Four-Man Disadvantage

Last night, I made my debut on the ice for the 2008-2009 hockey season by helping lead my old men’s league team, the King Williams, to its third defeat of the season. I missed the first couple games of the season due to what members of the blogosphere are calling “scheduling conflicts” and “a general malaise.” I was sure to be there last night though as we were taken down in a 4-2 battle of wits against that one team with the purple jerseys.

I am in arguably in the best shape I have ever been since coming out of semi-retirement last season to help my team almost win a game (but ultimately fail in the end) on several occasions. Even so, it was not enough to help my team score more goals than the 8 or 10 fat old guys who showed up last night to beat us in a game that was witnessed by roughly three or four people, most of whom appeared to work at the rink and/or be dating one of the players. I didn’t fall down for no apparent reason at any point in the game though, so I have high hopes for myself in the games to come. With further conditioning and practice, I think I might be able to give my 12 year-old self a run for his money in terms of being seriously good at hockey. Still, I think the 18 year-old me will likely always be able to skate circles around me in the alternate universe hockey league where I am able to play against versions of myself at various points in my life, a league that it is fair to say would be the most yelling and screaming-free league of all-time. Despite my overall joie de vivre and whatnot, I have somehow never had the sass or gumption to yell much at sporting events, even ones that I am physically participating in. Maybe I am missing a chromosome or something, the one that helps you get worked up about things in a vocal manner.

Of particular excitement last night was the fact that earlier in the day I bought a new helmet, perhaps the first new helmet I’ve had since the ‘80’s or so. This one fits too. It’s not easy to find a helmet, hat, or headgear of any sort that fits my oversized Irish skull, but somehow the young kid named Billy at Paragon sports made it happen yesterday. Where was he when I was fourteen and circling the ice with a near-blinding headache? Maybe things could have been different and I would have acheived my NHL dreams. I guess I’ll never really know for sure.

Now I am back up in my apartment, slightly sore and dealing with the stench emanating from a bag full of sweaty hockey equipment. It’s not easy being 1/4 Canadian. But I wouldn’t change a thing (except for maybe the big head syndrome. It would be nice to wear a cool hat every once in a while).

Dave Hill