It started off as slow. A little interest here, some research there. Now, it’s the only thing I can think about. I don’t know exactly what triggered this new found love for the sport of hockey, but now I almost feel as though it was always somewhere deep down inside.
When dating my ex-boyfriend I tried to suppress the feeling for the sport. I would watch out of the corner of my eye; attempting to keep them glued to whatever drama was on my computer screen, but then something would happen. Those boys in blue would start racking up the goals, or their hits would rattle the boards, and I would get drawn in. While I was never intrigued enough to really do any research into the game, I started to ask more questions. I soon found myself paying no attention to the show on I’d idly put on my computer; the lid slowly closing until I was immersed in the game.
Throughout our relationship, I would roll my eyes whenever he would turn the game on. Pretending to have no interest at all. Then I was suddenly playing Proline. It felt good to believe in something (even if Toronto did lose the majority of the time). I clung to a specific player, Ponikarovsky. We both had Ukrainian lineage, and considering that was the only thing I had in common with any of the players, he stuck. I bought his jersey and began attending games.
Being at a live hockey game is a great experience. While I have only ever seen the Leafs win once at the ACC (when Gustavsson got his first shut out in the NHL) the atmosphere is unlike anything else. Everyone in the place (other then those guys who sit in their suits on their Blackberrys the whole time, but even they must raise an eye or a fist once in a while. It seems impossible to completely ignore the sport when it’s right in front of you). The roar of the crowd, chanting GO LEAFS GO! Tentative at first, but once a puck hit the net of whatever opposing team was in the ACC at the time, cheers and people on their feet. Electricity flows through that place. I can’t even imagine what it must be like to be a player. When they lose, the feeling is different, but that electricity still lingers. Crowds already looking toward the next game, hoping that they are going to do better next time.
After my ex and I split, I still followed what was going on, but would only watch a game during commercials. (That Thursday night game slot, also happens to be when Grey’s Anatomy and Private Practice are on. I’m a girl, I can’t help it). What I did notice, was I would flick to the game during a commercial, and wind up missing half of that Grey’s Anatomy episode. I was clearly still drawn to the game, but decided to pay attention to other things instead.
The obsession began to take hold this season. (It could have had something to do with the fact that the Leafs won their first four games. Then again, I was at the game when that streak ended, and the Leafs wound up losing eleven of their next twelve games) I knew enough about the game to hold my own in a conversation, (or so I thought, now I’m thinking I probably just looked like an idiot when I was making my predictions) and I could name drop, but I missed something fundamental. There was enough interest in the sport, and I attempted to watch every Leafs game. That sprouted into visiting the Leafs website everyday, reading up on the players, and what to expect for their next game, which then turned into reading blogs, etc, etc.
Still... something was missing.
When I was a young girl, I watched The Mighty Ducks and immediately after seeing it, I wanted to play. I was probably around nine years old, and my father knew nothing about the sport. Who to contact? What equipment I would need? Where I could play? He said no. Which at the time I was rather pissed off about. I sulked for about a month, and then thought I got over it. Now, the fact that they let my brother play when he was old enough did frustrate me quite a bit, but that’s another story.
I never played. Occasionally, I would play street or ball hockey, but never anything serious. I will always remember one summer, while working at a camp, we set up a ball hockey game; it felt like something just clicked (I didn’t act on this until much later). I figure, because I had never played the game before, there was still a barrier between the sport and I.
That barrier has since been broken.
My father built a rink in my backyard this winter, and this has since opened me up to the game even more. I went out, bought a pair of used Grapfs, a stick and a pair of gloves. All during my winter break, I could be found in the backyard ripping up the rink. I have been an avid rollerblader all my life, and even though I was a little shaky at first, in no time I was skating as though I had been my whole life. As soon as I had that stick in my hand, I knew that this was something I was meant to do. As I am writing this, I realize that sounds extremely cliché. I ask myself a lot of questions, like “why didn’t I try this before?” I am almost twenty-one years old, and most people I know have been playing hockey since they could stand. People will probably laugh at my ass if I try to play anywhere other then my backyard; but here’s the thing. I don’t care.
Being back at school, without that rink in my backyard is probably the weirdest feeling ever. I miss it. Already. And I have only been back at school for two days. I know as soon as winter is over, I am going to feel as though there is a gaping hole where stick handling, and going top shelf used to be.
I want more. This summer, I am going to a skills clinic. I don’t care if I’m twenty and the rest of the people there are twelve. This is something I want to do; need to do. I love it, and no one can take that away from me. Even if they do laugh.
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