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Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Week 5 (Nov. 19th)

Last week (Nov. 12th) was supposed to be our second game of the clinic, with my Team White facing Team Maroon. The clinic vs. clinic games are usually the most fun, because the level of competition is pretty even, there are scoring chances aplenty, and the score is close.

About two hours before we were supposed to play, I got an email saying that hockey was canceled because UMass Boston had a home game. Goddomit. No hockey.

Fast forward to last night, when we had another game (yay!), but it was against an actual team (uh oh...): the Booze Brothers (boo!).

We had the late game, so we didn't start until nearly 10:40. I got to the rink on time and proceeded to get ready. I hadn't skated at all the week before (and really hadn't done much in the way of working out), so I was apprehensive about the game. Those fears turned out to be very, very founded.

I decided to try to go with the tight skates again in an attempt to get used to the feeling, because while it did hurt, it was supposed to be a process: tighten them, it hurts, tighten again, hurts less, etc. This would not be a good idea.

The official theme song of my feet.

We had four defensemen and nine forwards for the game, so everyone was going to get decent playing time. Due to the way we were sitting on the bench, I was in the third trio. Coach Joe asked us who was a center, and myself and my two linemates exchanged blank stares.

"Uhh...I'll be center, I guess," I said. Confidence!

The game began, and we were quickly outmatched. The Booze Brothers aren't that much better than us in terms of actual hockey skill, but they can all skate better than us, and have the added benefit of knowing where their teammates are going to be.

When a Booze Brother gets the puck: look up and pass it to where he knows his Brother will be.
When a Team White player gets the puck: panic, shoot it out of the zone, get it knocked down, fish puck out of our own net.

The first two shifts by our team were uneventful, with neither team scoring and not much really happening. We took to the ice for our first shift with the puck in our zone. I headed towards the slot to patrol where I thought a center should patrol. The puck eventually worked its way into the neutral zone, where I gathered it and flung it into their end. Hey, a smart play!

I went in on the forecheck and got a piece of a clearing attempt, but not enough to knock it down. Backchecking, I managed to intercept an attempted centering pass and clear it off the boards. The Brothers were whistled for offsides shortly thereafter, so I got to take my first faceoff. It was a bit of a draw, and when the Brother tried to go forward with the puck, I blocked it with my skates and kicked it forward.

Chasing the puck across their blueline, I decided that since it was near the end of my shift and I had no help, I'd just fling the puck on goal. Instead, I flung it into a defenseman's leg, and it drifted harmlessly into the corner. Oh well.

Yes, yes I did.

After my shift, I sat on the bench and got some water. About 20 seconds later, I realized that I already couldn't feel my feet. This was a bad sign, as I'd only been on the ice for about two minutes. I can barely skate as is; skating with two numb feet is borderline impossible.

The Brothers scored twice while I was on the bench, with my line hitting the ice after the second goal. I managed to win a faceoff over to my right wing, and he knocked it forward. I jumped on the loose puck and dumped it in, then headed in after it. I figured their defenseman would try to ring it around the boards, so I headed over in that direction.

I figured correctly, and intercepted it. With a forward closing on me, I flipped the puck towards the slot, hoping for a lucky bounce or a tip. No dice, and the Brothers took it back.

A few seconds later, I was covering a point for my wing (who was really, really struggling with the idea of defensive positioning). A defenseman had the puck in his feet, and I skated at him to give him some trouble. I managed to block his attempted dump in, and knocked the puck past him. I didn't get it far, and tried to kick it from my feet to my stick.

Had I done so, I'd have had a clean breakaway. However, I'm not nearly skilled enough to accomplish such feats, and instead got nothing. The puck remained in my skates until another Brother came over to help out. Shift over.

On my final shift of the period, we had a bit of trouble getting the puck out of our zone. And by "a bit of trouble," I mean we couldn't get it out of our zone. Six times (not hyperbole) a forward or defenseman had a chance to clear the puck, usually between the faceoff dots and the blueline. All six times, the puck came within inches of being cleared, only to be stolen and sent back in deep. This Sisyphean effort was incredibly frustrating and incredibly tiring. It was kind of like skating suicides from the dots to the blueline, six times in a row.

And then...SUCCESS! Seventh time's the charm, and we managed to clear it. I headed into their zone on the forecheck, hassling a defenseman who sent the puck up the wall. As he cleared it, he slowed down a bit and I passed him on the right. For whatever reason, his stick was up and hit me directly in the face.

I resisted the urge to do a Kris Letang head snap.

Had I not been wearing a cage, I probably would've had a decent-sized cut on my face. Instead, the blow from the stick just jarred my entire head. It was more shocking than anything else, but was still a pretty good blow. I mulled giving the guy a whack back, but decided it was probably an accident. He got away with it...this time.

The second period wasn't much better for us. In fact, it was much, much worse. It was 3-0 at the end of the first; it was 7-1 at the end of the second. Ouch. Speedy, my former linemate, got our only goal of the period by being, as he said after the game, "in the right place at the right time" and whacking a loose puck past the goalie.

