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.

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...

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.

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.

Week Nine (Dec. 11)

If the last two weeks of hockey had been all fun and games (or, more literally, all games), this week represented a return to the basics: drills, drills, and more drills. I had performed decently well in both the game and the previous week's scrimmage, so I figured I was about a week or so away from being promoted to the "A" league...and then a session of nothing but practice brought me crashing back to Earth like Felix Baumgartner.

Spoiler alert: I still can't stop.

The session started off ominously for me, almost as if my coaches were picking on me (not just me, I guess, as I'm not the only one who struggles with stopping). First drill: skate to the blue line, stop, come back; skate to the red line, stop, come back.

The task would've actually been less Herculean had they told me to literally fly to the blue line, stop, and come back.

However, I took my reps, three times in all. Here's how it went down:

Blue Line 1: Dragged my back foot and hoped no one noticed.
Red Line 1: Felt shame, tried to stop, panicked, used my back foot again.

Blue Line 2-3: Same as above.
Red Line 2-3: Stopped perfectly, spraying ice everywhere like a true champion...or same as above.

Having started my session off with abject failure, the coaches decided to give me a break by making the next drill the notorious push/pull drill, also known as "me getting pushed backwards and struggling to stay on my feet."

I ended up squaring off with one of the women in our clinic, a smaller girl who is a pretty good skater. I informed her ahead of time that this might get ugly, and she, bless her heart, didn't judge. I ended up being the "pusher" first, and did just fine. Believe it or not, I can actually skate.

However, once it was her time to push: chaos. The best way to describe it would be to say that it was like watching a person on ice trying to stop a car from accelerating with nothing but his hands. Have you seen Iron Man? There's a scene towards the end (and you can see it below) where Tony Stark tries to stop a speeding SUV. I'm Tony, my partner is the SUV.

I managed to stay on my feet, but on the inside, it was pretty much "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!" the entire time. You really haven't lived until you've been pushed up and down a rink by a 110-pound girl.

Sensing my vulnerability, the coaches decided our next drill would combine stick-handling, skating, and turning in very tight circles around strategically placed cones. NO PROBLEM!

There were rows of cones set up in four columns: one cone on the near blue line and one on the far blue line. Our objective was to skate up to the first cone, skate around it in a circle, skate to the other and repeat, all while maintaining control of the puck.

Some background: I recently received a pair of very nice hockey-style (read: no brakes) roller blades, and have been using those to do some skating when I can't go to a rink. It works the same muscles and is better than nothing. However, skating on concrete may have given me a slightly inflated idea of how good I am at turning.

On roller blades, I can spin around on a dime; on skates, I can spin around on, say, an area of 500 or so dimes. I imagine that me trying to skate around two cones probably looked something like a drunk frat boy trying to reenact Gene Kelly's lamppost scene from Singin' in the Rain.

My first two runs were humbling to say the least, so on my last two I decided to do what any smart person would do: slow down, and go in bigger circles around the cones! Hey, I may not be helping improve my turn radius, but I'm not falling!

Mercifully, the skating drills essentially ended there.

We shifted into a drill we'd done before (2-on-1's), and then tried something new: 1-on-1's.

For this drill, the skater stood on the goal line, and the defenseman stood at the red line. The skater sent a hard pass to the defenseman and started skating; the defenseman took the pass, sent it back towards the skater, then got back on defense. The skater took the puck and tried to take the puck to the net, past the defenseman.

The drill was pretty fun, and was a good bit of 1-on-1 competition. We were a bit short on defensemen, and at one point, I found myself matched up against my coach.

"Great," I thought. "I'm sure this will end well."

I made the pass and began skating, and was thinking about what move I could make when he started yelling, "my stick's on the outside, take the inside, TAKE THE INSIDE!!!"

Not one to defy orders, I did, and went right past him to shoot into the open net. HE SCORES, HE SCORES, HE SCORES!

Later in the drill, I was matched up with a teal teammate who had foiled me a couple of times before. This time, I decided to wait him out...and wait...and wait, until he finally reached with his stick, attempting a poke check. I then transferred the puck to my backhand and accelerated, skating past him and putting the puck in the empty cage to complete what I believe was my first-ever deke.

The video has probably already gone viral on YouTube, so be sure to check it out.

We ended the session with another unique scrimmage: no goalies, but there was a single cone laid on its side in each net. A goal was scored by shooting the puck into the cone. This made the previous week's bank shot goal look like a piece of cake.

Predictably, both teams struggled. Even clean breakaways went unfinished, with the puck hitting the edge of the cone or going just wide.

