Week 6 (Nov. 26th)

This week at the clinic marked a return to practice after one week of inactivity and a game in Week 5. I got to the rink on time, only to hear a loud cheer as I got close to the doors. Figuring that it probably wasn't a crowd excited that a hockey hero such as myself was arriving to his clinic, I peered through the windows to see that UMass Boston's women's hockey team was playing Bowdoin...15 minutes before our clinic was supposed to start.

I stood near the endboards, wondering if I'd missed some sort of memo or email, when I saw one of the coaches and a few other clinic guys.

A woman approached our coach and said, "what time's your clinic at?"

"Supposed to be 9:20," he said.

"I got you down for 10:30," she replied.

"Uhhh..."

"I'm serious," she continued. "I'm the rink manager. I got you down for 10:30."

"OK, well whatever works then."

"I'll get you on when this is done," she said. "You go on early, I go home early, everyone wins! But if anyone goes on too early, that's $250."

"OK, we won't go-"

"That's $250."

She repeated the $250 number about four times, just in case we didn't get it. Weird.

(Bowdoin ended up scoring with 20 seconds left in the third to win. Lingering around waiting for the ice to be ready, I got to talking to a couple of other guys from the clinic. As it turns out, one guy lives on my father's mail route. Small world.)

My father knows EVERYONE.

Prior to getting on the ice, I took great care in tying my skates. I was trying to make sure I wouldn't be suffering the same kind of "dead foot" as in the previous week's game, so I tied them tightly, but not too tight.

After taking to the ice and skating a few laps, I realized they were too loose. Apparently I'm some sort of hockey Goldilocks: not too tight, but not too loose...just right.

I sat on the bench to adjust my skates and realized after about 30 seconds that it was hopeless: I'd have to completely undo them if I hoped to get any tighter. Unwilling to put in those two minutes of effort, I said, "forget it" and tied them as tightly as I could.

Practice started off fairly normally, though attendance was a little light. We skated end to end, then skated end to end backwards. Next up was the racing drills, where I won two of my three races but somehow didn't manage to get a shot on goal. Usually, I'd get close to the net and realize I needed to start stopping. At that point, I'd panic, and get the puck stolen from me. It's a good system.

The wrinkle came in the backwards chase drills: you have to start skating backwards from the goal line, then turn around and go forwards at the blue line. The point is to win the race, so you have to do this quickly. In my case, I probably should've taken a little more time.

For my first race, I got going pretty well. However, as people who have read this blog before know, turning around isn't my strength. As I got close to the blue line, I began to think about turning. My feet were ready to turn, but my body and brain weren't: I ended up catching a rut with my blade and (literally) launching myself into the air.

Both skates were a solid foot off the ice, and I came crashing back to earth on my left hip. Oof. Needless to say, I lost the race, ending my streak of "consecutive practices without a fall" at one. It was a good run.

Hey, who brought the news crew to the clinic last night?

 After that, we moved into 2-on-0's, then the dreaded "weave" drill. I somehow found myself first in the middle line, which is a good spot to be. Most people in the middle will face forward and pass the pack on their strong side (e.g. for me, as a righty, I'd pass it to my left so I can pass on the forehand). The problem with this is that you then have to skate to the left side, receiving the next pass on your backhand. No good.

To solve this, I kind of took a shortcut. I faced the right wing boards, making a forehand pass to the right wing, and then taking his spot. This way, I received the second pass on my forehand. Much easier. So much easier, in fact, that myself and the two guys with me executed this drill five times without making a mistake. That probably doesn't seem like much, but when previous incarnations of this drill have been about as orderly as a checkout line on Black Friday, it's quite an accomplishment.

The next drill...wasn't such an accomplishment: the dreaded push/pull was back, with a vengeance. I ended up paired with an older guy who isn't the greatest skater. I skated forwards first, pushing him back. He, like me, wasn't the greatest at skating backwards, and didn't provide much resistance. Sensing that he wasn't great on his feet, I went pretty slowly.

He returned the favor by going similarly slowly on the return trip. Hey, we're doing OK!

And now, for the pulling portion!

Instead of the standard "lock sticks, skate backwards, and pull" drill, the coach had the pull-ee (that's not a word, but the guy being pulled is what I mean) get down on one knee and hold the other guy's stick by the blade. Weird.

