Week Nineteen (Feb. 26th)

Last night marked our third-last session of the clinic, and our last practice session. No more drills, backwards skating, turning around, stopping...as you may be able to guess, I'm clearly very upset about this. Clearly.

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.

Me, walking out towards the rink.

I went back into the locker room to uhh...adjust my skates and...stuff. Yeah, that's it. Boy, something in my equipment just didn't feel right, and I had to get it fixed. Ho hum, just killing time.

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."

All of us, after the drill was stopped.

Feeling like we were huge disappointments, we all sheepishly returned to the drill, somewhat more engaged this time. Next, he switched the drill to 2-on-1's, at which we were all competent enough. However, on every rush I took, it seemed like something went wrong: I'd lose control of the puck on the return pass, or my pass would be a half-inch from my teammate's stick, or a stride behind him.

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.

Me, as the pass was coming towards me.

I was a mixture of thrilled and shocked, and was wide-open at the side of the net. Had I corralled it cleanly and gotten off a decent shot, I would've had a great chance at scoring.
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. :(((((((((((((((((

Bonus Post: a "Milk Crates" Miracle

They said it couldn't be done...



It may have taken 18 weeks and may still look a little sloppy, but I've (kind of) achieved my goal.

Week Eighteen (Feb. 19th)

Week Eighteen featured another game against a beginner league team, and for once we weren't facing the Booze Brothers. This time, we were scheduled to play a team that is called The Myth, yet wears jerseys that call them The Wave. I'm just going to call them the Orange Team.

The Orange Team had played Team Gold as many times as we'd played the Booze Brothers, and I'd stuck around to watch a bit of their games before. The Orange Team was hardly overwhelming, didn't seem to skate as well as the Booze Brothers, and seemed like a worthy opponent for us.

Before the game, one of the smooth skating defensemen from Team Gold was standing around, out with a hurt back, and told us we could handle them.

"Just keep pressure on 'em with the puck, jam 'em in the corners if you have to," he said. "You guys will do fine."

He probably shouldn't go into fortune telling, as he clearly didn't foresee the beating your heroes in teal were about to receive.

Coach Steve was behind our bench, and was breaking us up into lines. I thought I'd be partnered with Speedy as usual, but was instead placed with Eric, a strong skater who I'd done the push and pull drills with a number of times, and Joe, a tall guy like me who was similarly unsteady on his skates, but was improving.

We headed out to start the game, myself playing left wing, Eric in the middle, and Joe on the right. The puck was dropped and the game was underway, and surprisingly enough, we got off to a good start. The puck got dumped in after we won the faceoff, and we forced a turnover in the neutral zone after the Orange guys sent the puck out. I ended up with the puck just inside the blue line after taking an Eric pass, and decided to shoot.

I unleashed my fearsome wrist shot from the slot, and the Orange goalie, shaking in his pads, blocked it into the corner. Not bad: one shift, one shot. Except that as we returned to the bench on a line change, our second unit had somehow given up a goal before we even sat down, and it was 1-0 Orange.

The Orange Team started turning up the pressure on us on our second shift, and we couldn't really do anything. Coach Steve had implored us to keep moving our feet on the forecheck, to keep skating at the guy with the puck, and not wave at it with our stick.

Here's what would happen:

1. I'd skate at the guy with the puck, determined to steal it.
2. He'd look up, see me coming, take a brief nap, and then get ready to avoid me.
3. I'd be very close to stealing it, and then...
4. He'd take a stride to either side and go right past me.
5. Fin.

Unfortunately, I'm the bull in this scenario.

This theme continued for some time, and we were struggling. Coach Steve said, "KEEP MOVING YOUR FEET! DON'T WAVE AT IT!" He was either blissfully unaware of our struggles, or secretly enjoyed watching us slide past the puck carrier as he sidestepped us like we were minor annoyances.

 My line wasn't doing much in the way of applying offensive pressure; instead, we were scrambling around the defensive zone, desperately trying to clear the puck. 

I wasn't helping in that regard: on one shift, I failed to clear the puck three times. The first time, it came up the wall and I was engaged with an Orange guy. I managed to get control at first, but he tipped it into my skates. As you know, once the puck is in my skates, it's as good as gone. The next time, I gathered a loose puck and tried to just chip it out; denied at the blue line. Finally, I tried to clear it again after deflecting a puck; no such luck.

I ended up getting a fourth chance, and mercifully was able to not just clear it, but hit Eric in stride and he ended up leading a brief rush up the ice. We changed lines shortly thereafter, and wouldn't you know it, the Orange Team scored again. 2-0 Orange.

And then they scored again. 3-0 Orange, before the end of the first. Ouch.

On my last shift of the first, I finally had a forecheck breakthrough. An Orange defenseman was carrying the puck through the neutral zone, and I had him lined up. I read that he was going to try to make a pass up the left wing, and positioned myself in his path. He attempted the pass, and it glanced off the shaft of my stick and headed back towards the red line. 

I scrambled after it, got control, and had a semi-breakaway up the right wing with a 2-on-1 developing...and then the buzzer went off. Period over. Figures: I finally force a turnover and get a developing scoring chance, then the period ends.

I don't think that counts as irony, but it sure felt like rain on my wedding day.

Coach Steve wasn't too down on us, and instead reiterated his forechecking message. His optimism and patience should make him a candidate for sainthood.

Things didn't change much in the second period, but my frustration grew. In on the forecheck early in the second, I put pressure on the puck carrier. He chipped the puck up along the wall, and I peeled off, job done. However, he elected to keep coming and slammed into me, throwing a body check in a no-contact league. 

"What the hell," I muttered, though I was unfazed due to being cast of solid marble. Still, being hit when you're not allowed to hit back is frustrating.

What's even more frustrating is when you have a teammate who won't move the puck. I've referred to this teammate before, the one who is the best skater and clearly shouldn't be in the clinic in the first place. I'll refer to this skater as Bobby Orr. Now Bobby Orr never passes, and I should know this by now. But it's still infuriating when it happens.

