our right side (the one I can kind of stop on). I did my best, and actually was able to slide a few times. Doing my little practice slides before the games had apparently gotten my body more comfortable with that sliding feeling, meaning I didn't panic as is natural.

I'm certainly not stopping yet, or snowing the goalie Brad Marchand-style, but I'm getting there. Stopping facing the left? Yeah, that's a whole other problem. I'm like Derek Zoolander, and I'm not the only one: a whole bunch of skaters can stop on one side, but not the other. We'll get there.

Pretty much.
Our next drill was the push/pull drill we do occasionally, only this time we didn't do the pushing (which was fine with me). After that, we were told to line up in two lines on the blue line, and chaos ensued. Apparently what we were supposed to do was head around the center circle (practicing our crossovers), accept a pass from the other line, and head in on goal. The person who made the pass then started skating around the circle, took a pass from the next person in the line you just came from, etc. Not hard.

Except for us it was like rocket science. The first two passes went about 15 feet from the skater. Then the next skater didn't go. The coaches mercifully blew the whistle, gave us a step-by-step example like the kindergartners we apparently were, and from there we did OK. I didn't score (I didn't really come close), but it was a fun drill (and it didn't involve stopping!).

We were called to gather around the center circle, broken up into our colors, and told that we were going to scrimmage, 4-on-4, until our time was up. Other Coach told us to find our linemates, and I was paired with Speedy and  Usual Defenseman again. Since we were playing 4-on-4, we only needed one defenseman.

From the beginning, this was a fun one. The bigger rink and 4-on-4 play made it feel like a shinny game. Odd-man rushes were plentiful, as were breakaways, and there was very little in the way of defense.

On my first shift, I was hanging out by the defensive blue line when one of our guys chipped the puck up and out. I skated onto it and was alone from the blue line in. Preparing myself to make a move on Whalers Goalie, I thought of how to deke and...lost control of the puck. Foiled.

Hey, it's me on a breakaway!

 As I circled around the net, the puck went back to the point. One of our guys at the blue line half-shot, half-passed the puck towards me, and I had a defender on either side of me. As the puck was coming towards me, I sort of pulled it back and deadened it at the same time, sending the puck through my legs back towards the slot, where it landed on the tape of a wide-open Speedy. He fired a shot on net that was turned aside.

Seconds later, I ended up with a 2-on-1 with Speedy. I skated in with the puck, weighing my options, and passed when I thought it right...and it went off the defenseman's stick. Foiled again.

As I sat on the bench, Other Coach first chastised/offered me advice on what I did wrong coming out of the zone: "Ya got the puck and looked up, that was great," he said. "But then, ya STOPPED! Ya gotta keep moving ya feet. Once ya stop, the defenders close in, and ya options disappear. You made the right play, but keep moving!"

As he was walking away, he turned back and said, "oh, by the way, great pass back there behind ya. That's a great look, a beautiful pass. Beautiful!"

Call me Marc Savard Jr.

Marc and I are masters of the beautiful pass.
Team Gold scored on the shift after we headed the bench, so we were down 1-0 next time I touched the ice. I noticed that, because Team Gold had an extra player, their defensive lines had changed, and their best skater/player wasn't out there with me. Jackpot.

Strangely enough, our second shift mirrored our first. I ended up with a 2-on-1 with Speedy again, and I walked the puck in to about the hashmarks, didn't see a lane, and fired it on net, where Whalers Goalie kicked it out.

Seconds later (again), I found myself on another breakaway, this time with a Team Gold player on my tail. I managed to keep control of the puck this time, and decided I wanted to try to fake a backhand and then go forehand. Considering I can barely make that move in NHL13, it should come as no surprise that my laser beam of a shot didn't trouble Whalers Goalie, and I was foiled for a fourth time.

It remained 1-0 when we skated back out for what was probably our last shift, as I could see the Zamboni driver walking down towards the rink doors, the universal sign of "shit, our time is almost up."

As I hit the ice, I noticed again that we had a good match-up, as Smooth Skating Gold Guy was on the bench. Time to pounce.

I chased another loose puck into their end, closing in on a third breakaway. Third time's the charm, right? No, not this time, as the backchecker caught up to me. I gathered the puck and tried to circle around the net, but he was still on my back, and I ended up falling hard to the ice, the puck skittering into the corner.

I got up and went around the net and stood out front, hoping to catch a rebound of some kind and get one last whack at it. I was positioned to Whalers Goalie's left, just outside the crease, when I saw Speedy get a loose puck near the right face-off dot. He looked up, spotted me, and threaded a pass through a defender and across the slot. It was coming right at me.

"Shit," I thought. "DO SOMETHING!"

I put my stick on the ice and half shot/half redirected the pass on goal, hoping to beat Whalers Goalie low. Because he was coming across the crease, he had opened up his legs, and I watched the puck slide right through his five-hole and into the back of the net.

Goal. A real, live, actual-goalie-in-the-net goal.

Cue the music!

His head tilted back as he looked up at the ceiling in a "I can't believe I let that goofy bastard score" fashion; my hands went up as I skated over to Speedy and thanked him for the pass. Gloved first-bumps for everyone.

"HO HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" said Coach Joe from the bench. "All tied up, next goal wins!"

I got the puck one or two more times before he blew the whistle to end our shift, and I glided to the bench, getting a couple more bumps. We didn't get another shift, and I watched as the game ended in a 1-1 tie. Team Teal remained undefeated against Team Gold, thanks to the COURAGE, STEELY RESOLVE, AND HEROICS OF YOURS TRULY.

As I walked to the locker room, our goalie, Gold 37, said "was it you that got that goal?"

I nodded and said, "yeah. I missed on three or four others, so I guess he owed me one."

