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I heart hockey because …

August 9, 2012 by 11 Comments

By Nicko

From the past few weeks, in no particular order:

1. Tonight (Thursday night) at the Icehouse. Mustangs v Ice (Mustangs home game). A few rookies somehow get hold of the “Spotlight Room”, AKA the VIP Balcony. Hilarity ensues.

The Four Horsemen of the Mustang Apocalypse. Full respect.

Mostly, we’re in awe when we look down and see four Mustangs fans wearing their jersey with the names: “War”, “Death”, “Pestilence” and “Famine”.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Rookies unite in a gasp of Whoaaaaaaaa!

A little later, I wander into the bar and chat with a Mustangs fan who is also a Red Wing. He’s impressed by my prized signed Lidstrom jersey. It’s only when I go down for a coffee later in the second period that I see him again, glass-side,and realise I had been chatting with Death.

So I chat with Death some more. He explains that they’d wanted to get “Ice Suck” as their names on the back of the jerseys but the Mustangs president had frowned and shifted in his seat and said no, we don’t want to offend the Ice. Death and I agree, in hockey parlance, that’s kind of soft.

Anyway, there were four of them wanting jerseys, somebody had the brilliant idea … the Mustangs president frowned, shifted in his seat … “I’m not sure we can put ‘Death’ as the name on a Mustangs jersey …”

Thankfully, he lost the argument and the horsemen ride. Respect.

Just then, a Mustang rush happens right in front of us, the puck beating Denman and finding the top corner.

The orange fans go wild and I learn another valuable life lesson: Never chat to Death mid-game. It can only go badly for your team.

I go back to the balcony and the Ice dominate from that moment. Lliam scores a couple of scorching goals. Army drives home a bullet. Jason Baclig is back from injury and firing. 6-1 to my team.

Death and I shake hands after the buzzer. War stops by to say hello. We head our separate ways into the night. I love Thursday evening AIHL games.

 

2.    Oakleigh rink. A Friday night. Freezing, foggy, dilapidated, wonderful. Intermediate class in full swing, apart from me, still on the Ice from intro. Alongside me, Martin Kutek, Melbourne Ice defender, is sliding across the Oakleigh ice with both arms outstretched, pretending he’s an aeroplane … the idea being to lean your body and find an outside edge. This is my homework … I’m four years old again. I love it.

 3. A Wednesday at the Icehouse. I’m skating along, in the Intermediate warm-up, tapping a puck along.

Rookies invade the balcony for the Mustangs game.

Suddenly, my puck is gone. Ice star Lliam Webster has magically appeared to my right, controlling a puck.

The following exchange takes place:
Lliam: “What happened to your puck, huh? What happened to your puck?”
Me: “What happened to your face?”

Do AFL stars coach midweek and have exchanges like that? I doubt it. I’m five years old again. I love it.

4. Dev League and I’m gliding through the defensive blue line, concentrating hard, past the opposition bench. My legs are splayed apart, camped on my inside edges: my bloody annoying bad habit when gliding.

On the opposition bench, a player who shall remain nameless goes to yell: “Hey Place, my girlfriend can’t spread her legs that wide!”

But then decides such a sledge would be uncouth, and not befitting the noble, fine game of hockey where nobody ever cusses or cracks an inappropriate joke.

Plus his girlfriend, Tamara Bird, would kill him if she found out.

We’re teenagers again. I love it.

5. Watching the film, “Goon”. Crazy violent but funny.

Goon: crude but funny.

One scene:

Film’s hero gets called into the manager’s office.
The manager: “My brother has a team up in Halifax …”

(Jump cut to:)
A hockey locker-room, post game, with a bunch of bedraggled looking hockey players sitting around. In the middle of the floor stands a manager, hands on hips. Angry.
Halifax manager: “You know why you’re losing? BECAUSE YOU’RE SHIT!”

(Jump cut back to the manager’s office.)
The manager (still talking): “…Anyway, he has this player …”

“You now why you’re losing …?” becomes an instant catchcry in the Place household, right alongside “I’m so sorry I broke your rule, giant bat.”