Case in point: Bobby Orr, playing defense (duh), gets a loose puck behind our net. Time to start a breakout. Our center hangs back, and two wings, myself include, head up ice to make room for an outlet pass. The pass never comes, however, as Bobby Orr prefers to skate around the back of the net, skate up ice, make a few dekes, ignore teammates, carry the puck into the offensive zone, and turn it over behind the net.

This didn't happen just once; rather this played out like "Groundhog Day" and happened EVERY TIME THIS SKATER GOT THE PUCK. 

Once, late in the second after a particularly long shift by the Penguin, I got moved to the second line, and skated with Speedy and White Helmet. I was moved to right wing to make shooting easier, and, wouldn't you know it, here comes Bobby Orr. I didn't even try to make myself available for the pass. I took a leisurely stroll up the right wing, stayed on-sides, and let Bobby turn the puck over (again). 

After my shift ended, Coach Steve had noticed. "*something inaudible* offsides," he said as I was sitting down.

"There's no use looking for the puck if it's not coming," I mumbled, thinking he said something about doing more than trying to avoid an offsides call. 

"Huh?" he said, and I didn't say anything back, fearing he'd heard my insolence.

"Next time, just go offsides," he continued. "After, say [to Bobby Orr], 'sorry, I thought a pass was coming.' I've spoken to [Bobby] about it a bunch of times, apparently it's not getting through."

SWEET MERCY, it's not just me. I felt vindicated.

IT'S NOT JUST ME! HALLELUJAH!

However, any relief I felt quickly vanish on my next shift, as Bobby Orr kept up the antics, this time to an absurd degree. After watching the puck get carried in, I headed to the net. I managed to beat my man to the goal mouth, and was stationed at the top of the crease. The defender was on my back and wasn't getting around me as Bobby Orr swirled into the corner. There was a clear passing lane, and I banged my stick loudly to indicate I was open.

How silly of me to think a pass might come.

Instead, Bobby Orr kept going behind the net, slammed on the brakes, turned back, and tried to score on the NHL94 wraparound play. AMAZINGLY, the puck didn't go in. Weird.

However, I stayed in my spot, and a bouncing rebound came towards me. I took a whack at it, trying to get it past the sprawled out goalie. The puck bounced over my stick, and I was about to take another whack when...whistle.

The goalie, sensing the embarrassment that comes with letting me score, kicked the net off its moorings in desperation. No penalty for delay of game was called, as the refs termed it accidental. That was it for me: being denied a scoring chance by a stupid whistle after being denied a pass while wide open at the top of the crease put me one insult away from becoming Michael Douglas in "Falling Down."

It's a good thing there was no construction on my drive home.

I slammed the bench door shut and kicked the boards, and Speedy said "[Bobby Orr] needs to pass the puck." Preach, Brother Speedy. Preach.

On our next shift, Team Orange scored. Twice. If that wasn't insult enough, I somehow managed to check my teammate. SCORE.

White Helmet was rushing the puck through the neutral zone, and I saw him coming. I tried to skate across the blue line to avoid him, as I saw he wasn't looking up, so I knew a pass wasn't coming. His "not looking up" became more and more problematic as he got closer and closer to me. As he was about three strides from where I was on the blue line, I thought, "Shit..."

*WHAP* He collided with me and we both just kind of bounced off, but I felt like a moron. Sitting on the bench after that shift, I said "sorry man, I was just trying to get out of your way."

"What?" he said, in a not-so-comforting tone.

"I crashed into you on that rush," I replied. "I was trying to get out of the way.

"Oh," he said. "Don't worry about it. I had my head down anyways, if I had been looking up, I would've gone around. No big deal."

At the start of the third, we were down 5-0 and all hope was pretty much lost. Skating by our bench, one of the refs (a friend of the coach), said with a laugh "hey, have you guys tuned him out yet?"

"No," a teammate responded. "I'm pretty sure it's the other way around." We all had a laugh at that, finding humor in a 5-0 drubbing.

Things didn't improve much in the third, aside from Whalers Jersey goalie making two spectacular saves: a double-pad stack to deny a breakaway, and a sprawling, Tim Thomas-esque stick save that had even the refs and the opposing team's bench going "OHHHHHH!" It's a shame we weren't even close to competent in front of him.

As the clock ticked down, we went out for what was our final shift (it was 6-0 at this point, by the way), and we wanted to score to save face. Speedy ended up with the puck along the side boards, and tried to center it to me. It was denied, and the puck ended up behind the net. I drifted over towards the right faceoff circle, and the puck somehow ended up in my area.

I took a step forward and threw a wrist shot on goal, only to see it go off of the goalie's shoulder and off the post. Son of a...

The only positive that came from that shot was that the same defender who had checked me earlier rushed out at me to contest the shot. I made sure I finished my shot pretty high and with an elbow out. 

During our shift's final seconds, I collected a turnover in the neutral zone and headed up ice with a 3-on-1 (turning into a 3-on-2 as an Orange guy hustled back). Speedy was on the far side, with White Helmet in the middle. I had a clear lane to the net, and should have shot the puck low and hard to force a rebound.

Instead, feeling bad about ruining his rush earlier, I tried to force a centering pass to White Helmet. It went off a defender's stick onto Speedy's and his whack was denied. Even actions with the best of intentions don't always turn out well, I guess. Next time, I'll be more selfish.

The game ended shortly thereafter, with your beloved Team Teal suffering its worst defeat of the clinic season. As I was waiting to file off the bench after the game, one of the refs, knowing we're a beginner clinic team, skated up to me and said, "You gotta shoot that puck. Next time you've got a lane like that, you gotta shoot."

Salt in the wound, ref. Salt in the wound.

Week Seventeen (Feb. 12th)

Week 17 of the clinic marked our second-last practice, meaning only two more hours of drills, skating, and yes, learning to stop.