He laughed and said, "nice goal."

I walked into the dressing room and sat down to remove my gear with the rest of my teammates. Apparently heroic goalscorers don't get their own locker room after all.

Weird.

And so, a night that featured (literal) starts and stops, embarrassing twirls, near falls, and a couple of actual falls ended with my first career goal.

Hockey can be a funny game, eh?





Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Week Fourteen (Jan. 22)

Week Fourteen of my hockey adventure actually started last Saturday, when I decided to heed my coaches' advice and get my skates sharpened. Previously, I've trekked over to Pure Hockey in Braintree to get them done, but this time I decided to support a local shop and headed to Beantown Athletics in Dorchester.

I had never been in there before, and walked up to the door, skates in hand, not knowing what to expect. It was, after all, a Saturday morning, so I expected to wait a while so youngsters ahead of me (in terms of both position in line and skating ability) could get their blades done.

I reached out and pulled on the door handle, and it was stuck. Pulled again, nothing. Locked. "What the hell," I thought to myself. I pulled again, starting to wonder if I was on some hidden camera show.

"Why don't you try the other one, pal?" a voice behind me said. I looked and saw a neighborhood guy with his young nephew, stifling a laugh. I looked to the right and saw another door, this one with an "OPEN" sign on it. I pushed, and TA-DAAAAAH...open sesame.

Not quite this bad, but close enough

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," said Dorchester guy.

My hockey week was off to a rough start.

Tuesday's action was slated to be our third actual game, playing against another mens' league team instead of fellow clinic skaters. Team Teal had the late game again, but I went early to catch some of Team Gold's game. They put up a better fight than usual and actually took a 1-0 lead, but ultimately fell to the Tigers, 4-2. Considering the fact that last time I watched them play this team they were down 4-0 before the end of the first, it was a vast improvement.

Due to the fact that the temperature inside UMass' rink was only slightly warmer than that of the Arctic Circle, I dressed in a hurry and took to the ice. To my surprise, I saw a familiar foe at the other end of the rink: the Booze Brothers were back.

Finally got a shot of the Brothers' logo

Readers of this space will remember the Booze Brothers, the team that thumped us 5-0 back in December. We'd had a number of practices and scrimmages in between, so it was time to see if they had paid off.

Maybe it was the cold, or maybe people were just busy, but Team Teal was a bit short-staffed and accepted some refugees from Team Gold. Because of this, we had three forward lines and five defensemen, meaning less ice time for everyone.

Coach Joe gave us some orders and sent us out on the ice. Yours truly was tasked with starting, paired with a familiar linemate I'll call Speedy and another guy who usually plays defense. I deferred to right wing, Speedy took center, the puck dropped, and the game was on.

The Brothers are a pretty cohesive bunch, knowing where to go and who is going to be there. Couple that with superior skating, and one can see why we'd have a rough night. Our first shift was fairly uneventful. The Brothers had the better of possession, while Speedy, Former Defenseman and I didn't get much done at the other end.

Coach Joe barked "let's go forwards, let's go" from the bench, and our shift was over. As I gulped some water and breathed like I'd just run a marathon, the Brothers saw an odd-man rush turned aside by our goalie, he of the famous powder blue Plymouth Whalers jersey. Our goalie (whose name is also Dan, I believe) made a number of saves to stifle the Brothers' attack, but saw one sneak past him on the third line's first shift, and Team Teal found itself down 1-0 less than halfway through the first.

Our line took to the ice following the goal, tasked with stemming the tide and changing momentum. Taking that task to heart, we did the opposite, allowing the Brothers to set up camp in our zone and pelt Goalie Dan with pucks. As right wing, I was supposed to keep an eye on the right point. I did, but every puck seemed to go an inch the wrong way: just past my blade, or I'd chip the puck off the wall and be a half-stride from a breakaway.

I'M SO ANGRY!

Towards the end of the shift, a clearing attempt up the boards deflected off of a Brother's stick to me at the top of the circle. With few options, I chipped the puck off the boards and past the defenseman. Their forwards were good about getting back, so I had little choice but to peel off and have a seat.

As I skated to the bench, Coach Joe had some words for me.

"When you're going at a guy with the puck at the point, you keep gliding," he said. "Move your feet! Keep skating! Look at ya, you got a reach of what, eight feet? Take a few more strides and go right at him, take away his options! If you glide, he's got time to think!"

I took his advice to heart on the next shift at the start of the second, and it nearly paid off. I was in on the forecheck, skating towards a Brother with the puck. Hear Coach Joe's words in my head, I kept skating at him, stick to the side, forcing him to either try to go around me or get rid of the puck. In this case, I guessed correctly: I thought he'd try to clear it, and it went right off of my leg and towards the corner.

"Attaboy, Dan, there you go," said Coach Joe from the bench.

I gathered the loose puck and tried to assess my options, turning my shoulder to the Brother as he tried to regain possession. I had about four inches on him, so he couldn't do much as I wheeled towards the slot, puck on my stick. Both points were covered and closing on me, and everyone else was on the fringe.

"Screw it, shoot," I thought, uncorking a wrister towards the lower right corner of the net. The puck skittered off of a defenseman's skate into the corner, where Former Defenseman gathered it and chipped it towards the point. I lingered in the high slot, hoping for another chance, but the puck was cleared and Coach Joe called for a change.

"Good shift, Dan, good shift," he said as I sat down. "See what happens when you keep skatin' at 'em?"

I shook my head begrudgingly, because hey, who wants to be wrong? Not me. But in this case, I was, and listening paid off.

Unfortunately, our second line couldn't do much, and instead allowed a second Brothers goal on a sweet centering pass that was deflected past helpless Dan the Goalie.

2-0 Brothers.