6. Dev League. A backhand shot of mine finds its way through a forest of sticks and legs and skates, pings off the inside of the goalpost, Nate the keeper unsighted and beaten. Stays out. So close.

Later, the puck is at my feet and the goal is half a metre away but there’s no way through the sticks and Nate’s padding. So close.

Later, Big Cat pings a hard shot at a gap, it rebounds, I’m there but my shot catches a deflection and ends in the side netting of the goal. So close.

We lose by a goal.

7. The Red Wings yet again prove themselves a team to love by officially signing draft pick Tomas Jurco to an entry level three-year contract, which means he will play in the feeder team, Grand Rapids, this season, and is a strong chance to make his debut for Detroit.

Big Cat and I have been following Jurco since he was a kid and his mad skills showed up on youTube way before he was drafted by Detroit. Big Cat was slightly deflated when he discovered there is only one day in age difference between them. Jurco, having been playing for a little longer than my boy, can do things like this:

8. A puck spills loose down the boards. Miraculously I am closest to it, defenders all going the wrong way. I turn, I skate hard, I almost get the shot at goal in before I’m mown down by faster skaters, back-checking.

How not to skate: Flatfoot Place strikes again – this is an extreme example of the bad habit I am working desperately to break. (Slowly getting there. Slowly)

I curse. It sits with me. In the rooms, a teammate says breezily: “You need to learn to skate faster.”

I take deep breaths. This is something I am aware of.

I get home by midnight and, as usual, can’t sleep before about 2 am. Something is gnawing at me but won’t quite come to front of lobe.

In the morning, I wake and it is there: In starting that breakaway, chasing the loose puck, I didn’t crossover or attempt a tight turn. No, I  turned, slowly, creakily, on both feet. I didn’t put a foot forward for a fast outside edge turn, or crossover to grab speed as I turned and chased the puck. I lost metres in that lack of manoeuvring, right at the start of my attack.

In class, or general skates, I can now mostly do crossovers, and tight turns, especially anti-clockwise.

But they’re still not instinctive, and that’s a problem.

Eyes only for an escaped puck and a free run to the goalie, these moves do not happen, are not my muscle-memory way to grab the speed I need. Or short steps, or whatever else would have helped.

A good realisation. Something I can work on. Interesting. Notes to self …

9. It’s now late on a Thursday night and the hockey week isn’t even close to over. Tomorrow night is NLHA training at Oakleigh; direct, meaningful drills and maybe a little philosophy with Joey Hughes. Then an Ice game on Saturday. (And one on Sunday, but I have footy.)

And so my hockey world continues to spin in its orbit. What’s not to like?

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Mortality, old dogs and hockey players

August 7, 2012 by 1 Comment

By Nicko

Fly Dog The Magnificent just briefly woke. She’s curled up on her bed, to the right of my desk. Waking involved staggering to her feet, blinking at me through a tangle of blonde fur, turning in a 360 or two and then settling back down, with a contented groan. Along the way, I could see her dodgy back leg was a little stiff, slightly favoured on the turns. Now, she’s gently snoring.

Sleepy Fly Dog submits to photo, in return for tummy rub.

I can see her ageing, my beautiful pooch. That’s the thing with pets (apart from maybe a turtle or a cockatoo – which, sadly, I can’t condone because they should be wild); they age even faster than us humans. I’ve long believed the most important function of a good cat or dog is to a) give kids unconditional love without judgement or complaint, and b) to die. Because for most of us, facing the death of a loved one is bewildering and painful and, well, just enormous. I know it sounds grim but pets are pre-season training for children, for all the deaths to come.

Four decades into my journey, death and I are acquainted, more than I would like, but then again, where does that line begin or end? Both my parents remain alive, and my sister, my sons and those I would regard as my closest friends, so I really can’t complain.

The thing is, Fly Dog and I are old dogs together, which is a reality I live with yet have trouble accepting. It’s come to mind a lot lately.