I arrived early and stopped to watch a few minutes of that night's Bruins-Rangers game on a TV in the lobby. As I was standing there with a couple other guys, a clinic teammate walked by and said, "hey, ice is open."

This was out of the ordinary, because usually BC High is practicing until right before our ice time starts. This time, however, they had vacated the ice early, and the sheet had already been resurfaced at around 9:05.

Reasons were passed around the locker room as to why the team was done early, and as one can imagine, they were very..."colorful."

"They all sucked too bad, they got kicked off."

"Nah, they were too good, they didn't need anymore practice."

"They have too much homework to do."

We've got a lot of skating comedians.

Having gotten there early, I was dressed and ready to go pretty quickly, and noticed that there were already six or seven guys on the ice. I stretched a little, and headed out to join them. Someone had a few pucks and we passed them around. It was pretty nice, actually: an open, clean sheet of ice, on which I could do whatever I wanted.

I chose to skate around a bit and practice my stopping, and wouldn't you know it, I've gotten even better at it. Can I stop on a dime and send snow everywhere? No, not yet. I'm more "truck slamming into snowbank and eventually stopping." But hey, it's progress. If learning to stop is the one goal I had for myself, it looks like it might actually be within reach.

I apparently didn't learn my lesson from the first time I'd taken to the ice early: don't get too tired. Once the coaches showed up, I had already been on the ice for ten minutes, and had probably skated about 15 full laps. Bad idea.

We'd actually gotten onto the ice too early, we learned. Coach Steve called us all into the center circle, and told us to "take a knee, like peewees." I started to, but then realized no one else was moving. Oops.

"The guy who does the ice is pissed," he said. "Says someone got on the ice before he was done cleanin' it. Who did it?"

Eyes shot around the circle, looking for this lawless skating knave. Turns out it wasn't much of a hunt, as three guys raised their hands and admitted to (unknowingly) skating too early.

"He says he's supposed to dock us 15 minutes if someone gets on early," said Coach Steve. "You skate early, that's one week of no game or no practice."

"Bail will be set at $1,000. The charges: skating too early."

On that happy note, we were told to start skating around the rink: skate upright in the zones, and speed up between the blue lines. Not bad, as it's something I can do. I even got an "attaboy" from a coach for properly skating (bent at the waste, slightly tucked) between the lines. I'm just so great.

We made three or four laps, then heard the whistle. "OTHER WAY," one of the coaches shouted.

"Wait, more?" I thought to myself, already feeling a little winded.

Yes, more. Much, much more. After five or so more laps, I felt like I'd just run the Boston Marathon. (Note to self: next time you can get on the ice early, take it easy. Turns out you're not exactly in Olympic shape.)

After that, we were sent down to opposite ends to do 2-on-0's, which we then followed with 2-on-1's. By "then followed", I don't mean immediately. We probably did each set for ten minutes. That's ten minutes of pretty much non-stop, end-to-end skating. Yikes.

My rushes weren't awful, but they weren't great either. At times, I'd wait the defenseman out, but he wouldn't come near me. In that case, I'm supposed to take the shot, not force a pass. However, considering that it's just a practice and I don't want to be called a puckhog, I kept trying to make the pass (usually without success).

After one such attempt, my partner skated over and said, "hey man, don't force yourself to give me the puck. You can shoot it, I won't call you a hun." Point taken. I guess I wasn't George Costanza after all.

Hockey can have chuckers too.

The next drill was a series of 1-on-1's, in which we were supposed to try our best to get around the defenseman and get a shot off. A number of our defensemen skate pretty well, but a few are a little unsteady. It was on one rush that I noticed this, and decided to try to get fancy.

I skated right at the defender, and as she reached out with her stick, I deked back the other way and skated right past her. Unfortunately, Plymouth Whalers Goalie was in net, and decided to get fancy too: he did a diving pokecheck/double pad stack hybrid. When I saw this coming, I momentarily thought "OH SHIT!" and assumed I was done for. However, I had one last deke up my sleeve, and pulled the puck past his stick.

Unfortunately again, he had a trick up his sleeve, and managed to keep one pad along the ice. That one pad stopped my backhand attempt, but I managed to collect and bat the rebound past him. Hey, he tried to poke it. I figured I owed him a second shot. (That, and he stopped me every other time. 1-for-43 isn't SO bad...)

At that point, we were around 40 minutes into the roughly 60 minute skate, 50 minutes including my pre-practice jaunts. When we started a passing/breakaway drill, I was gassed.

When that drill continued for about 15 minutes, I was ready to keel over. I kept waiting for the whistle that would indicate a scrimmage (we had two goalies again), but it didn't come. I wasn't the only one: other guys were bent at the waist, using their sticks as semi-crutches.

"We surrender"!

When the scrimmage finally started with about five minutes left, everyone was dead. We skated 4-on-4, and to be honest, nothing remarkable happened. I don't even think I got a shot on goal, nor did I really even touch the puck. I was too busy trying to stay standing.

Towards the end of the scrimmage, I was on the ice with one of the more selfish players on our team. She's clearly a good skater, and probably shouldn't even be involved in a beginner clinic. She tends to get the puck behind our net, and then skate it all the way up herself, passing on the chance to pass (get it?).

I got myself open for an outlet the first time, and no pass came. Second time? No pass. Third time? I didn't bother. I skated along the blue line, letting her go by, and positioned myself in front of the crease with my stick on the ice, hoping for either a rebound or a pass. Neither came.

With that, I was done. I skated to the bench, and was about to sit down when one of the coaches told me I hadn't gotten open on the last rush.  "You were all in a line, her, the defenseman, and you," he said. "She can't pass it then!"

I started to say, "she won't pass it anyways," but bit my tongue and shook my head, to say "yeah, I'll do it next time."

Then from a few spots down on the bench, she started to chime in. "I can't make the pass when your--."

The end is cut off, because as soon as she started talking I sat down and looked the other way.