The third line had just begun their shift, when one of their skaters headed towards the bench screaming "wing wing wing wing!" some 30 seconds after he had taken to the ice. Confused by the short shift, none of my line moved, until Coach Joe yelled "get out there!" and I was the first one up. As I hit the ice, the guy who came off screamed something and threw his stick, apparently injured.
 
I skated out to catch up with the play, which was decidedly in the Brothers' favor. They'd set up camp in our zone again, putting Dan the Goalie under siege. We managed to chip the puck out once, at which point my two linemates joined me. I had already been on the ice for a minute or so, so it was a "NICE OF YOU GUYS TO SHOW UP" kind of feeling.

The siege continued, as everything seemed to go wrong again: chips up the wall were knocked down, pucks were within inches of the blueline but stayed in, and the Brothers got to every loose puck. As a group, we were gassed; we looked like NHLers at then end of the fourth overtime of a playoff game.

But we still couldn't get the puck out, until finally, mercifully, the puck slipped to Dan the Goalie and he covered it. We were out there for what seemed like an eternity, but we didn't allow a goal.

We were the guys inside the castle :((((((((((((

As we hit the bench, Coach Joe was none too pleased. "Guys," he said, with a tone that was a mixture of imploring and scolding, "if you're tired, ice it. Get it out. Don't get fancy, don't get cute, just send it out. Take the whistle and get off the ice. As we get tired, we get more out of position, and all of a sudden there are five guys on one side of the ice. If you're tired, clear it and get off. Simple."

I decided he was probably right, because I could barely stand at the end of our shift. I'm usually pretty bent at the ankles anyways, so on this shift my ankles were probably parallel to the ice. Yikes.

Our line took the second shift in the third period, hoping to get on the board. We had a few sojourns into the neutral zone, but every time we got out, the puck came back in. After about a minute, the Brothers controlled the puck in our zone. As the puck went into the corner, I went in after it, when a whistle went off.

"ARIGHT, that's it, I'm takin' both of ya," said the ref. "I got you and dark blue, two each, let's go."

He led the baffled skaters to the penalty boxes, and sat them down: two minutes each for roughing/cross checking/generally being too physical in a mens' league game. Weird.

Our penalized player was one of our better skating defenseman, so we struggled to clear the puck. However, we managed to keep our head above the water, and even take a few strides towards the other end. Hey, progress.

Towards the end of our shift, Speedy gained possession of the puck at our blueline, and I took off. I found a seam between the two defensemen and got behind them; Speedy saw me and tried to flip a pass up. It got by the first defenseman and was about three feet from my reach, when (story of the net) the last Brother between me and a breakaway nicked the puck with his stick and sent it skittering the other way.

I slammed my stick on the ice in frustration and wheeled around back to the bench, scoring chance foiled.

"Frustrating" was pretty much the word of the evening.

As I was sitting on the bench, one of the referees was standing on the blue line in front of me. He kept turning around and looking above my head, and I started to wonder if there was a leak in the ceiling or if he was just really interested in who had scored 100 career points at UMass-Boston.

"Ya stick's taped the wrong way," he finally said to me.

"...what?" I said, caught off-guard.

"Ya tape is goin' the wrong way," he said. "Ya supposed to tape it heel to toe. Ya did it backwards."

I looked to my left and right to see if he was talking to anyone other than me, but it was just me. Clearly this must have been because I'm a burgeoning superstar and he just wanted to bring me down.

"Uh...no, I'm good," I said.

"Ya got it backwards, the puck runs better the other way," he said, eventually skating away.

I didn't want to get into the merits of stick tape with this men's league ref, but I would've explained to him that taping it toe to heel means the puck, which runs up the stick blade, won't run into the overlapping layers of tape and pull on any of them or bounce off. Thanks, YouTube.

After my bizarre tape lesson, the theme of "frustration" continued on our next shift. I again gained possession of the puck and had some space, so I skated towards our defensive blue line. The Brother at the point hesitated, so I took the opportunity to chip it off the wall. Had it gotten by him, I would've had a 2-on-1, as Speedy was already near the red line.

I got the puck off and it got past him; he reached out in a desperation stab at the puck and somehow got a piece of it, just enough to knock me off my stride and put the puck out of reach. Had I been a better skater, I could've pivoted, turned, corralled the puck and kept going, but hey, I still can't stop.

Same thing: frustratingly close to getting a break.

Every time I tried to make a play...

Towards the end of that shift, the Brothers set up in our zone, and the puck slid back to the point. I skated towards the Brother as Coach Joe had instructed, only this time he was readying for a shot. I put my legs together and went into glide mode, and the Brother fired.

THWACK! Right off the hard plastic shin guards and onto the half-wall, unfortunately not going straight back where I could've raced after it.

"Whoa, my bad, man," said the Brother as we glided past each other after the block. "You alright?"

"Yeah man," I said with a laugh. "Don't be sorry, I'm the one who stood there."

When we headed back to the bench, Coach Joe told us that there each line was taking 90 seconds, and that our next shift would be our last of the night.

We managed to dump the puck into their zone as we took to the ice, and established possession for the first time on the night. Speedy got the puck near the circle and threw a shot on goal that surprised the Brothers' goalie; he still stopped it, however, and the puck went into the corner. Speedy beat his defenseman to the loose puck, and I camped out at the top of the crease with a defenseman on my back.

Speedy gathered the puck and wheeled it back towards the crease, and I was in perfect position to take a whack at it.

You know how this is going to end.

The puck beat the first defenseman and was about two feet from my stick when it got knocked aside by the last Brother line of defenseman, sliding harmlessly to the corner.

As I skated to the bench after that shift, I booted the boards angrily. It was that kind of night: decent chances, but always interference at the last minute.