Looking back, there have been so many incarnations of me. There was the son of a TV executive who literally grew up on the rehearsal stage of “CountDown“, getting TV into my blood. There was the schoolkid and the weekend dishpig and the teenager trying to surf, endlessly riding a Repco prototype of a single speed bike around the coast, living in imaginary worlds, which much later would turn into novel-writing. There was the runner (cross-country and 800m/1500 m), the schoolboy footy player (wide-running left-footed wing), there was the casual tennis player and golfer and indoor cricketer, and boxer (not competitive), and triathlete (once – fun, though), and scuba diver, and mountain-biker, and … I’ve probably forgotten others along the way.

There was the teenage journalist, and then the international sports reporter, and then the comedy writer, and the TV producer, and the magazine editor, and the film reviewer, and the short film writer and the wannabe novelist and then, shit, the actual novelist, and the media company director, and the film festival founder, and … well others I’ve probably forgotten.

There were friendships that ruled my world then drifted away, or others that have broken for reasons nobody could control. Other friends who have risen or returned. Ones I still hope will come back. Losses, and gains, through the years.

There is the close-up magician (amateur but wildly enthusiastic) and the unlikely scientific research assistant on Project Manta, and the successful husband, then the unsuccessful husband, and the often unsuccessful boyfriend, and now the French language student, and, of course, the hockey player.

The point of this? Only that I was confronted by a significant birthday on the weekend (not mine) and it made me reflect on how much and varied ground I have covered. People say to me, wow, you’ve done so many things, but it could equally be said that I haven’t been able to do what others do: one or two things extremely well.

The latest incarnation: Old Dog Nicko in something resembling flight.

Right now, my obsession is hockey and I finally feel that I’m reaching a level that is competitive at the range of competition available to me. No, I do not think for a second that the journey is close to the end – video of a game on Friday showed my ponderous, straight-legged, inside-edge-heavy skating yet again, goddamnit. I know that I still have a million things to learn.

But mostly, there is the realisation that I can only go so far in hockey. I’m deep into my forties.

The fact is I am not my sons, and I’m jealous as hell.

I am not The Artist Formerly Known as Kittens Place, now known as Big Cat, or his brother, Mackquist von Wookie. Less than two decades each on Earth, barely shaving, and therefore with years, decades, to push themselves, to improve, to see how far up the hockey divisions they can climb.

I do not have their youth and balance and natural energy and strength, to improve and to push and to be fast and to pick up difficult balancing acts on skates, such as transitions. To look back at 35 and laugh about how crap they briefly were as a teenage skater …

Yes, I have some old dog tricks, learned over many years and many sports and many life lessons, and happily I don’t think I’m in bad shape for somebody of my vintage. In fact, I feel better than ever, physically, and bless that fitness and energy every day.

And best of all, the idea of playing Dev League or maybe Summer League forever appeals to me. I don’t need to be a Premier A player to feel good about myself. Being a hard-working, decent player in a Summer League team, playing with my mates? Heaven. Give me that, please, for as long as my legs can stand it.

I just hope I have enough juice in my old dog body to keep learning, to keep improving, to be the best that I can be. Until I’m not. And I can’t anymore.

At which point, I wonder what incarnations are still out there, waiting for me? What, if anything, is my next blog? Nickdoeslawnbowls? Nickdoesarealjob? Nickdoestrugo?

I groan. I lift my weary body, recovering from a weekend of hockey, plus footy on a muddy track and in a stiff breeze, from my chair for a meeting. I need a fourth coffee. But then I think of former Red Wings, like Vladimir Konstantinov, a brilliant defenceman until a limo crash days after the 1997 Stanley Cup win that left him brain-damaged and unable to play again. Or Ruslan Salei, a victim of last year’s Locotomotiv plane crash disaster. RIP. None of us know how long we have got on the ice.

Maybe I’m going okay, after all.

I tickle Fly Dog under her ear and she sleepily lifts a big floppy paw to give greater access to her belly, which I rub. She groans again, an old dog groan, and I smile an old dog smile. She and I have a few trails left to run together, before we’re done.