Towards the end of the scrimmage, I found myself in the slot with the puck, and decided to chuck up a Hail Mary, since no one else was scoring. I fired a low wrist shot that, miraculously, headed towards the cone. Could it be? COULD IT BE?! No, it hit off of the lip of the cone and skittered away, my coaches OHHHHH'ing and laughing in response.

The scrimmage continued for a while, and we actually got to play for about 30 minutes longer than we should have. Maybe the Zamboni guy was off having a sandwich.

Towards the end of the scrimmage, you could see the effects of those extra minutes: tired legs, no hustle, and lots of gliding. The game ended in a 1-1 tie, though I'm surprised either team got one.

Sitting in the locker room after the game, someone had brought Michelob Ultra, and was passing them out. The coaches were changing out of their skates in the locker room, and talking about the scrimmage.

"You had a good chance there," my coach said to me. "That was a great shot, almost went in."

"Actually," the other coach added, "it really is hard to score one like that. It's not just you guys, it's tough. We kind of just play that for the coaches' enjoyment."

At that, both erupted in laughter.

Hey, if nothing else, at least we're entertaining.

Week Eight (Dec. 4)

There are many ways to celebrate a 25th birthday: go to a bar, go out to eat, have a family party, pretend you're still a kid and go to Discovery Zone (I wish that place still existed)...the possibilities are endless.

I chose to celebrate my 25th birthday by going to the wrong hockey rink.

Our location changes from week to week, alternating between rinks in Dorchester and Canton. Since our previous week's game had been in Boston, I assumed this week's would be in Canton. I checked our schedule online and saw no mention of our clinic, but also saw no one penciled in for our time in Canton. As this had happened before, I decided Canton was the spot, and headed there after work.

For increased comedic value at my expense, the Canton rink is a solid 35 minute drive from my work; the Dorchester rink is more like 15. I drove down the Expressway to Rt. 24, blissfully listening to my music, wondering how many goals I was going to score in that night's scrimmage...you know, the usual.

I got to the rink in Canton, and there were far fewer cars than usual. "Weird," I thought. "But I'm not usually early, maybe that's why no one is here."

Still, I doubted myself enough to leave my gear in the car when I went inside to have a look around. There was a game on one rink, and a younger kids' practice on the other. I looked at the rink's video schedule-board, and saw that there were no sessions scheduled on either rink after 9:20.

Shit. Wrong rink.

My bad.

At this point, it was about 8:55, and if we play in Dorchester, we start at 9:20. Unfortunately, my Honda Accord can't fly, so I was considering just going home and calling it a night. However, I talked myself out of it and hit the road, somehow arriving at the rink right around 9:25. I went inside to make sure we were playing there, and sure enough, my teammates were already taking their warm-up twirls around the ice.

By the time I got back to my car to get my stuff and made my way inside, the scrimmage had already begun. We had refs, but no goalies; instead, the nets were turned backwards as if we were playing some kind of bizarro-world hockey.

I made my way to my team's bench, and sheepishly approached my coach; the scrimmage was about three minutes old at this point.

"Am I too late, or should I go get dressed," I said, probably making some kind of sad puppy face.

"What color are you?"

"This one," I said, gesturing to my teal teammates in front of me.

"Sure," he replied. "Go get dressed."

As I've said before, rushing to get dressed or get ready always leaves one feeling like something is missing; this time, I had to really rush, because the game had already started. Yeah, it was just a scrimmage, but I wanted to play, and wanted to get out there.

I entered the locker room with 21 minutes left to play (we ended up playing two 25 minute, running-time halves), and emerged fully dressed with 14 minutes left on the clock. NOT BAD.

Replace the office supplies with hockey gear and you get me, getting dressed.

I made my way to the bench to find that my team had four defensemen and six forwards; in other words, I was the "extra" guy. Things would've been easier without me. :(((((((((

I approached my coach and said, "so, what are we doing?"

"We'll rotate lines," he said. "You replace the right wing on the next change. You then play a shift at right, then next you go to center, then you go to left, then you come off and sit."

"OK," I said, having pretty much no idea what he was talking about. "I meant about the nets, how do we score? Just get it around the back."

"Nope," he answered. "Gotta get it in off the boards. Bank shots only."

I was stunned. Here we are, pretty much unable to skate efficiently, and these guys essentially want us to play pool on blades of steel and a sheet of frozen water. GAME ON!

Like this, but with hockey sticks. On skates. On ice. PIECE OF CAKE!

As I watched the shift in front of me, things unfolded hilariously predictably: shots skittered well-wide, pucks banged into the side of the net, and even the most carefully aimed shots flew passed the net mouth, almost as if physics itself was mocking all of us.