She can't pass the puck, but wants to pass on advice? No thanks.

Week Sixteen (Feb. 5)

The last quarter of our clinic slate began last night with the age-old rivalry between Team Teal and Team Gold taking center stage again. This was a full game, with refs and all, and we actually had two goalies for once. Big leagues!

As we warmed up, I tried my little slide stops again, with less success than the past few weeks. Fearing a backslide, I really committed myself to one such attempt, stumbled, nearly fell, and decided that was enough for this week.

The horn went off to signal that the game was about to start, but we had no coach.

Coach Steve called us over to the Gold bench, and said, "Joe's on his way, he'll be here soon. Just split up, 4 D, two lines. You guys can figure it out."

My trio ended up skating second, and I was paired with my usual center (Speedy) again as we looked to continue our goal-scoring rapport from the week before.

Our goalie for the game was a new guy, the friend of one of the Team Gold skaters. We'd be facing the usual goalie, Powder Blue Plymouth Whalers Jersey guy, who is way too good to be facing us. However, I'd beaten him the week before, so I assumed I was in his head and he'd simply cower and hide if I got a clear shot on net.

Our teammates did little on the first shift, and we took to the ice after an offsides call, myself on the right wing, Speedy playing center, and Other Guy on the left.

The first shift started off pretty well, as we controlled the puck off of a faceoff and entered the offensive zone. Team Gold eventually worked it out, but we sent it back in and Speedy, in on the forecheck, someone got control of a loose puck and flipped it on net from a bad angle.

At first, I thought Whalers Jersey had saved it easily, but then saw the puck drop behind him into the crease. I was skating in from the blue line at this point, but could see the puck just wobbling there, inching towards the goal line.

"BEHIND HIM, BEHIND HIM, IT'S LOOSE," I screamed, as I was too far away to do anything about it but hoped a teammate could pounce. No such luck, however, as the goalie turned and recovered in time to scoop it up, right off of the goal line, about a half-inch from going in.

We didn't know it at the time, but that would pretty much sum up our line's night: "almost, but not quite."

Unfortunately, hockey is neither horseshoes nor a hand grenade.

Our teammates gave up a rebound goal on their next shift, and suddenly Team Teal, once untouchable, was down 1-0 just a few shifts into the game. Coach Joe showed up shortly thereafter and was typically upbeat, saying, "geez, I miss five minutes and you're already losing?! What the hell's going on?"

My line's next shift was fairly unremarkable, as was the one after that. Our problem was that we could get the puck into the zone, but then couldn't do a tremendous amount with it. Team Gold had two defensemen who were very smooth skaters, and two who weren't as good (skated more like yours truly). Smartly, Coach Steve paired each smooth guy with a non-smooth partner, staggering their D instead of creating one super-pairing.

We'd get into the zone, and look to make a pass to the soft D side, but it'd end up just out of reach, or skittering into the corner off of a stick. 

On our last shift of the period, I collected a loose puck off of a face-off and sent it back to Red Pants, our best-skating defenseman aside from that one player who is really too good to be playing in a beginner clinic but shows up anyways (not that I resent it, of course. No, not at all). He moved a bit to change his angle and fired one on net. I was in the slot and it looked to be going wide, so I reached out to deflect it. I ended up catching a piece of it, but it went wide anyways.

The period ended with us down 1-0. Coming off of a goal in the last scrimmage and settling in to my new pure goalscorer role, this wasn't the start I was looking for. It was less "goal horn" and more:

The second period didn't go much better for my linemates and I, but we continued to put on a little pressure. However, the theme of "SO CLOSE" would continue, and the frustration mounted, much like the last game against the Booze Brothers.

On our first shift, I headed back to my right point as Red Pants collected the puck behind our net. I made myself available for an outlet pass, though since he was such a good skater, he usually didn't bother. This time, however, he hit me with the puck. Remembering what Coach Joe had told me last week ("When ya get the puck, ya stop! Ya gotta keep skating!"), I looked up and started skating, carrying the puck with me.

I saw that we had, at best, a 3-on-3 developing, but Team Gold had another backchecker coming. I carried the puck up and across the blue line, with one of their good D on me. I didn't think I had a pass, so I just shot one slow and hard ("hard" being open to interpretation here, of course) that was easily gloved down by Whalers Jersey. Not exactly a laser beam.

Our shift ended a few moments later when we were whistled for offsides (apparently I went in early, though I didn't think I did), and Coach Joe had some words of wisdom when we got back to the bench.

"You gotta make the defensemen make a mistake," he said. "Don't just stand there, skate at 'em! Make them make a pass, force the issue. If ya stand there, they get time to think. Pressure!"

A few shifts later, we had another golden chance to score. The puck was in the corner of the offensive zone, and Other Guy on our line went in after it. He got to it, turned, and wheeled a blind centering pass into the slot, which is never really a bad play in our league. It ended up on Speedy's stick, and he shot it towards the goalie, who made the initial save.

However, he left the rebound out front, and Speedy beat his man to it and shot it back on goal...then shot again...and again...and again, while Other Guy and I crashed the crease like seagulls going after scraps of bread. The puck was just SITTING there in the crease, right next to the goalies blocker/stick, but Speedy couldn't lift it over. Finally, a Gold defenseman got a whack at it and sent it into the corner. Poor Speedy couldn't buy a goal.

Jack Edwards should borrow that one: "Swarming the crease like seagulls after a scrap of bread!"

The second period ended without me having much impact on the play, and frustration ruling our line. So close, but not quite good enough, and we remained down 1-0. On the bench, Coach Joe had some inspiring words for us before the third.

"Look, this goalie is good. Anything you shoot at him high, he's gonna save," he said. "The only way we're gonna score on this kid is on a rebound, so shoot. Shoot it low and hard, low and hard, then get those rebounds."

