This week, there was an added wrinkle: for some reason, our session started an hour and ten minutes earlier than usual. I think there was some kind of scheduling conflict, but whatever the reason, we had to be on the ice earlier. I was resigned to my "being late" fate, even though I was let out of work 20 minutes early.
I got to the rink about 10 minutes before practice was scheduled to begin, and as the Zamboni made its last few laps, most of my teammates were already dressed and ready to go.
I sat down in the locker room and started getting ready, when I heard Coach Steve blow the whistle to start practice. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but could make out "...blue line...blue line, skate." I heard "GO!" and then the shuffling of skates, repeated a few times. I was fully dressed and walked out towards the ice, when I saw the drill: skating to the blue line, turning around to skate backwards to the other blue line, and then skating in. Oh, and with a puck.
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| Me, walking out towards the rink. |
After a few moments of this, I started feeling guilty for skipping out on a drill I knew I needed to practice. I reluctantly went out towards the ice, grabbing my stick along the way and joining a line as the last skaters passed through. I didn't have a puck, and was going to just do the drill without it when Eric, kind soul that he is, offered me his. GREAT. I felt like Billy Madison when Ms. Lippy brought him his artwork.
At least Billy ended up with a macaroni necklace...
I swallowed my pride and gave the drill a try, and it went about as poorly as you'd imagine. Thankfully, I caught the drill at the end, and only had to do it twice. Both times, I failed to spin around successfully, and instead stumbled awkwardly (first time) and came to a complete stop, somehow facing sideways (second time). So much for progress!
"ARIGHT," yelled Coach Steve. "Two lines down here, 2-on-0's! At least three passes: one before the near blue line, one before the red line, and one before the far blue line. Then, do whatever you want on the way back."
"OK," I thought to myself. "Back on track. I can do this drill."
And I did do it, completing the drill with varying levels of effectiveness. Sometimes my partner and I would make the passes all the way in, and other times we'd screw up the first pass and the whole drill would be thrown off.
Apparently I misunderstood what we were supposed to do on the way back; I took "do whatever you want" to mean, well, do whatever I wanted, which was to skate at a leisurely pace back to the other end and show off my new stopping powers. Instead, he meant we were supposed to do another 2-on-0, just without the passing requirement. Oops.
This drill continued for about 10 minutes, and I ended up doing OK. I didn't score on Plymouth Whalers Jersey at all, but did get a couple of shots off.
Coach Steve, however, was none too pleased.
"ALRIGHT, EVERYONE DOWN HERE," he bellowed. "Look, you guys aren't doing this all the way through. I'm watchin' ya, and half of you are missing the net down this end [where there's no goalie]! What is that?!"
"I'm gonna tell you the most important rule," he continued. "In practice, do what you'd do in a game. If you half-ass it in practice, you'll screw it up in the game. If you come in and do something halfway, take a weak shot instead of trying, you'll fuck it up in the game. Guaranteed."
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| All of us, after the drill was stopped. |
Sensing some half-assing again, Coach Steve called us back together and told us to "finish" the drill.
"After you pass the puck, most of ya are skatin' by," he said, giving us an example by gliding by the crease. "If [Plymouth Whalers Jersey] knows there's no pass coming, he's gonna get out high and take away the net. You'll have much less room to shoot at. So finish the drill, and after you make the last pass, go to the net and stop. Make yourself available."
Remember, I can only stop on one foot (my right), so after he said this I scrambled to the right side of the line, just in case. I didn't end up needing to stop, but the drill was still going pretty poorly for nearly everyone.
"Alright," Coach Steve, apparently a sadist, said. "Now we're gonna do 3-on-1's."
Sure, because when you're struggling to juggle two balls at a time, why not add a third?!
Coach Steve insisted that we make a triangle, that one guy stay back, and the other two go forward. I started in the middle on our first attempt, passed the puck to the defender, and we all took off. The winger to my left ended up with the puck, and up we went. He passed it back to me, and I sent it to my right. As we crossed into the offensive zone, we all slowed down, and...nothing. We stayed in a straight line, three across. Fail.
On the next rush, I tried to drop back a bit to stay in the high slot, but the right wing ended up skittering a pass past our left wing. Something similar happened on the next rush.
And the next one.
And the next one.
My trios were trying our best, but a combination of not-so-precise passing and choppy (at best) skating strides made the kind of three-person goal the Bruins scored last night impossible.