I had what were probably my two best plays in the second period, both coming on the same shift. In one, I lingered around the high slot anticipating a clearing pass. I guessed correctly again, and managed to intercept it before it left the zone. I sent it over the a wing, but it ticked off his stick and went into the corner. Later in that shift, I chased down a loose puck along the right left wing boards. A defenseman came over to challenge me, so I had to decide between making a play and sending it behind the net.

I decided I'd try to make a play myself, and banked it off the boards as he came at me. I then went around him (surprising myself) and had the puck alone along the goal line. With no defensemen on me and no Brothers coming, I decided "what the hell, let's try it," and took the puck hard to the net. I skated towards the crease, got the goalie down, and then headed out front and tried to lift it over him. The Brothers' goalie stopped the initial shot, but my teammate got his stick on the rebound.

That shot was stopped too, and the rebound bounced right next to me, about three feet off the ice. I made my best attempt at making Cedar Grove Baseball proud, took a swipe at it...and completely whiffed. The puck landed in the slot at my feet, and I took a whack at it. It went off a skate and behind me, so I flipped a backhand, no-look shot on net. Stunningly, this magic trick shot didn't go in. I headed off the ice, satisfied that our line had some sustained pressure.

"Good shift guys, good shift," said Coach Joe. "Way to go to the net."

With a few minutes left in the second period, I headed out for another shift. I was drifting around the neutral zone, and picked off a pass. I gathered the puck and headed towards the offensive zone, realizing I had a 2-on-1 developing. The defenseman stayed towards the middle, and I stupidly decided I'd make a play now instead of skating in and forcing the d-man to do something. "MAKE HIM MAKE THE FIRST MOVE, CHARLIE."

Sorry, Coach Bombay.

I thought my pass was pretty good, and that it'd give my teammate a chance to get it and give it back to me. However, my linemate wasn't a great skater, and a pass that was an inch from his blade was unreachable. The puck skittered into the corner. Odd-man rush: foiled.

As I took a seat on the bench, Coach Joe asked, "who was it on that 2-on-1?"

Busted.

I raised my hand.

"Next time," he said patiently, "hold on to the puck a little longer. You had plenty of time to make a play, make the defenseman commit. It was a good idea, but hold on a little longer next time."

I felt great shame.



It was around this time that I wasn't entirely sure if I even had feet anymore. That sounds like an exaggeration (and it is, of course), but I couldn't feel anything from my ankles down. That's how tight the skates were. They were so bad, in fact, that my last shift had probably only lasted about 45 seconds, which is like a blink of an eye in a clinic where most shifts are nearly three minutes (we're not good at managing time).

The third period started with Team White in a six-goal hole. Piece of cake! I took my first shift about four minutes into the third, and the change came with the puck in our zone. I hustled into the slot to play defense, and knew the Brother with the puck in the corner was going to send it towards the slot. I knew it. Knew it. 100%.

I was right. It came.

And I missed it. I'm not sure how I missed it. It went right between my feet, even though I knew it was coming.

Seconds later, it was in the back of the net. Giving up a goal during your shift is tough. Giving up a goal when the puck goes right by you is just plain embarrassing.

The Brothers settled into cruise control mode, comfortable with their seven-goal cushion. Team White, tired from being 25+ years old and out of shape, couldn't muster much in the way of offense down the stretch.

"Geez, we're gonna have to skate 'em harder in practice," quipped Quiet Coach as the seconds ticked away in the third. "Whip 'em into shape."

"Put the pucks away," laughed Coach Joe. "Skating only."

Hey, it looks like I, uh, might have...something to do next Tuesday! Yeah, that's it! I can't come in...

There were around 120 seconds left in the third, and I figured we were done for the night. Then, the line immediately before mine gave up a goal. Then they gave up another goal, two in the span of 30 seconds.

Coach Joe called for a change, and I took to the ice in the epitome of garbage time: down nine goals, 45 seconds to go.

The Brothers controlled the puck off the faceoff and sent it in deep. I headed back to play defense, and anticipated the puck being rimmed around the boards. The Brothers helped me out by doing just that, and I skated over to intercept it. I got it and tried to put it off the boards and past the defenseman, which would've given me a clean breakaway with time expiring.

I got the puck nearly all the way past the Brother...and then he reached back in desperation and managed to just barely tip it with the end of his stick. That little bit of interference was enough to foil my breakaway, ending any hopes of scoring a nine-point goal that would've tied the game.

The horn, mercifully, sounded soon after.

On the way out to the parking lot after the game, I was walking behind a group of Brothers and overheard the following exchange:


  • "Eh, good game guys."
  • "Yeah, we just may score 25 goals in total this year!"

*laughter*

  • "We definitely will if we play them again!"

*uproarious laughter*

*Milk Crates walks to his car alone, with the music from the end of the Incredible Hulk playing in the background*

Annnnnnnnnnnd...scene!




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