"You call that a bank shot? NOPE."

The skaters came to the bench for a change, and I didn't move. I didn't think he'd throw me on right away, considering there was a line behind me.

I was wrong.

"What are you doing?! Get out there, full change, full change!"

Oops. I charged over the boards and into the action, already imagining what kind of pool trick-shot goal I was going to score.

Truth be told, it's harder than you'd think. Because the puck isn't shaped like a ball, it's a little harder to judge which way it's going to go when it hits the boards. I found myself with the puck by one of the faceoff circles, and decided to just fling it at the net.

It would've been a great shot...if the net was facing the other way. The puck went off of the netting and onto the stick of an opposing player. Backwards Facing Net 1, Me 0.

After my first shift, our team scored to knot things at 1. Time went by, and I went out for my next shift. I think I was supposed to play center, but I didn't. I kind of just floated around, aimlessly looking for the puck, attacking when I got the chance.

One thing I've taken to very well is forechecking. As I said in a previous post, I've learned that attacking (most of) the defensemen in our clinic leads to either a turnover directly to me or a harmless dump out of the zone that my team retrieves. I consider myself tenacious on the forecheck, to borrow a term from Jack Edwards.

On one shift, I decided I'd attack the D and try to force a turnover. My target was a guy I didn't recognize wearing one of those old-school Calgary Flames jerseys with the flaming horse head. I set my sights on this Jay Bouwmeester fella, and attacked.

He went right by me.

Lesson learned: don't attack the unknown guys. They're probably good.

Later on, I decided to keep attacking. I'd go after the defense every time, and usually had good results. However, one time I tried to seal off the boards, as I read that the defenseman was going to try to use that as his escape route. I hustled over the cut off the boards and headed towards him. He flipped the puck up anyways, and it went off of my blade and out.

Considering that an object in motion stays in motion (hey, second physics reference of the post!), and that me on ice stays in motion until I hit something, myself and this defenseman found ourselves on a collision course.

I didn't want to hit him, nor did I want him to hit me, so I kind of veered into the boards. They absorbed most of the impact, and we had what I'd term a minor fender-bender of a collision. However, my left arm, apparently mad at my decision to bail into the boards, wasn't too happy, and responded by yelling at me with waves of "OUCH" for the rest of the night.

Being the warrior that I am, I decided to keep playing, because I'm all that is man.

Me, at hockey.

As we headed out to start the third period, I was playing center, and realized I'd get to take a faceoff for the first time in my illustrious career. There's an art to taking faceoff in the NHL, as players will read every twitch in the ref's hand in order to get an advantage.

In the clinic, taking a faceoff is a lot like trying to kill a mouse with a broom: JUST WHACK AT IT, EVENTUALLY WE'LL GET IT!

After a few whacks, the puck squirted free, and went to one of my teammates. Career faceoff winning percentage: 1.000% Patrice Bergeron can't touch me.

Midway through the third period, the score was still tied at 1. Myself and teammate Bobby (again, I don't know if that's his name) found ourselves in a puck battle down behind the net. The puck squirted free to an opposing defenseman, and, being the tenacious forechecker that I am, I forced a turnover and put it back behind the net. Bobby's bank attempt was denied, and I found myself with the puck at my feet, facing away from the boards.

I decided to go full trick-shot, back handing the puck off the boards without looking, hoping that by some bit of birthday luck it would go in.

Denied.

Later in the third, I had three great chances to score.

• Two came on potential breakaways. Our coaches instructed us to hang out by the red line in order to draw the defense out, and to give our defensemen outlets. Twice I was fed pretty decent passes, but they were just a bit behind me. Remember: changing from forward to reverse isn't my strong suit, and neither is skating while looking down for the puck. I ended up looking like a jogger trying to see if his shoe is untied without breaking stride, and didn't really do either successfully. Foiled again!
• Down the stretch, I carried the puck over the blue line with a defender in front of me and another behind him. Considering it was late in the game, I kept going, and the defenders kept backing off. I made it to about the hash marks and decided to let one of my trademark blazing slappers fly. The puck, as if it had eyes, made it through both sets of legs, hit the boards where I wanted it to, slid towards the open net, and...went wide by an inch. FOILED AGAIN AGAIN!

In case you didn't get the "foiled again!" reference...this guy.

I headed to the bench after that last failure, and looked at the clock to see time ticking away. Realizing that I'd probably played my last shift, I relaxed a bit.

My coach and one of my teammates, clearly focused on the game, were talking about fishing, catching sharks, and how one and his group of buddies really is a "drinking crew with a fishing problem."

