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.
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| 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.
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| Finally got a shot of the Brothers' logo |
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.
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| 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?
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