The horn sounded, and we lost 2-0. Coach Joe told us we played a good game, and he was right: we cut the goal differential down by 3, going from a 5-0 loss to a 2-0 loss. Hey, that means if we play them in a month, we should win by one, right?

Right?



Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Week Thirteen (Jan. 15)

Week 13 was to be a normal practice, our last scheduled session at our Canton rink. I usually end up running late to the Canton sessions, but thanks to leaving work on-time for once and some sweet moves in the Honda Accord, I was good to go once practice started.

I dressed in time to take some warm-up spins, and the first thing I did was try my half-stop from the week before again to make sure it wasn't a fluke. Lo and behold, to my amazement it worked again. I mean, I still couldn't really STOP stop, but it was kind of like skidding in a car on ice, in that it slows me down enough so that when I eventually come to a stop, it isn't as catastrophic.

Hey, who snuck a video camera into practice?

As if sensing my new-found confidence in my half-stop, the coaches lined us up to start practice and decided to really mess with me.

"Alright," one said. "We're gonna start off with 10 minutes or so of skatin' drills, then we're gonna get into passing. You guys need a lot of work on passing."

"Uh oh," I thought to myself. "This is going to get ugly."

And it got ugly indeed, as every drill we did was one that, well, I wasn't very good at: skate to the blue line, stop, come back, other blue line, stop, come back. FAIL. The first time, I told myself I'd try the half-stop, until my coach bellowed "FACE THE OTHER WAY!!!!!" at a kid who had stopped with his right foot.

Fearing that I'd be tossed out of the rink for such insolence, I did my drag-stop sheepishly and headed back.

I'm not sure if it was directed solely at me, but after everyone had gone once, my coach had this to say:

"Some of ya's are still dragging that back foot, that's not gonna work. It's a quick motion, just stop. Quick turn, and then stop!"

I felt like telling him that I find that simple turn and stop about as easy as he probably finds reformatting a hard drive, but I decided I'd avoid getting into a generational argument and give it a try.

Surprisingly enough (and by that, I mean "not at all"), it didn't work, I did some spins, and skated back. But hey, I tried. Mercifully, that drill ended shortly thereafter.

Unmercifully, the next drill was the dreaded "turn and skate backwards in stride" drill, one of my arch enemies. We went up and back four times each, for a total of eight runs. I'd say I nearly fell on six of them, stumbled badly on one, and slowed down enough to make a sort of three-point turn on skates on the eighth. Our coaches implored us to not slow down too much, as that makes it harder, and to commit to the turn and stay light on our feet. ALL WHILE ON SKATES.

Hey, at least I didn't pull a Wides.

Needless to say, the Milk Crates Confidence Level was at an all-time low after these two drills, but there's no giving up when I'm the one paying them to let me play. It might be embarrassing, but I'm at least going to get my money's worth.

The next few drills were a return to similar drills at past practices: 2-on-0s, 2-on-1's, etc. We had a goalie this time, which made the drills more fun, but there are still very few people who can successfully skate, pass, and keep up with their teammate on a 2-on-1, making the drill a sort of gongshow for most of us.

Towards the end of practice, our coaches lined us up according to our color (Teal was underrepresented, for whatever reason, so we got some gold refugees) for some kind of race; I didn't hear what it was called, but most of the other players knew.

Players lined up on opposite posts with their skates behind the goal line, and a coach shot a puck out towards the red line; the players had to skate after it, and whichever team/color got a shot off earned one point. Whichever team lost would have to skate a set of Herbies, and if you got caught cheating or had a false start, you had to do push-ups.

It was pretty fun, as everyone got into it, cheering each other on to go faster, "skate skate skate," etc. I was fourth on our team, and we went 2-1 before me. As I lined up, I looked over at my opponent to find none other than the girl I accidentally buried in the scrimmage the week before. She's quickly becoming my main adversary, it seems. I was focused on getting off to a good start, keeping a good stride, etc. when I felt a tug on my jersey.

"Make sure you don't cheat," a teammate said to me, pulling my toes back behind the line. I felt like a kid on a leash, embarrassed that I needed adult supervision to follow the rules.

"Don't cheat now, pal!"

"GO," one of the coaches shouted, and I charged out after the puck. I was a stride or two ahead of her and got to the puck first, managing to knock it ahead a little further but not really maintain control. She was still right on my tail, but I managed to get body position and hold her off. I didn't get a shot on goal, but neither did she, as the puck slid into the corner. I'm not entirely sure who won our bout, but our team won by one, sparing me from the embarrassment of doing a Herbie as punishment.

We ended the practice with a scrimmage, and with only one goalie, we ended up being the ones to shoot on the backwards-facing net again. I thought it'd make more sense to switch halfway through, but the coaches said we'd get to shoot on the goalie next time instead (though I doubt they'll remember).

The scrimmage was a pretty lively affair, as we jumped out to a 2-0 lead, only to see the Gold Team come back with two goals of their own to tie it up. Towards the end, we left the ice and were told that these were the last two shifts.

As the line before us finished up and headed to the locker room, everyone was gassed; the coaches declared "next goal wins," probably as a way to avoid an inevitable heart attack or destroyed groin.

This session already hadn't been so great for me, so ending the game would've been a nice finish. However, as if to tell me "this isn't your week, kid," the hockey gods didn't oblige.

Three times on that last shift I found myself in a good shooting position in the slot. Three times I let a shot go, off the boards and headed towards the net.

All three times it hit the near post and stayed out.

Mercifully, the coaches ended the scrimmage as a tie, leaving us, as a group, tired but grinning from the goofy and fast-paced nature of the competition.