Not us. Not even close.
After some further instruction and about four more rushes each, Coach Steve asked us if we wanted to scrimmage or do a shootout. We chose a scrimmage, and I stayed on the ice with two teammates, as we were playing 3-on-3.
"Alright, get goin!" Coach Steve said, firing the game puck in my direction. I gathered it up and took off, heading towards the offensive zone. I managed to deke around one defender, and next thing I knew I had a 2-on-1. Stunned at this fortuitous turn of events, I slowed down, weighed my options, and took a shot that was easily turned aside by Plymouth Whalers Jersey.
I didn't score, but I was off to a decent start.
On our next shift, I was on the ice with Bobby Orr. I made myself available for an outlet pass, but one didn't come (somewhat more excusable since it was a 3-on-3 scrimmage, not a game).
"Great, more of the same," I thought to myself. On an ensuing rush, Bobby Orr again elected to keep the puck. I did my due diligence getting open near the net in case a rebound or a pass magically came, when lo and behold, Bobby Orr passed it.
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| Me, as the pass was coming towards me. |
However, due to all of these things running through my head, the puck flew past me into the corner. GREAT.
I skated after it, gathered it up, and sent it around the back of the cage, where Bobby Orr gathered it up and headed back towards the point. I went back to my spot near the slot, again hoping for a rebound, when ANOTHER PASS came my way. This one glanced off the tip of my stick, and suddenly I couldn't really blame Bobby Orr for not passing me the puck. I felt like a goon.
The game was winding down when I took the ice for my last shift. I was late getting on the ice, and one of my teammates was digging out a puck along the wall in the defensive zone, so I hung out near the blue line in case he could get me an outlet. He controlled the puck, so I took off towards the red line, giving him a moving target. He was under pressure and sent a pass towards me that was in between my stick in my skates, a dead zone for someone as clumsy on skates as me.
The puck flew by into the offensive zone, taking a golden scoring chance with it.
A few moments later, I found myself in a remarkably similar situation (I'm not a cherry picker, I swear). As I was going towards the wall to help with the puck battle, my teammate managed to get it free and spotted me. He sent the puck towards me as a Gold player reached out with his stick. It looked like the Gold guy was going to tip it, but it somehow slid past him, right onto my blade.
I gathered the puck, took a few strides, and then it hit me:
I was on a breakaway, alone from the red line in.
I kept skating, figuring there would be a defender on my tail. I got to the top of the faceoff circles, when I realized I needed to decide what my move was going to be.
Backhand five-hole? Try a wrist-shot? A slapper? Fake backhand and go forehand? UNLEASH THE LASER BEAM WRISTER?!
(Keep in mind I'm thinking about all of these things while I'm skating as fast as I can, which is kind of like trying to write a postcard while driving an 18-wheeler, i.e. not a good idea. Don't think and skate, kids.)
I decided I'd try to fake a backhand then shoot five-hole, the Patrice Bergeron Special. I got in close and made my move...and was stoned. REJECTED. But hey, at least I didn't pull a Big Money Wides!
At least I didn't do that, right? Right, guys? Hello?
As my shift wound down, I had another good scoring chance. I ended up in on a 2-on-0 with a teammate, and he carried the puck up the left wing side. I headed towards the far post, as Coach Steve had told us, stick on the ice, ready for a pass. I waited, and waited, gliding towards the goal, when my teammate fired the puck on net and was turned aside by Plymouth Whalers' pads.
I was mad that the pass didn't come, but didn't want to complain. I peeled off and our shift ended soon after. As we sat on the bench, the teammate said, "sorry I didn't make the pass, man. I thought he read pass."
"What?" I said, trying my best to not sound irritated.
"I thought he was playing the pass," he explained. "That's why I shot it. I thought he'd block it. You were in the right place though, great positioning."
It was kind of like being told "well you didn't win on that scratch ticket, but you did a great job scratching it!"
The scrimmage ended soon after, with Team Gold winning, 1-0 (they had to hit the top of an overturned net, not score on a goalie).
I sat in the locker room, reminded that it was our last practice session. Over the course of dozens of practices, I'd finally learned to stop (at least a little). In fact, as I was leaving the ice after the scrimmage, I skidded to a stop on my right skate, even spraying a little snow.
I'll take that over a goal any day.*
*Not really. I wish I had scored on the breakaway. :(((((((((((((((((
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