We sure are a unique bunch.

During this discussion, our team managed two more goals, and we ended up winning 4-1. Team Teal remains undefeated.

After the game, we retreated to the locker room, where Jay Bouwmeester sincerely congratulated everyone on a good scrimmage and pulled two 12's of Narragansett out of a duffel bag. Even though I think Narragansett is awful (I know, nonsense coming from a guy who enjoys Bud Light), I'm not one to turn down a nice gesture. So there we sat, a bunch of misfits who combined to score five goals in a game with no goalies, drinking Narragansett and laughing about the game.

I don't think I've ever felt more like a beer league hockey player.

*Cue the sentimental music.*

Week Seven (Nov. 27)

For our first game, my team was assigned the later slot, meaning we wouldn't start until 10:30. Considering there are a number of guys on my team who are pushing/past 40, I was curious as to whether or not some of my teammates might show up in their pajamas.

Even though the game wasn't slated to start until later, I left early to pick up my Fan Club. The Dan Fan Club that night consisted of two members, Sam and Jill. One was trying to show moral support while stifling her laughter, and the other was there to see a comedy show on ice and make no attempt to stifle her laughter. I'll let you decide who's who.

As I walked into the rink, the other half of our clinic (the Yellow Team) was playing their game. The score was 4-1 late in the second period, and I stupidly wondered who was winning. The answer, not surprisingly, was "not my clinic-mates."

After some words of hearty encouragement from the Fan Club, I headed over to the locker room to get ready. As I was walking around the boards, I noticed that the referee who had asked me where my cage was a couple weeks back was working the game. He saw me and, with play going on, leaned over the boards by the scorer's table and said, "hey, did you bring one for me?" and motioned to the Fan Club.

How dare he?!

"No," I replied, "I'm selfish. They're both for me." He laughed and skated away, clearly dejected from having been shot down so easily. Me 1, Horny middle-aged ref 0.

Getting dressed for this game brought a new wrinkle: I borrowed a cage from my cousin Conor, and was going to wear it for the first time. However, the cage had two snaps, and my helmet only had one. My ghetto solution? Just jam the second strap up into my helmet and hope it stays. Hey, that college education really worked!

As the seconds ticked away in the first game, one the Yellow Team would lose, 6-2, I noticed that we didn't have many players. In fact, we only had five forwards and two defensemen. Luckily, a few more people showed up, and we had a few volunteers from the first game stay for the second. In the end, we were able to ice three full forward lines and two defense pairs. I was slotted as the wing on the second line, skating with Bobby (whose name might not actually be Bobby, I don't remember) as my center.

Our first line started, and I sat back to gauge our level of competition. The other team was a mix of older guys and kids slightly older than me, with the one hotshot that every team has. They were better skaters than us, and better everything else's too, probably, but they weren't that much better. We had a shot.

Me, before the game

To be honest, the game wasn't terribly different from our scrimmages. We started off OK, but had trouble establishing pressure. Once our defensemen got the puck in our zone, they kind of froze (except for Alexandra Ovechkin/Bobbi Orr, who just tried to skate through everyone). More often than not, the neutral zone was as far as we got the puck.

My first touch came on a loose puck by the blue line, one that I sent back to a defenseman, making the safe play. Phew. One touch, no goals allowed.

After getting back to the bench following one of our shifts, our coach told my line that the forwards (i.e. me) were too stationary, and that we had to move to give the defensemen an outlet. It was like getting yelled at for talking during class in middle school.

During a break in between shifts, I went to have some water, forgetting I was wearing a cage. What a project this turned out to be. At first, I considered unsnapping the cage and drinking like a normal human. However, when I remembered that I had to rig the strap into place using college-level logic and thinking and that it'd probably be easier to remove Bane's mask, that idea flew out the window.

So I settled on a kind of reverse-carnival game. You know those game where you have to squirt the water gun into the hole to make the character climb, and the first one to reach the top wins? It was like that, only my mouth was the hole, and I couldn't see where I was aiming.

First squeeze: all over my nose.
Second squeeze: chin.
Third squeeze: SUCCESS.

Having established myself as the Goldilocks of squirting water, I headed out for my next shift. Again, we failed to generate much offense, and actually ended up hemmed in our own end for a while. When the puck is down by the net, there's a sort of helpless feeling that takes over: I'm supposed to, by my assignment, stay by the points and help out along the wall.

However, seeing a scrum for the puck near my net, I kind of started drifting down there, only to see the puck squirt out to the point...where I was supposed to be.

"Uh oh..."