As we headed off the ice, one of the gold players announced that there was a birthday party in one of the locker rooms, as it was his birthday. He passed out cans of Narragansett, to which one of the coaches said sarcastically, "geez, glad to see you got the good stuff for your birthday."

I laughed, happy that someone shared my disdain for 'Gansett. But of course I drank it anyways, reminded that despite the failures to stop and general follies and foibles I encountered this week, a beer never tastes better than it does after hockey.

Even when it's a Narragansett.

Blah.


Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Week Twelve (Jan. 8)

This week's session was supposed to be our first clinic vs. clinic scrimmage in a over a month, reigniting the Teal vs. Gold feud that makes Bruins vs. Canadiens look like a tea party. These are true grudge matches, filled with, well...actually there's no real animosity. And Team Teal, home of yours truly, has never lost, so that's a bonus.

I arrived at the rink this week sad to see that there were no college scouts around this time, which clearly indicated that they'd seen all they needed to the week before and that my scholarship must have gotten lost in the mail. A combination of no traffic and actually leaving work on time made me some 40 minutes early, giving me the rare opportunity to take my time getting dressed.

I somehow managed to turn what usually takes me a rushed five minutes into 35, a remarkable feat. As I was getting dressed, I noticed my goalie friend, he of the powder blue Plymouth Whalers jersey, didn't have a goalie pal dressing with him.

"Maybe he's late," I thought.

As the Zamboni finished resurfacing the ice, however, no other goalie emerged.

"Great," I muttered to the kid next to me. "We've got two refs and one goalie. This should be a blast."

"Hey, maybe one of the refs can get in net," he said, instantly becoming my dear friend.

We had time to take some laps and do some stretching, during which I decided it'd be time to try to stop again. I started by gliding around then turning my foot to try to simulate the sliding feeling of stopping. My reasoning was that if I could get myself to that point and get comfortable with the slide, I'd be one stop closer.

In what had to be one of the most shocking moments in Milk Crates history, it actually worked. I managed to do a little sliding, then, full of vigor and enthusiasm, decided to try to stop fully, and...just spun around and flailed like I usually do.

That's OK. Baby steps!

As we were about to begin, the Gold coach called us all over and apologized for the lack of goalie, saying in a voice filled with disdain and disgust that this was going to be our last scrimmage, because goalies were too hard to come by.

His solution, for the night? Two 25-minute halves, and the goalie would switch ends at the 12-minute mark. The team that wasn't shooting on a goalie would be playing bumper pool hockey again, banking the puck off of the end boards and into the backwards-facing net.

Pool hockey is BACK!

Our team was facing the goalie first, and I was tasked with skating on the first line (SUPERSTAR). As myself and my two linemates glided out to the center circle, we had the following conversation:

Guy 1: "So uhhh...who wants to be center?"
Myself and Guy 2: *Silence*
Guy 1: "No preference?"
Me: "I mean, the center is supposed to be the best skater, and I can't even stop."
Guy 1: "OK, I'll take center then."
 Myself and Guy 2: *Skate away to the wings in shame*

My response to "hey, wanna be center?"

 Our first shift started off with a faceoff win, and the puck worked its way into the attacking zone. I lurked around my left wing position, eventually getting the puck and working it up the boards and back to the point. Our defenseman flipped a shot on net, one that skittered into the corner. A Gold defenseman picked it up, and I didn't move. I've learned that a lot of the guys who play defense will make pretty silly passes, either not knowing any better or assuming we don't have the coordination to intercept them.

This defenseman attempted a pass up the middle of the ice that I knocked down somewhere near the slot. How bad was his error?

His response, as he was hustling back into position: "AHHHH, SHIT, SHIT!"

I weighed my options and eventually flung a shot towards the goalie, one that Powder Blue (though sadly, he wasn't wearing that jersey) easily stopped. However, the rebound went to a Teal teammate, and he put the puck back on net. I was down by the crease at this point, and lo and behold, there was the puck, by the goalie's right skate.

I whacked at it two, three, four times, finally getting it off the ice and into his pad. The defenseman who started the play with his egregious error eventually stepped in and held me off, giving the goalie enough time to cover.

I missed a real life goal by about an inch, probably less, but it was a good start for our line.

We didn't get many more chances on the goalie, and eventually had to switch to bank shots. However, our teammates had managed to get one on the board for us, giving Teal a 1-0 lead.

In what I guess counted as the second quarter,  I found myself parked near the crease while one of our defensemen (she was a defensewoman, actually) carried the puck around the zone. I found myself some space near the left post of the backwards-facing net and camped out halfheartedly, because passing isn't usually in this teammate's repertoire.

Imagine my surprise, then, when a pass came from the opposite boards. My reaction was something like finding a bug in the shower: "Gah! GET IT GET IT GET IT!" and I shot, instinctively.

When the dust settled, I had kind of flubbed my attempt at a one-timer. Because of that flubbing, I hadn't shot it as hard as I wanted to, and it had gone off the boards, back towards the net and across the goal line just before a Gold guy could pull it back.

A goal. Cue the music!


I sheepishly raised both arms in the air and glided towards the end boards, not wanting to celebrate my pool hockey goal too vigorously. However, my teammates offered me fist-bumps and helmet taps of congratulations, and we were up 2-0.

In the second half, we shot on the backwards net first. Early on, I was hanging around the faceoff circle when I spotted a loose puck around the goal line. I gathered it south of the goal line (closer to the boards), and paused.

Earlier on, myself and a linemate were talking on the bench about what the rules were. Both of us thought you had to be north of the goal line to shoot, and that shooting from south wasn't allowed because it was kind of like a slam dunk. It was for that reason that after my pause, I flipped the puck back out towards a teammate much, much further from the net.