Worlds await. And deaths. And miracles. And adventures. And friendships. And disappointments. Hopefully lots of hockey.

It’s called living.

I try not to wake Fly Dog as I leave the room.

Filed Under: Ice hockey Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

Guest writer (origin story): Chris Hodson

August 6, 2012 by Leave a Comment

WORLD EXCLUSIVE:

Today’s guest writer is Chris Hodson, combining his own personal origin story with a strong description of how damn awesome it is to be on the ice. For some reason, Chris and I rarely end up on the same team in Dev League or in other potential situations, which bites because a) I really like being teammates with him, and b) he can really play, so is a good guy to have onside.

A Song of Ice and Fire

Chris Hodson in flight. Pic: Jason Bajada

By Chris Hodson

Silence. Tension. The moment stretches out for almost an eternity. Everything else melts away. The puck drops – it’s on.

You chase the puck down, the world rapidly contracts to contain only you and your opponent, the scrape of his/her skates behind you a reminder that they’re but a single stride away, their stick biting at your heels. The pure exhilaration of the contest, the desperate battle to come out on top, the intensity, the fire of the moment – these are some of the things that hockey means to me.

Like many hockey players here in Australia, my interest in hockey had its beginnings in the 90s, when the Mighty Ducks movies hit our shores. At this time, being maybe nine years old, I somehow convinced my mother to drive me out to Oakleigh, where we sat half-frozen, and watched several games in a row. I remember two things from that night – hockey was fast, and ice rinks were cold.

After that evening, nothing happened on the hockey front for many years, until I somehow obtained a copy of NHL ’98 on the PC. I booted it up and played as the Mighty Ducks (of course!), but I recall that the season schedule always involved an early game against the Calgary Flames, where the AI-controlled Theoren Fleury would consistently put pucks past my hapless goalie. When I first explored the NHL years later, I discovered that the Mighty Ducks were now just the Ducks, and wore drab black jerseys. Bah! Boyhood dreams shattered! Calgary was the only other team I remembered, and so they were the natural choice for a team to support. And I’m pretty Flames-crazy now… But I’m getting ahead of myself here.

I used to be quite the sportsman when I was younger – tennis year round, with cricket and footy filling out the other free day on the weekend – but this was unsustainable for me through the final years of high school. I focused on my studies, and I did miss my sport, though at the time I didn’t realise how much.

When I finally decided that I needed to get back into something, anything, I was faced with a bit of a dilemma. The guys my age now had several years of experience on me, not even considering the deterioration of my own skills over that time. This led me to consider pursuing something new. Enter the Icehouse – the final coat of paint barely dry, ice freshly frozen.

I decided what the hell, let’s go totally left field and sign up for some skating lessons. Could be fun.  Could be disastrous… As it turns out, I was hooked after a mere 60 minutes on the ice.

I’m proud to say that I’ve done an Icehouse program every single term since it opened over two years ago (except one, where the popularity really spiked and all the classes were full – I just general skated instead and ruefully watched my class happening without me from the other rink), beginning with Aussie Skates 1, 2 and 3; two Intro Hockey classes; one Intermediate and one 5-day intensive over Christmas; and four Development League terms. And it’s been a blast!

Now I’m not the most nimble or co-ordinated of folk (far from it, in fact), and, as some of you may know, skating is not very forgiving when it comes to the lack of these sorts of traits. So what I did was buy myself a pair of $15 rollerblades from Cash Converters, and skated for about two hours a day at the local netball courts.

The day that I bought the skates, it was raining, but I could not wait another instant to try them out. So I went and skated in the rain. I strode very gingerly away from the fence, managed to roll to the centre of the court, stop, fall down in a comical fashion, and fail to get back up. To the great mirth of any onlookers.

But after much perseverance, this became the scene of success – forward and backward crossovers were learnt here (although with a complete lack of “hockey stance,” or knee-bend :P), and many sessions extended past sundown. These were some of my favourite sessions, skating alone through the dying embers of evening into the cool of the night.

