Hockey

As you get older, your facilities are definitely compromised. I know this is a harsh statement and there will be some people in self-denial that will disagree. But, hear me out, I have proof.


This fall, my son decided that he wanted to try ice hockey. If you've read previous articles, you know that he plays dek hockey and over the past few seasons, he gotten very good. For some reason (maybe I had a little influence (with the uncertain economic times, I thought adding a backup plan of him in professional hockey was a sound financial decision.) in his decision.) he decided to try ice hockey. He'd never really ice skated and I hadn't since college.


So, we got some skates and and hit the ice. After a couple of sessions he found his balance and went from holding the boards to gliding along the ice. The next step was getting his gear.


As a parent, this was a complete shock. I'd watched him grow taller and add weight for 12 years, but with all the pads on at once, he morphed into a teenager in 10 minutes. Now, he was almost as tall as me. This also led to a short burst of “feeling his oats.” (As a father, I felt a small twinge of guilt when he fell, but he started it by calling me “old man.” and gravity had a definite part in the whole thing. Besides, he needed to learn that hockey is a rough sport...)


His first game was a little shaky as he took it all in. His second game he scored two goals and was a convert. To let you know how thoroughly bitten he was, after his first practice he was still raring to play (Anyone that knows a pre-teenager knows exactly how close to an unmovable lump they are. Anything that approaches actual work can cause them to react with hissing and spitting followed by dramatics that would make Shakespeare jealous.)


How does all this lead to proof of advance senility as you get older? I'm glad you asked. As we worked and practiced, I remembered how much fun I had as youngster playing hockey. Living in Pennsylvania, there are a remarkable number of adult leagues. I made the innocent comment to my wife that I was thinking about playing.


I made this comment right before Christmas. A day after Christmas, I had all the equipment a middle-aged man would need to play hockey. Up to this point, there hadn't been any real doubts about playing. Then I got home and laid out all the equipment. Here's where I ran into the first doubts... In the store I tried on each piece. But faced with the mountain of stuff, I was concerned.


Twenty minutes and a minor stroke stroke later, I had it all on. Now, for an intelligent adult that fully understood his limitations, this should have been the end of my hockey career.


A few days later found me at the local ice arena with a group of like minded minded adults (By a group, I mean me. By like minded, I mean mentally unstable) getting on the ice with a group of mostly college kids. (For anyone planning on this type of mid-life crisis, when the locker room has bags from Penn State, it's probably a good bet that the game is not going to end well.)


The one saving grace was the game was at 10 PM on a Monday. If my memories of college were correct, the college kids were more than likely drunk, so there was still a chance I'd survive. In the adult league, there's no checking, so I probably wouldn't break a hip.


My first shift started well. I made it over the wall (real hockey players do not use the doors.) and didn't fall. Twenty seconds later, I was ready for a break. Thirty-five seconds later I was seeing spots. My second shift I still made it over the wall again. But this time I hadn't taken into account my stick, but I still landed on my feet. I was ready for the spots this time and if I squinted my eyes just right, I could ignore most of the double visions.


For my third shift, I remember to take into account my stick as I climbed over the wall. But this time, I forgot I was wearing skates (Honestly, by this time, my body was starting to shut down. I think my brain was officially not talking to me out of sheer disgust.)


Ninety minutes later the game was over and I was still standing. (The boards deserve a lot of the credit for that.) and we all skated off.



Now, here's the proof that age leads to insanity... My first question in the locker room was, “When's the next game?”