I probably should've asked, because the next thing I heard was my coach yelling (from the bench at the opposite end of the rink), "Jesus Christ, shoot the damn puck! What the hell are you doing?!"

Turns out we ARE allowed to shoot it from wherever after all. Noted.

Later in the fourth quarter, we were shooting on the real live goalie again. I was kind of cherry picking, hanging out in the neutral zone like our coach told us to so that our defensemen would have an outlet. This time our defenseman went up the boards, but the puck snuck out and onto the stick of my linemate, and we had a 2-on-1. I stayed onside, and headed in with him, hoping for a pass.

The pass never came, and instead he took a low snapshot that snuck either through the goalie's legs or between his leg and the post for a goal to make it 3-0. We were coming around the net at the same time and I wanted to offer my congratulations, but remember, I can't stop, and it probably would've looked like the celebration below.


I elected to offer a mere fist-bump and keep skating, avoiding a big collision.

However, I failed to avoid a big collision just a few minutes later. Similar to my first big collision a while back, myself and the other skater had our heads down, looking for a loose puck. Unlike that first collision, this person was smaller and lighter than me, and was a girl. She went flying, I fell down, KA-BOOM! I offered a "my bad" on the way up, but she had already gotten to her feet and skated away. Tough.

I approached her after the game to make sure she was OK, and she shrugged it off, saying no harm done, no big deal, etc. Which, now that I think of it, was probably an insult to me. Oh well.

We ended up scoring once more, pushing our lead to 4-0, having scored three times with the goalie in the net and once on the much harder, trickier, super difficult, "how did he do that?!" bank shot goal scored by yours truly.

A goal and a plus-3 rating. Hey, at least I'm making progress.

Now, about that stopping thing...

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Week Eleven (Jan. 2)

The holidays came and went with no hockey to be played, as both Christmas and New Year's Day fell on Tuesdays. Thankfully, we ended up getting our second session bumped to a Wednesday night, or we would've gone some three weeks without any action. Considering none of us is in top physical shape to begin with, the results would've been pretty disastrous.

We don't usually play on Wednesdays, but I still expected to find the same scene when I got to the rink: a few people milling around, a men's league game finishing up, general emptiness out on the godforsaken frozen peninsula that is UMass-Boston in the winter.

Instead, I pulled up to the rink to find cars spilling out into the parking lot, and general mayhem.

"What the hell is going on?" I thought as I pulled up. I drove into the parking lot, grabbed my bag and went inside to find an even stranger spectacle: a lobby packed with people of all ages, but mostly parents and younger kids. Wondering if my blog finally took off and we had a packed house to watch us, I wandered into the rink. There were more people milling about, including a few reporters with tape recorders interviewing high school kids and coaches.

Finally, it all came together: B.C. High must have had a game, and judging by the guy who walked past me, they must have played Malden Catholic. Those are two big-time high school hockey programs, so it all made sense. There were even a couple of college scouts.

Sensing that my big break and road to the pros was at hand, I dressed quickly and took to the ice. There were only a few of us there at that point, so we had free run of the rink. We were about ten minutes ahead of schedule, and used that time to mill about on the ice, do some skating and take a few shots.

Halfway through my twirls around the rink, I decided it was time to try stopping again. I told myself I'd do it, committed to it, and promptly chickened out. PROGRESS. I repeated those steps about seven or eight times before I actually slid on my blades a bit and declared myself the victor.

The music in my head, after my semi-stop

Soon after, our coach arrived and blew the whistle, signaling the start of practice. Maybe getting out there early wasn't the best idea, because half of the guys were gassed by the time the actual practice started.

Coach Okie lined us up, and first wished us happy holidays, Happy New Year, etc. He then got a bit more serious, telling us that the weather was getting colder and that our skates needed to be sharp. If we felt our feet slipping during strides, he warned, we'd better head to the skate shop.

"If your skates are dull when the weather gets colder," he said ominously, "you're gonna rip a groin. You rip a groin now, that's it for the season. DONE!"

Someone managed to ask him a question of how often we should be getting them done in the midst of his cheery infomercial, and he replied with, "you guys? Probably every six or seven hours you're on the ice." What he meant to say was, "you benders? You're all such shitty skaters, you should get 'em done every day!" Subtle.

After that, we got right into skating drills, and I could tell it wasn't exactly going to be a fun practice. Down and back forwards once, down and back backwards once, then repeat. I've figured out a little cheat at these drills: I get on one of the outside edges, and instead of stopping at the end, I kind of just slow down and go right into a turn. Piece of cake.

Hey, he didn't say go all the way down and then STOP. He just said down and back.

Aw man, that's not nice

I completed these two skating drills and was feeling pretty good about myself: no falls and no call-outs. Not too shabby.

Next up was 2-on-1's, and I didn't realize we'd be doing some variation of this drill for pretty much the rest of the practice. The premise was simple: two lines of each side of the goal. Head up ice, passing the puck back and forth to your partner, staying onside. Shoot if you want at the end.

I got paired with a guy who skates about as well as I do, maybe a little worse. Me and Older Me, as I'll call him, struggled tremendously with this drill. If he made a good pass, I'd flub it. If I made a good pass, he'd stumble. If I stumbled, he'd pass it by me. You get the picture.

It got to the point where we'd kind of just look at each other after each rush and say something to the extent of "we'll get 'em next time," but we both knew we weren't gonna get 'em. Ever.

After a few rounds of that, our coach added a twist: this time, the man on the inside (nearest to the net) was supposed to give up the puck at the attacking blueline, head to the far post and stop, awaiting a pass. I laughed in my head when he said "stop at the post," already imagining myself careening into the boards like an out-of-control shopping cart.