My love for hockey is rooted in my love for skating. There’s nothing like it. Going far faster under your own power than nature ever intended you to go, coupled with the carving of skates and the spray of ice – bliss.

Hodson: natural born goalscorer.

When the Icehouse initiated “Skate all Day!”, I went and did just that, chalking up 8 continuous hours on the ice.  Even during my Masters exams, I was there for my hockey class – literally the only time I left my study-cave, barring actually going to my exams. Once I passed through those doors and strapped on my skates, nothing else mattered, there was no world outside of the rink, no troubles other than how to deke that defenseman into next week. As soon as you hit the ice, you slam those engines into afterburner and never look back.

One particular semester, early on in my hockey development, I had an irritatingly large gap in my uni classes on Tuesdays. As luck would have it, it synchronised with a session at the icehouse – naturally, I headed down, and almost broke into hysterics – there was no one else there when I arrived. My jaw hit the floor – all that ice was for me? I have never lost this feeling of giddiness when it comes to ice, my heart rate still increases measurably on the short walk from the carpark to the front door of the rink.

And then there’s hockey on top of all this. For me it’s like going to war. You strap on your armour. You unsheathe your sword. You and your fellow warriors stand as one to face the opposing legions. Especially at the development level, I’m certain it’s just as hectic/disorganised as a real battle would be anyway!

But after the battles have been waged and wars have been won and lost, there’s the flagon of beer/chocolate milk shared amongst friends at yonder tavern/7-11. These people share my fiery passion for the ice. I’m privileged to be a part of a rapidly growing hockey community here in Melbourne that’s forcing the existing status quo to undergo radical change. The most exciting part is being part of the change, and seeing our own hand present and prominent in the forging of hockey’s identity and place in Melbourne and Australia.

Others sometimes gawk and gasp at the revelation that we play ice hockey here, or perhaps cringe at the description of our latest hockey injury. Sometimes they say “But hockey is crazy! You’re crazy!” or “What? Hockey againtonight?” – I just reply with a cheeky grin, and tell them yep, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Chris, face to face with goalie Jay Hellis. Pic: Jason Bajada.

Filed Under: Ice hockey Tagged With: , , ,

Guest writer: Liam Patrick – the unlikely sequel

August 3, 2012 by Leave a Comment

In the change-room on Wednesday night, Liam and I were yarning and he said he had thought about writing his “origin story” for this blog, except that, basically, it would read: “I watched hockey.  I loved it.  I decided to play as it looked awesome. The end.”

We laughed and I said he should do it, and right then Lliam Webster skated in (well, he was walking, given we were in the change-room, but he was wearing skates, so which term is correct?) and said: “Who wants to have a crack at being a goalie in the 11.15 dev league?”

We all stared, tried to face down the Webster challenge-stare, failed and Liam Patrick said: “I’ll do it.”

Moments later, he was on all fours, with about-to-leave goalie Lee strapping something around somewhere in Liam’s nether regions, and I just couldn’t think of a single joke. Instead, I just said: “If you’re going to do this, I demand a blog.” And here it is …

Goalie for a day

By Liam Patrick
Deep down inside we all want to try it.  We know it will probably suck at times, you might get hurt and will definitely embarrass yourself when you’re inevitably the villain.  Wednesday, August 1st, I had the chance. With a brief hesitation I accepted.  I played in goals for 11:15 dev.

My goalie story starts as a 14 year old in Year 9.  Having never played field hockey before, I found I was somewhat serviceable in net (I did it because I thought the pads were cool, ok….).  Somehow I ended up picked for the Year 10 side that year and the Year 12 side the following three years.  Unfortunately I never got past training and internal school sports as a wide variety of things prevented me from actually playing and the team lost every year in the first round.  Not that I think I would have made a difference – I think our school simply sucked, hence why they lost and I looked semi-capable. But I did find myself enjoying being padded up.  Invincible.  The team’s white knight when all else failed.  Making a miracle save (anything I had to move to stop was a miracle).  It was fun.  I also played goalie in lacrosse and soccer in my time at school.