I hustled out towards the man with the puck and closed my feet together, attempting a blocked shot that would earn my praise for my "intangibles" from the between-periods analysts, only to have the shot sneak past me towards the net. I turned around, fearing a goal, only to see that my goalie had smothered it.

Bullet = dodged.

Later in the first, our best-skating defenseman (defensewoman, actually) took the puck up ice. I jumped into the play to turn it into an odd-man rush, but her speed caught the lone defenseman by surprise: she turnstiled him, leaving him in her dust and heading in on goal alone. I knew that the chances or her passing me the puck literally could not have been smaller (LITERALLY), so I stayed on my course towards the net, banking on a rebound.

My rebound never came, however, and instead I got a front-row seat to her backhanding the puck past the goalie and into the net. 1-0 Team Teal, and a +1 rating for me. SUCCESS.

In the second period, my line continued to have trouble moving the puck, and we found ourselves hemmed in our zone again. The puck was near the top of the right faceoff circle, and, jostling for possession, I somehow fell down. Shocking that I fell, I know. The puck was right in front of me, so I poked at it to get it out of the zone. Mission accomplished, but as I went to stand up, I fell down again. On all fours, I struggled to get up. I probably could've used a milk crate right then.

Embarrassed, I looked to see if my Fan Club had noticed my Benny Hill moment. Fortunately, they were too busy Instagramming to notice my foibles. Crisis averted.

Later in the period, we lined up for a faceoff and I found myself next to an older guy.

"Hey man," he said, "those skates look kind of loose. Are they too big for you?"

Feeling like I was in Groundhog Day, I said "nah, they're OK. I just can never seem to get them tied right."

I've decided that having the wrong-sized skates will be a running theme throughout this hockey odyssey.

Off of that same faceoff, the puck went back to the point. I skated towards the man with the puck, again trying to block the shot. This time, however, it worked: I caught a slapshot right off of the side of my foot, just next to my ankle. Granted, none of these guys were Zdeno Chara or anything, but it still stung quite a bit.

However, seeing my dedication and selflessness, I think I noticed the Fan Club visibly swooning at the sight of my manliness.

A book my Fan Club wrote about me after my blocked shot.

Later in the second, with yours truly watching safely from the bench, the other team finally got on the board, batting a rebound passed our sprawled-out goalie. Teal Team 1, other guys 1.

The third period featured more of the same, pressure from the other team and occasional sojourns into the offensive zone by our side. My line continued to have trouble moving the puck, and at one point we took three straight faceoffs in our own end. Needless to say, our coach wasn't exactly singing our praises.

As time ticked down, the score remained tied at one, largely thanks to our goalie making a number of big stops. Late in the third, I was on the forecheck when I suddenly ended up with the puck at the attacking blue line. The nearest defenseman was by the right faceoff circle, a good three or four strides from me. After a step or two in, I was right in the slot, alone with the puck.

I saw the goalie crouch in anticipation of the shot, and was trying to decided where to go: up top, over the shoulder? Five hole? Down low to generate a rebound? Why am I so hungry? What am I gonna do this weekend?

As you can see, I thought a bit too much, and focused a bit too much on where to put the shot as opposed to um...actually taking the shot. Sensing that my time was running out, I flexed to shoot, only to look down and see the puck slowly dribble off of my blade and about a foot away from me.

Opportunity lost. Again, to show my displeasure, I bellowed an expletive. I wanted to make sure my teammates knew how angry I was that I didn't get a shot off, when in fact I still have no idea how the puck even rolled away. I'm convinced that the ice must have been slippery or something.

I skated one last shift after that, hoping for a chance to redeem myself and give my still Instagramming Fan Club something to cheer about, but nothing really developed. With about two minutes left, I skated to the bench to watch the rest of the contest.

As the final two minutes ticked away, one of our defensemen made a bad pinch. It was one of those pinches that you can see as disastrous from miles away, but there's nothing you can do about it. "Noooooooooooo......", and away the opposing skater went, alone on a breakaway from the red line in with less than a minute left.

I almost looked away, certain that we were about to suffer an ignominious defeat on a last-minute goal; however, I hung in there long enough to see our goalie stone the shooter, and our team hung on for the tie: 1-1 in our first-ever game. Not bad.

I dressed after the game, reliving my near-miss and contemplating how many sponsorship dollars I'd cost myself with that miscue.

As I walked towards the exit, I was welcomed with open arms by the Fan Club, as they sung my praises, admired my selflessness, and asked me for autographs.

And by all that, I mean that they were waiting for me out in the lobby, having left as soon as the final horn went.

I should've scored a goal. Girls love goals.