Filled with confidence in the knowledge that our feeble shots wouldn't trouble Whalers Jersey, we headed back out there for the third, looking to tie the game. On our first shift, we made sure that a comeback would be as difficult as possible.

After some initial pressure in the offensive zone, one of our defensemen misplayed a puck at the attacking blue line, and Team Gold was off. They had 3-on-2, but one of their smooth skating defensemen jumped up to make it a 4-on-2. Myself and Speedy skated back to catch up (though not very hard, at least in my case), and I ended up watching from near the blue line as our goalie made the initial save, then a second one, but couldn't stop the third, and we were down 2-0. 

Minus-1 and nothing close to a goal. Rough night.

We skated to the bench after that goal, and came out determined to right the wrong on our next shift. I ended up controlling the puck down the left wing (don't ask me why I was over there, I have no idea), deked past a defender, and backhanded it towards the goalie, hoping for a rebound. He blocked it behind the net, where I went and got it and sent it back towards the point, only to have it deflected and corralled by Team Gold.

Later in that shift, I forced a turnover along with wall and went in after it, only to find the puck in my skates. For me, having the puck in my skates is pretty much a death sentence. I'm not good enough a skater to look down and find it, nor can I stop fast enough to let it catch up with me. If it's in my skates, it's as good as gone. 

It was at that point, heading towards the bench after that near-turnover, that the frustration level rose. The problem wasn't with not knowing what to do; the problem lies in the fact that I know exactly what I need to do, but can't quite get my skates to do it yet. It's kind of like having this really sweet car, only to find it has a manual transmission, so I don't know how to drive it: I love the game, know what to do, but can't get it yet. In time, though. In time.

Hockey for me.

Right before we took our last shift with about four minutes left, Coach Joe told us that everything needed to go on net, just shoot the puck. We controlled the puck and I stationed myself in the slot, as Speedy collected the puck on the half-boards. He sent a centering pass that got past the first defender and was heading towards me, only to be nicked and sent into the corner by another Team Gold player.

Towards the end of the shift, I went into the corner with one of the lesser defensemen and emerged with the puck, curling off the wall back towards the slot. I was on my backhand, but, heeding Coach Joe's advice, shot it anyways. My backhand was turned aside and into the corner by Whalers Jersey, not even generating a rebound. To make it even better, the force of the backhand and awkward positioning of my skates sent me, to quote Jack Edwards "tumbling head over tea kettle" in the slot.

Our shift and night ended shortly thereafter on an icing call, meaning my last action of the night was dusting myself off and getting up off of the ice, hoping no one noticed that tremendous tumble I took.

Stupid fancy cars. (Metaphors!)

Week Fifteen (Jan. 29)

Week Fifteen of the Great Milk Crates Hockey Odyssey was slated to be a practice/skills session out at UMass, the first one we'd had in two weeks. As was the case when I was a kid, the practices usually aren't as fun as the games: drills aren't more fun than actual playing, being told what to do isn't better than just playing.

However, I'm in a beginner clinic, so learning the skills is pretty important. For that reason, I wasn't that down about having a practice session as I walked into the rink, 35 minutes early, ready to leisurely get dressed for once.

As I was getting ready, the guy sitting across from me, Yellow 37 (he's the same number as me, just the wrong color), we dressing in goalie equipment.

"Weird," I thought to myself, before remembering that he'd mentioned before that he had equipment and would bring it in case we needed a goalie.

Figuring he'd probably just play net during some shooting drills, I continued to get dressed. I walked outside the locker room to take in the end of B.C. High's practice, when I saw the other goalie we have, Powder Blue Plymouth Whalers Jersey guy.

I went back in the locker room and told Yellow 37 that the other goalie was here.

"The other goalie?" he replied. "I think I'd be the other goalie in this case."

We were all waiting for the Zamboni to finish its rounds, when someone informed Coach Joe that we had two goalies for the night.

"Oh, do we?" he said. "Maybe we can scrimmage instead. Would you guys rather scrimmage or practice?"

Believe it or not, "scrimmage" was the unanimous answer.

"Eh," he said. "We'll see when Other Coach gets here, he wanted to practice. Says you guys need it."

With that, he kept tying his skates and cackled, obviously agreeing that we needed the work. This feeling was something like being in high school and having your teacher wheel in a TV and VCR, only to tell you, "oh no, this is for next period. You're still having a test."

Such a tease...

We took to the ice, and I took my customary warm-up twirls. Still getting the hang of my slight stop, I tried it again a few times going around, and fared pretty well.

"Hey, maybe I'm finally getting this," I thought to myself.

"Nah, not quite," said Gravity, as I stumbled and nearly fell on my face the next time I tried it.

Maybe I was getting ahead of myself.

Other Coach blew his whistle after a few minutes and told us we were going to do some skating first. We were told to grab a puck and start skating, and to speed up/slow down on his whistle.

WEEEEP! *skateskateskateskate* WEEEEP! *gliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide* WEEEEP! *skateskategliiiiiiiiideandhopeheisntlookingatme*

That's how it went for a few minutes, after which we were told to line up on the far goal line.

"We're gonna do some starts and stops now," said Other Coach, who had apparently taken over coaching duties while Coach Joe took shots on Whalers Goalie.

"Great," I thought. "My favorite."

Since Other Coach and Whalers Goalie were occupying the far zone, we only had to skate two-thirds of the rink. Our first task: skate to the blue line, turn around and skate backwards to the red line, turn again and skate to the far blue line. It was basically a shorter version of the turning drill we'd done in previous weeks. You know, the one I was really bad at.

As I took my turn, I skated medium-speed to the blue line. I got about two strides from the line when I started thinking about how I was going to turn.

My thought process: "Uh oh. Uh oh. UH OH. Turrrrrrn...NO, NOT THAT FAST!" *stumble stumble stumble* Then I'd skate shamefully backwards, hoping no one noticed (wrong).

"There ya go, you got it, you got it," Other Coach yelled to me. I'm not sure what "it" is, but unless having it means I can't turn around, I certainly didn't "got it."