Funnily enough, when I first came to hockey (note I’m referring to it as hockey not ice hockey) the thought did flash across my mind: “Could I play in goals here too?”.   Then I saw the prices. “Yeah, think I’ll be right being one of those skating around dudes”.  I learned hanging shit on goalies is socially acceptable (hanging shit is one of my three life skills, along with singing out of tune and being able to drive a manual and balance a Maccas coffee whilst “under the weather”).  I was always open about the fact though that if there were spare pads and people wanting to shoot pucks, I would love to just give it a go.

Then it happened.

10 pm dev was over.  Another successful night for the reds.  Rocky Balboa (aka Place, N) and Apollo Creed (Patrick, L) had partnered well again (Nicko is fast becoming a greater passer of the puck in the neutral zone to set up a rush into offence where he busts a gut looking for a pass or rebound.  He is starting to become the general – setting up the plays and hopefully he will be the one to finish them too!)  The sledging from both of them was also as crisp as usual (especially towards Wayne “Village People” McBride).  The tired warriors made their way to the rooms.  Then the bearded one burst in the door “Who wants to goalie in the next game?  We have gear you can borrow”.  “Ummm ahhh, damn I have work tomorrow – fuck it, I’ll do it dude!” I replied.

Liam Patrick: leaking goalie to the stars.

Twenty minutes, some awkward positions and some funny responses as people saw me in goalie gear later, I was stumbling onto the ice.  Nicko doing his best paparazzi impersonation to capture the moment means I should have some momentos.  But basically I was shitting myself.  Suddenly everybody had a Chara-like shot. Oh, and great … down the other end was Coach Dave who in his spare time happens to be a Prem A goalie.  Great.

I skated down into the net for warm-ups – somewhat surprised I could stand up.  I didn’t do the whole “roughing” of the ice.  I squatted into what I thought was kind of a goalie stance.  Senior Rookie and all round nice guy Chris Hodson delivered my first shot which pinged off my pad.  I had just saved a puck.  Go me.  Can I leave now?

Warm ups continued.  I varied from stopping pucks to looking like a fool falling over.  Lee had smaller feet and the skates were beginning to bite but the rest of the gear was relatively comfy.  I got a few pointers from people as to how to use my catcher (which I was using more like a baseball mit and trying to catch like I would in the slip cordon at cricket).

Desperately I skated down to my opposing number (and technically my coach!) “Dave, help me man, give me the five minute master class”.  He stared back blankly until I explained: “I’ve never goalied before and have no idea what to do”.  I wish the next five minutes consisted of him turning me into Marty Broduer. Instead he suggested I try butterfly but then, upon testing it out and my yelp of pain, he said to just stand up and use my stick where I could so I didn’t hurt myself.  Great so now not only would everybody else be trying to hurt me, I could hurt myself – you goalies are insane!

I tentatively skated back to my net, thinking: “Well, here comes a seriously embarrassing period in my life.  If I stay below double digits I’ll have exceeded myself.  Actually if I don’t die I’m coming out ahead.  If my fellow rookies and friends still talk to me after this I’m doing really well.”

Then the puck dropped.

The red team rushed down, got to the top of the circle and fired a shot – it pinged off my blocker.  Awesome! I now have a save percentage!  Naturally the first goal came soon, although it was a nice move that I couldn’t even get a pad on and I wasn’t too embarrassed by it.  The next four goals, on the other hand, I did get a piece of and really should have stopped.  Unfortunately, two were really soft from the blue line that popped through the five hole.  Swallow me up, ice.  Swallow me up.  But I did save a few, stopped a penalty shot – well it pinged off the post but I had it covered … totally.  Lliam regularly chipped in with tips and encouragement for me which did help a lot and were very much appreciated.

We lost 5-2.  No double digits.  I was alive.  I had fun.  Happy days.