My partner had a ton of trouble with this. I'm not exactly a heavyweight, and he couldn't even get going. After about 30 seconds, he hadn't reached the red line. Ten seconds later, he was at the far blue line.

"Come on, ten more feet!" said Angry Coach. "Dig in!"

Meanwhile, I'm just cruising along at a snail's pace, enjoying the sights and sounds UMass has to offer. And by that, I mean "looking around the empty rink, feeling a mixture of sorry for this guy and embarrassed that I'm still being pulled along."

"Aright, that's enough, good," said Angry Coach as we pulled past the blue line. "Skate in."

My turn to pull was next, and it actually went worse than his turn: the guy couldn't stay on one knee.

I got going after a few strides, but the guy tipped over. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat, until at one point the guy tipped over and yelled in pain.

"Shit, I broke him," I thought.

"Go ahead, I'll take care of him," said Angry Coach.

A few seconds later, my partner glided down to the other end of the ice.

"What happened?" I asked. "Knees?"

"Yeah," he said. "You didn't hear them crack?"

Yikes.

Like this, but more embarrasing.

We did a couple of in-zone shooting/passing drills after that, and then (to my surprise) had a scrimmage. We were broken up into two teams, and sent off for a 13 minute free-for-all. I managed to get out on the first shift, and took right wing. The puck was dropped, and off we went.

Unlike the last game, my team was actually able to control the puck and get stuff done this time around. We cruised over the blue line into the offensive zone, where the puck was rimmed around the glass. I managed to pick it off in the right corner, and sent it towards the front of the net, where it ticked off my teammate's stick and into a leg.

We got a little more pressure, but couldn't get a shot through the goalie. However, on that one shift, my line had more shots on net than in the entire game against the Booze Brothers.

Progress!

The way the scrimmage works is that the coach will blow the whistle to end your shift, and you just leave the puck where it is. He told my line to get ready prior to our next shift, saying he was going to switch lines soon. I had my hand on the bench door, so when he blew the whistle, I took off.

One of the players on the other team was a good, honest soul and just left the puck in the neutral zone like he was supposed to. I was the first one on the ice, and when I saw the puck, I took off after it. I managed to beat the only guy near me and take it into the offensive zone, where I entered the high slot and fired (relative term...more like "floated") a shot on net.

It managed to beat the goalie between the arm and body and go into the back of the net for my second goal of the clinic. I was like a vulture, and definitely seized a low-hanging fruit. But hey, a goal is a goal.

A few seconds later, one of my teammates beat the goalie with a wrist shot. Shortly thereafter, I was heading in on a 2-on-1 with a teammate. He held onto the puck like he was supposed to, so I headed towards the net with my stick on the ice. Finally, the defenseman made a move towards him, but to his credit, he hold onto the puck and got around him, turning it into a 2-on-0.

He elected to keep the puck, shot it, and beat the goalie five-hole. The whistle blew thereafter, and we had scored three goals on a single shift. Rumor has it that our numbers will be retired prior to the next game.

My future home.

On my last shift, I had a sterling chance for the first two-goal game of my career. I managed to intercept a pass in the high slot, and only had a single defenseman between myself and the goal. Figuring it was my last shift and I may as well try something fun, I decided I'd try a deke.

I waited until the defenseman reached out for the pokecheck, and slid the puck to my backhand. I managed to get past him, stumbled a bit, and gathered the loose puck at the left faceoff circle. My mind racing, I cruised towards the net, where I saw the goalie had already gone down and was ready to try a pokecheck himself.

I pulled the puck back, but was in so tight that I had to lift the puck to get it over him and into the wide-open net. I pressed down, flicked my wrists, and...

PING

The puck went off of the near post and skittered into the corner. While it would've been nice to score again, it was probably the best individual move I've ever made in a game. Hey, there's something to hang my hat on!

The scrimmage ended shortly thereafter, with my team winning 6-1. As it turns out, the young kid (probably high school-aged) who played goal for us was the son of the other team's goalie. That's gotta be an awkward ride home.

"Good game, son."

"Thanks, you too. You didn't have much of a chance on...any of those six goals."

"Thanks...I think."

I dressed and went out into the rain, pondering how many goals I would score in the next scrimmage. Five? Six?

In preparing my remarks for the inevitable press conference announcing my NHL signing, I realized something: I left my stick in the rink.

That's OK. I bet Steven Stamkos forgets his stick sometimes too, right? Right?

Hello?