The next spin went similarly badly, but the third one was a plus for me. I tried to do it without thinking, and actually made the turn before stumbling a bit, regaining my footing, and slowly going backwards. Not bad.

Just in case I wasn't already struggling, our next drill was stops on the whistle. We were to line up on the goal line, skate until we heard the whistle, and then stop immediately, using our right side (the one I can kind of stop on). I did my best, and actually was able to slide a few times. Doing my little practice slides before the games had apparently gotten my body more comfortable with that sliding feeling, meaning I didn't panic as is natural.

I'm certainly not stopping yet, or snowing the goalie Brad Marchand-style, but I'm getting there. Stopping facing the left? Yeah, that's a whole other problem. I'm like Derek Zoolander, and I'm not the only one: a whole bunch of skaters can stop on one side, but not the other. We'll get there.

Pretty much.

Our next drill was the push/pull drill we do occasionally, only this time we didn't do the pushing (which was fine with me). After that, we were told to line up in two lines on the blue line, and chaos ensued. Apparently what we were supposed to do was head around the center circle (practicing our crossovers), accept a pass from the other line, and head in on goal. The person who made the pass then started skating around the circle, took a pass from the next person in the line you just came from, etc. Not hard.

Except for us it was like rocket science. The first two passes went about 15 feet from the skater. Then the next skater didn't go. The coaches mercifully blew the whistle, gave us a step-by-step example like the kindergartners we apparently were, and from there we did OK. I didn't score (I didn't really come close), but it was a fun drill (and it didn't involve stopping!).

We were called to gather around the center circle, broken up into our colors, and told that we were going to scrimmage, 4-on-4, until our time was up. Other Coach told us to find our linemates, and I was paired with Speedy and  Usual Defenseman again. Since we were playing 4-on-4, we only needed one defenseman.

From the beginning, this was a fun one. The bigger rink and 4-on-4 play made it feel like a shinny game. Odd-man rushes were plentiful, as were breakaways, and there was very little in the way of defense.

On my first shift, I was hanging out by the defensive blue line when one of our guys chipped the puck up and out. I skated onto it and was alone from the blue line in. Preparing myself to make a move on Whalers Goalie, I thought of how to deke and...lost control of the puck. Foiled.

Hey, it's me on a breakaway!

 As I circled around the net, the puck went back to the point. One of our guys at the blue line half-shot, half-passed the puck towards me, and I had a defender on either side of me. As the puck was coming towards me, I sort of pulled it back and deadened it at the same time, sending the puck through my legs back towards the slot, where it landed on the tape of a wide-open Speedy. He fired a shot on net that was turned aside.

Seconds later, I ended up with a 2-on-1 with Speedy. I skated in with the puck, weighing my options, and passed when I thought it right...and it went off the defenseman's stick. Foiled again.

As I sat on the bench, Other Coach first chastised/offered me advice on what I did wrong coming out of the zone: "Ya got the puck and looked up, that was great," he said. "But then, ya STOPPED! Ya gotta keep moving ya feet. Once ya stop, the defenders close in, and ya options disappear. You made the right play, but keep moving!"

As he was walking away, he turned back and said, "oh, by the way, great pass back there behind ya. That's a great look, a beautiful pass. Beautiful!"

Call me Marc Savard Jr.

Marc and I are masters of the beautiful pass.

Team Gold scored on the shift after we headed the bench, so we were down 1-0 next time I touched the ice. I noticed that, because Team Gold had an extra player, their defensive lines had changed, and their best skater/player wasn't out there with me. Jackpot.

Strangely enough, our second shift mirrored our first. I ended up with a 2-on-1 with Speedy again, and I walked the puck in to about the hashmarks, didn't see a lane, and fired it on net, where Whalers Goalie kicked it out.

Seconds later (again), I found myself on another breakaway, this time with a Team Gold player on my tail. I managed to keep control of the puck this time, and decided I wanted to try to fake a backhand and then go forehand. Considering I can barely make that move in NHL13, it should come as no surprise that my laser beam of a shot didn't trouble Whalers Goalie, and I was foiled for a fourth time.

It remained 1-0 when we skated back out for what was probably our last shift, as I could see the Zamboni driver walking down towards the rink doors, the universal sign of "shit, our time is almost up."

As I hit the ice, I noticed again that we had a good match-up, as Smooth Skating Gold Guy was on the bench. Time to pounce.

I chased another loose puck into their end, closing in on a third breakaway. Third time's the charm, right? No, not this time, as the backchecker caught up to me. I gathered the puck and tried to circle around the net, but he was still on my back, and I ended up falling hard to the ice, the puck skittering into the corner.

I got up and went around the net and stood out front, hoping to catch a rebound of some kind and get one last whack at it. I was positioned to Whalers Goalie's left, just outside the crease, when I saw Speedy get a loose puck near the right face-off dot. He looked up, spotted me, and threaded a pass through a defender and across the slot. It was coming right at me.

"Shit," I thought. "DO SOMETHING!"

I put my stick on the ice and half shot/half redirected the pass on goal, hoping to beat Whalers Goalie low. Because he was coming across the crease, he had opened up his legs, and I watched the puck slide right through his five-hole and into the back of the net.

Goal. A real, live, actual-goalie-in-the-net goal.

Cue the music!

His head tilted back as he looked up at the ceiling in a "I can't believe I let that goofy bastard score" fashion; my hands went up as I skated over to Speedy and thanked him for the pass. Gloved first-bumps for everyone.

"HO HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" said Coach Joe from the bench. "All tied up, next goal wins!"

I got the puck one or two more times before he blew the whistle to end our shift, and I glided to the bench, getting a couple more bumps. We didn't get another shift, and I watched as the game ended in a 1-1 tie. Team Teal remained undefeated against Team Gold, thanks to the COURAGE, STEELY RESOLVE, AND HEROICS OF YOURS TRULY.