"Hey, how did I get down here?!"
However, me and my partner gave it a go or two or five, and hey, believe it or not, we didn't do it right. Stunning, I know.

The next wrinkle came in the form of a passing 2-on-1, where the puck carrier fired a hard pass to a defenseman at the blueline then began skating; the defenseman sent it back and began skating backwards, and the 2-on-1 was on.

I ended up paired with older me the first time, and wouldn't ya know it, we screwed it up! We ended up together the second time, and lightning struck: I passed to him, he flipped it back, I held the puck and sent it behind the defenseman, he bobbled it a bit, the controlled it, then shot and...hit the post.

GOOD ENOUGH!

Coach Okie gave us some further instructions during this drill, and a lot of it was helpful: how close to stand to the crease, how to look off a defender, etc. But his most enlightening bit of advice was about when to pass it.

"Make sure you have your stick on the ice," he barked. "If you have your stick up in the air, you're sayin' 'I don't want the puck.' If you're teammate has his stick up in the air and asks why you didn't pass it, you tell him it's because he was skatin' around with his stick up in the air like a f'ing a**hole."

Awesome.

We continued this drill for about ten minutes, before Coach Okie said "alright, you got about ten minutes left...we can keep doin' this, or we can scrimmage." Believe it or not, we chose the scrimmage! A shocking result, to be sure.

We didn't have goalies, so I was waiting to see what wacky scoring rules there would be this time: off the ceiling and in, have to be sitting down when you shoot, no sticks allowed, etc. To my surprise, it was more simple: you had to hit the center post (the one in the back of the net) to score. Not bad.

Team Teal had enough skaters for two forward lines and two defense pairs, but we only ended up skating for three shifts each. It was pretty clear early on that we were all gassed from the inactive period before the session and from us goofing around on the ice beforehand.

So when I skated to the ice after my last shift, having thrown two pucks on net that missed by a few inches each, I wasn't exactly sad that my night was over.

New year, new me, right? I think I'll add "STOP" to my list of resolutions...oh, and get a hat trick. That'd be nice.


Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Week Ten (Dec. 18)

The 18th saw us reach the halfway point of our clinic journey, the point by which I should probably be able to stop. But hey, no one's perfect!

Our session this week was our second game against an actual league opponent, this time against the Booze Brothers.

Men's league teams are known for some unique names, but  the Booze Brothers had one of the best jerseys I've seen. I tried to find a picture of their logo, but Google let me down. The "Brothers," as they called themselves, had an LA Kings color scheme (white jerseys with purple, black, and silver accents) with a logo featuring two Blues Brothers-looking characters wearing hockey helmets and sporting a black eye apiece. Their shoulder patches featured a black keg with crossed sticks behind it. These jerseys made our teal uniforms look like something you'd find on the discount rack at Target (which is probably where they got ours, actually).

The Brothers' inspiration.

Before our game, the kids from BC High were finishing up their practice, and had commandeered one of the locker rooms. When our team started filtering in, there were only a few people in the other locker room, so we began to dress in there. However, the other team filtered in as well, leaving us to dress with our opponents. Awkward. Imagine the Bruins and their opponents sharing a locker room, except with a lot less talent and a lot more beer guts and shiny bald heads.

Having been early for once, I was ready to go. I'd decided to try something new with my skates, wearing a pair of baseball socks (basically just thick socks) over my skate socks, hoping to make the fit a bit tighter and improve my skating. I stuffed my now-fat feet into my skates and went out to stretch, feeling pretty good about being so early. I was so ready, in fact, that I had time to take about 10 or 15 warm-up shots and more than a few twirls around my own end.

It was at around this time that I ran into a bit of a problem: my left foot was numb. Due to some combination of skates tied tightly and too much hosiery, I had apparently cut off the circulation to my foot. I headed to the bench and began to fiddle with the skate, trying to loosen the laces a bit. Suddenly, the horn goes off and it's game time.

"Crap," I thought. "Looks like I'm skating one-footed tonight."

We had a total of ten skaters, meaning we had two forward lines and two pairs of defensemen. Our goalie was a kid who showed up sporting a powder blue Plymouth Whalers jersey that had to be an eBay score, making him my new best friend.

I was assigned the left wing spot on the second line, and off we went.

Our team's first shift was pretty uneventful, and soon The Power Trio of me and my two linemates headed out for our first shift...

...and then it was 1-0.

I wish I knew how it happened. I was hanging out by the blue line like I was supposed to, and had chased a defenseman, causing him to send the puck in deep. As I made my very, very slow turn back around, one of the Brothers had the puck and rifled a wrist shot on goal. The puck found the top corner, and I was a minus-1 about 30 seconds into the game. Talk about a bad start.

As the puck dropped following the goal, we got possession and headed down ice. We couldn't really do much with it, as we learned pretty quickly that the Brothers are a good skating team. We headed back to the bench down by a goal. Oof.

Our second shift featured much of the same: not much action in their end, and our team deciding to play "let's see how many shots our goalie can face!" Our poor goalie stood on his head for the most part, stopping a barrage of Brothers shots, doing the best he could to keep us in the game.

As I sat on the bench following our shift, one of the Brothers threw a puck on net that was redirected past our poor goalie, giving them a 2-0 lead.

It looked like Team Teal was headed for the first blemish on its record.

Our unit got some traction on our third shift, towards the end of the first period. We managed to keep the puck in their zone for a bit, even tossing a puck towards the net (even though it missed). Towards the end of our shift, one of my linemates went into the corner after a puck, and was followed by a Brother who apparently had too much pregame booze, because he crunched him into the boards and was summarily whistled for boarding.

Yes, he boarded someone in a men's league.

Being the team player I am, I wonder aloud, "what the hell was that?" as the offending player glided by. Clearly intimidated, he offered nary a response. Call me the Teal Enforcer.