As I walked to the locker room, our goalie, Gold 37, said "was it you that got that goal?"

I nodded and said, "yeah. I missed on three or four others, so I guess he owed me one."

He laughed and said, "nice goal."

I walked into the dressing room and sat down to remove my gear with the rest of my teammates. Apparently heroic goalscorers don't get their own locker room after all.

Weird.

And so, a night that featured (literal) starts and stops, embarrassing twirls, near falls, and a couple of actual falls ended with my first career goal.

Hockey can be a funny game, eh?

Week Fourteen (Jan. 22)

Week Fourteen of my hockey adventure actually started last Saturday, when I decided to heed my coaches' advice and get my skates sharpened. Previously, I've trekked over to Pure Hockey in Braintree to get them done, but this time I decided to support a local shop and headed to Beantown Athletics in Dorchester.

I had never been in there before, and walked up to the door, skates in hand, not knowing what to expect. It was, after all, a Saturday morning, so I expected to wait a while so youngsters ahead of me (in terms of both position in line and skating ability) could get their blades done.

I reached out and pulled on the door handle, and it was stuck. Pulled again, nothing. Locked. "What the hell," I thought to myself. I pulled again, starting to wonder if I was on some hidden camera show.

"Why don't you try the other one, pal?" a voice behind me said. I looked and saw a neighborhood guy with his young nephew, stifling a laugh. I looked to the right and saw another door, this one with an "OPEN" sign on it. I pushed, and TA-DAAAAAH...open sesame.

Not quite this bad, but close enough

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," said Dorchester guy.

My hockey week was off to a rough start.

Tuesday's action was slated to be our third actual game, playing against another mens' league team instead of fellow clinic skaters. Team Teal had the late game again, but I went early to catch some of Team Gold's game. They put up a better fight than usual and actually took a 1-0 lead, but ultimately fell to the Tigers, 4-2. Considering the fact that last time I watched them play this team they were down 4-0 before the end of the first, it was a vast improvement.

Due to the fact that the temperature inside UMass' rink was only slightly warmer than that of the Arctic Circle, I dressed in a hurry and took to the ice. To my surprise, I saw a familiar foe at the other end of the rink: the Booze Brothers were back.

Finally got a shot of the Brothers' logo

Readers of this space will remember the Booze Brothers, the team that thumped us 5-0 back in December. We'd had a number of practices and scrimmages in between, so it was time to see if they had paid off.

Maybe it was the cold, or maybe people were just busy, but Team Teal was a bit short-staffed and accepted some refugees from Team Gold. Because of this, we had three forward lines and five defensemen, meaning less ice time for everyone.

Coach Joe gave us some orders and sent us out on the ice. Yours truly was tasked with starting, paired with a familiar linemate I'll call Speedy and another guy who usually plays defense. I deferred to right wing, Speedy took center, the puck dropped, and the game was on.

The Brothers are a pretty cohesive bunch, knowing where to go and who is going to be there. Couple that with superior skating, and one can see why we'd have a rough night. Our first shift was fairly uneventful. The Brothers had the better of possession, while Speedy, Former Defenseman and I didn't get much done at the other end.

Coach Joe barked "let's go forwards, let's go" from the bench, and our shift was over. As I gulped some water and breathed like I'd just run a marathon, the Brothers saw an odd-man rush turned aside by our goalie, he of the famous powder blue Plymouth Whalers jersey. Our goalie (whose name is also Dan, I believe) made a number of saves to stifle the Brothers' attack, but saw one sneak past him on the third line's first shift, and Team Teal found itself down 1-0 less than halfway through the first.

Our line took to the ice following the goal, tasked with stemming the tide and changing momentum. Taking that task to heart, we did the opposite, allowing the Brothers to set up camp in our zone and pelt Goalie Dan with pucks. As right wing, I was supposed to keep an eye on the right point. I did, but every puck seemed to go an inch the wrong way: just past my blade, or I'd chip the puck off the wall and be a half-stride from a breakaway.

I'M SO ANGRY!

Towards the end of the shift, a clearing attempt up the boards deflected off of a Brother's stick to me at the top of the circle. With few options, I chipped the puck off the boards and past the defenseman. Their forwards were good about getting back, so I had little choice but to peel off and have a seat.

As I skated to the bench, Coach Joe had some words for me.

"When you're going at a guy with the puck at the point, you keep gliding," he said. "Move your feet! Keep skating! Look at ya, you got a reach of what, eight feet? Take a few more strides and go right at him, take away his options! If you glide, he's got time to think!"

I took his advice to heart on the next shift at the start of the second, and it nearly paid off. I was in on the forecheck, skating towards a Brother with the puck. Hear Coach Joe's words in my head, I kept skating at him, stick to the side, forcing him to either try to go around me or get rid of the puck. In this case, I guessed correctly: I thought he'd try to clear it, and it went right off of my leg and towards the corner.

"Attaboy, Dan, there you go," said Coach Joe from the bench.

I gathered the loose puck and tried to assess my options, turning my shoulder to the Brother as he tried to regain possession. I had about four inches on him, so he couldn't do much as I wheeled towards the slot, puck on my stick. Both points were covered and closing on me, and everyone else was on the fringe.

"Screw it, shoot," I thought, uncorking a wrister towards the lower right corner of the net. The puck skittered off of a defenseman's skate into the corner, where Former Defenseman gathered it and chipped it towards the point. I lingered in the high slot, hoping for another chance, but the puck was cleared and Coach Joe called for a change.

"Good shift, Dan, good shift," he said as I sat down. "See what happens when you keep skatin' at 'em?"

I shook my head begrudgingly, because hey, who wants to be wrong? Not me. But in this case, I was, and listening paid off.

Unfortunately, our second line couldn't do much, and instead allowed a second Brothers goal on a sweet centering pass that was deflected past helpless Dan the Goalie.

2-0 Brothers.