Me.

As we headed back to the bench so our power play could being, our coach growled, "should've been four, ref. That should've been four." I had no idea there were such arguments in men's leagues.

Our team's power play started off fairly uneventfully, but then The Power Trio took over and...didn't do much better. Being a younger Mark Recchi, I decided I'd head to the front of the net again. However, this time I was met by a Brother who didn't really want me hanging out in his neighborhood. He gave me a shove or two, so I tried to go around, to no avail. As I was heading back to the side, one of my teammates fluttered a shot on goal. I saw it coming and it was going wide, so I decided to try to tip it.

I got my stick on it and changed the direction successfully, but the puck slid about a foot wide of the goalie, eliciting a few "ohhhh's" from my coach and teammates.

As the first period ended, we were down 3-0, and The Power Trio was a combined minus-6. Yikes.

However, the second period saw us step up our game a bit, as we began to skate and get our legs moving in the right direction.

I had a golden opportunity to score early in the second. As usual, I was tenacious on the forecheck, and a Brother tried to clear the puck from his corner up the opposite boards, breaking the golden rule of "don't clear the puck up the middle." I was towards the top of the slot, and the puck headed my way, about two feet off the ice. I reached out to try to glove it; had I caught it, I could've put it down, dusted it off, made a sandwich, and taken a nap before a defenseman got to me. Instead, the puck glanced off the tip of my finger and skittered away harmlessly.

On our next shift, we had a little more possession, and managed to keep the brothers out of our zone (for the most part). The Brothers had gone offsides, and we lined up for the faceoff. Off the drop, the puck flew up into the air near my head, and I reached out to swat it away like King Kong going after a fighter plane.

Try doing it on ICE, King Kong.

Except Kong wasn't on skates, and he didn't fall and crush Manhattan. I did. I must have taken quite the tumble, because the Brother who lined up opposite me said, "whoa, are you OK?"

As I picked myself up, I laughed and said, "yeah, I'm good," and play continued.

Later in that shift, I collected a loose puck at our blue line and found myself with few options. I decided to chip the puck up and go after it, and I managed to get it past the defenseman. I took a few strides and was close to a breakaway when the Brother clipped my hip. I can barely skate unencumbered, so even that minimal contact sent me to the ice, scoring chance foiled, again eliciting "ohhhh's" from my bench.

As I headed back to the bench, my coach said, "I thought you had that one there, you made a good play. I got money on ya tonight, you're close."

He may as well have said that I was the greatest hockey player in the world, because I don't think I've ever been more flattered in my life.

I decided to bottle up those good feelings and use them as fuel. Good thing, because I used that fuel to chase a 2-on-1 up the ice, and had a front row seat for the Brothers' fourth goal, the third scored with me on the ice. :((((((((((((((((((((((((

Following that goal, we had a few chances in the Brothers' zone, but couldn't break through. Our effort was good enough to earn some plaudits from our teammates as time expired, as they told us to "keep it up" and that we had "good chances, good pressure out there."

The third period started with us down 4-0, needing a miracle to stay undefeated as a big, teal group. My first couple shifts were unremarkable, with a touch of the puck here and there. On my third shift, I gathered a puck that snuck past a Brothers defenseman and headed up ice, a teammate with me. As the Brother back on D closed in on me, I dumped it towards my teammate, but it was just out of reach. Feeling very sorry for myself, I headed to the slot anyways. To my surprise, my teammate ended up with the puck anyways, and threw a shot on goal. The Brother in net stopped it, and the rebound dropped in the crease.

As I spun around to whack at it, the Brother covering me swatted it out of the crease mere seconds before I would've scored and sparked a nationwide celebration. Foiled again.

My reward after the game.

Later in that shift, I got another loose puck, and again headed up ice. This time, I had few options, and decided it was time to unleash the famed wrister, figuring, "what the hell, we're down by 4, might as well shoot."

And shoot I did, and I watched as the puck left a vapor trail, flying past the goalie into the top corner, leaving the poor Brother stunned.

Actually, the puck went wide by about a foot and a half, and the Brother wasn't very troubled by it. I must have gotten my memories mixed up.

As time ticked down, the puck was loose at our attacking blue line. One of our best players, who I'll call Hotshot, scooped it up. What Hotshot should've done is dumped the puck in and chased after it.

Instead, Hotshot, who is a great skater but doesn't really like passing to anyone who isn't Hotshot, decided to take the puck and, inexplicably, skate allllllllllllllllllll the way back to our end, presumably so Hotshot could start an end-to-end highlight reel rush that would end in another turnover. Not that I'm bitter or anything.

Predictably, Hotshot was pounced on by two forecheckers and turned the puck over. Also predictably, the puck ended up behind our powder blue goalie seconds later, giving the Brothers a 5-0 lead. I saw all of this happen from the attacking blue line, where I had been waiting to chase after a dump-in that never came.

As the puck went in, I was furious. I threw up my arms and yelled, "what the hell are you going back for?! DUMP IT IN!" I glided to the bench and slammed the door, because clearly that goal was the straw that broke the camel's back in terms of our comeback hopes. Our coach remained silent, and I decided maybe it wasn't worth getting in an argument over a goal that made it 5-0.

I stewed in silence for the rest of the game until I headed out for the handshakes, where the Brothers told us it was a "good game," which must be Brother-speak for "man, that was easy!"

I dressed in silence, with the only happiness coming when I finally removed my numb left foot from my skate. I was still mad about the fifth goal, but actually mad that I hadn't been able to cash in on any opportunities. Hey, 5-1 sounds a lot better than 5-0.

5-0 and a minus-4 rating. I sure hope my coach got his money back.

Sorry, coach.