The third line had just begun their shift, when one of their skaters headed towards the bench screaming "wing wing wing wing!" some 30 seconds after he had taken to the ice. Confused by the short shift, none of my line moved, until Coach Joe yelled "get out there!" and I was the first one up. As I hit the ice, the guy who came off screamed something and threw his stick, apparently injured.
 
I skated out to catch up with the play, which was decidedly in the Brothers' favor. They'd set up camp in our zone again, putting Dan the Goalie under siege. We managed to chip the puck out once, at which point my two linemates joined me. I had already been on the ice for a minute or so, so it was a "NICE OF YOU GUYS TO SHOW UP" kind of feeling.

The siege continued, as everything seemed to go wrong again: chips up the wall were knocked down, pucks were within inches of the blueline but stayed in, and the Brothers got to every loose puck. As a group, we were gassed; we looked like NHLers at then end of the fourth overtime of a playoff game.

But we still couldn't get the puck out, until finally, mercifully, the puck slipped to Dan the Goalie and he covered it. We were out there for what seemed like an eternity, but we didn't allow a goal.

We were the guys inside the castle :((((((((((((

As we hit the bench, Coach Joe was none too pleased. "Guys," he said, with a tone that was a mixture of imploring and scolding, "if you're tired, ice it. Get it out. Don't get fancy, don't get cute, just send it out. Take the whistle and get off the ice. As we get tired, we get more out of position, and all of a sudden there are five guys on one side of the ice. If you're tired, clear it and get off. Simple."

I decided he was probably right, because I could barely stand at the end of our shift. I'm usually pretty bent at the ankles anyways, so on this shift my ankles were probably parallel to the ice. Yikes.

Our line took the second shift in the third period, hoping to get on the board. We had a few sojourns into the neutral zone, but every time we got out, the puck came back in. After about a minute, the Brothers controlled the puck in our zone. As the puck went into the corner, I went in after it, when a whistle went off.

"ARIGHT, that's it, I'm takin' both of ya," said the ref. "I got you and dark blue, two each, let's go."

He led the baffled skaters to the penalty boxes, and sat them down: two minutes each for roughing/cross checking/generally being too physical in a mens' league game. Weird.

Our penalized player was one of our better skating defenseman, so we struggled to clear the puck. However, we managed to keep our head above the water, and even take a few strides towards the other end. Hey, progress.

Towards the end of our shift, Speedy gained possession of the puck at our blueline, and I took off. I found a seam between the two defensemen and got behind them; Speedy saw me and tried to flip a pass up. It got by the first defenseman and was about three feet from my reach, when (story of the net) the last Brother between me and a breakaway nicked the puck with his stick and sent it skittering the other way.

I slammed my stick on the ice in frustration and wheeled around back to the bench, scoring chance foiled.

"Frustrating" was pretty much the word of the evening.

As I was sitting on the bench, one of the referees was standing on the blue line in front of me. He kept turning around and looking above my head, and I started to wonder if there was a leak in the ceiling or if he was just really interested in who had scored 100 career points at UMass-Boston.

"Ya stick's taped the wrong way," he finally said to me.

"...what?" I said, caught off-guard.

"Ya tape is goin' the wrong way," he said. "Ya supposed to tape it heel to toe. Ya did it backwards."

I looked to my left and right to see if he was talking to anyone other than me, but it was just me. Clearly this must have been because I'm a burgeoning superstar and he just wanted to bring me down.

"Uh...no, I'm good," I said.

"Ya got it backwards, the puck runs better the other way," he said, eventually skating away.

I didn't want to get into the merits of stick tape with this men's league ref, but I would've explained to him that taping it toe to heel means the puck, which runs up the stick blade, won't run into the overlapping layers of tape and pull on any of them or bounce off. Thanks, YouTube.

After my bizarre tape lesson, the theme of "frustration" continued on our next shift. I again gained possession of the puck and had some space, so I skated towards our defensive blue line. The Brother at the point hesitated, so I took the opportunity to chip it off the wall. Had it gotten by him, I would've had a 2-on-1, as Speedy was already near the red line.

I got the puck off and it got past him; he reached out in a desperation stab at the puck and somehow got a piece of it, just enough to knock me off my stride and put the puck out of reach. Had I been a better skater, I could've pivoted, turned, corralled the puck and kept going, but hey, I still can't stop.

Same thing: frustratingly close to getting a break.

Every time I tried to make a play...

Towards the end of that shift, the Brothers set up in our zone, and the puck slid back to the point. I skated towards the Brother as Coach Joe had instructed, only this time he was readying for a shot. I put my legs together and went into glide mode, and the Brother fired.

THWACK! Right off the hard plastic shin guards and onto the half-wall, unfortunately not going straight back where I could've raced after it.

"Whoa, my bad, man," said the Brother as we glided past each other after the block. "You alright?"

"Yeah man," I said with a laugh. "Don't be sorry, I'm the one who stood there."

When we headed back to the bench, Coach Joe told us that there each line was taking 90 seconds, and that our next shift would be our last of the night.

We managed to dump the puck into their zone as we took to the ice, and established possession for the first time on the night. Speedy got the puck near the circle and threw a shot on goal that surprised the Brothers' goalie; he still stopped it, however, and the puck went into the corner. Speedy beat his defenseman to the loose puck, and I camped out at the top of the crease with a defenseman on my back.

Speedy gathered the puck and wheeled it back towards the crease, and I was in perfect position to take a whack at it.

You know how this is going to end.

The puck beat the first defenseman and was about two feet from my stick when it got knocked aside by the last Brother line of defenseman, sliding harmlessly to the corner.

As I skated to the bench after that shift, I booted the boards angrily. It was that kind of night: decent chances, but always interference at the last minute.

The horn sounded, and we lost 2-0. Coach Joe told us we played a good game, and he was right: we cut the goal differential down by 3, going from a 5-0 loss to a 2-0 loss. Hey, that means if we play them in a month, we should win by one, right?

Right?