I was touched when the black team skated over to thank me as in all reality I probably cost them the game and spent most of the time apologising profusely.  I did however love the fact that not only did she physically push me through the bench to help get me into the change-rooms after I became tangled, but Georgia also wanted to know why I let in so many goals?  Nothing like some good sledging (and I genuinely mean that I love taking it as much as I love giving it)!

I also need to thank Lee for the loan of his gear!  Thanks, dude!

So how does the dark side compare?  Well I’d definitely do it again.  I got a whole new appreciation for what I should be doing as a D-man.  Finally I see why goalies get a tad cranky with passes in front of them.  I promise I’ll kind of try not to do it anymore, guys.  Will I go and drop $2000 on goalie gear? Probably not, my passion is still to hit the ice with my buddies as a D-man this summer (and undoubtedly pass in front of the net).

If you ever get the chance – give it a go.  It’s not that scary for the most part and you will learn heaps and have fun.

Now I’m just waiting for a call from Ray Shero to say they need me to fill in for Fleury and help lead the mighty Pens to the Stanley Cup…..

Filed Under: Ice hockey Tagged With: , ,

Guest writer: Jason Bajada

July 31, 2012 by 1 Comment

This is a cracking piece. Who knew a goalie could put words together? Turns out Jason Bajada is that guy. Welcome to life between the posts …

Stay out of my crease and we’ll stay friends

By Jason Bajada

I am a goalie.  And I love it.  And I hate it.  And I hate you all.  And you are my best mates.  And I love it.

Jason Bajada: feeling two metres wide. Pic: Wayne McBride

At any given time, none, some, or all of those feelings are true.  Would be true.  Have been and are true.  Tense doesn’t matter.

There is a common understanding amongst hockey people that goalies are weird.  I’m not going to try to explain why, but I will let you know what it is like being a goalie in a game – you can figure out if we are weird once you have read my story.  There is a lot of swearing in this, because I really don’t know how to efficiently express myself any better.  I understand the theory that “those who swear are less articulate, and therefore less intelligent, than others who do not”, to which I respond: fuck that.

When I am putting my gear on, I feel like I am two metres wide and I am invincible.  During the warm-ups, I concentrate so hard on every single shot coming in, I hold my breath until the last shot is made.  I wear myself out during the warm-ups because I am so wound up I can’t breathe.

And all I keep thinking to myself is that I am better than everyone else on the ice.  And I believe it with every fibre of my body, every hair on my head and every exploding neuron in my brain.  Actually, I don’t just believe it, I know it.  It is a fact, and now I get to prove it to you all.

And that is what I am thinking during warm-ups.  Because if I don’t, I can’t do my job.

And then the game starts, and the only thing I can see is the puck.  Nothing else matters.  Everything else fades into the background.  In my peripheral vision, I see the blur of players in their jerseys, and instantly calculate whether or not they are on my team, and how far away they are from playing the puck, and if they are in a position to put the puck on net, and whether or not it will be a strong shot or not.  And if they pick up the puck and start skating, I’m figuring out whether they are on their forehand or backhand, and whether or not their team-mates are moving into position to take a better shot, and whether my team-mates are moving into a position to help or hinder me.  And if the shot is taken, I work out the trajectory of the puck, and where it has come from, and whether to drop to the ice or not, or whether to stick my arm out or not, and where my stick is, and where the puck could go after I stop it, and whether or not I have the chance to ice the puck, or if I have to move to make a follow-up save from the rebound.

And that entire paragraph takes place in my world in less than a second.  And the next second, it might start again, or maybe it stops.  But I also have to work out whether or not I need to get up or not.  So the next second is always more complicated than the last, because I have to figure out how I am supposed to recover from the previous second.

Above and beyond all of that, every single second of the game I have decisions to make.  And I regret most of them.  I could have done something different, or better, or more efficiently.  Even when I do make a save, I am never satisfied with it.  The next save has to be better.  And I fucking hate that.

Nowhere to hide: Goalie life.

Then I stick a pad out and watch the puck deflect into the corner.  Or make a glove save as I am standing strong in the crease.  Or take the puck off my face and have it land at my feet, so I drop and cover it up.  I have conquered the desires of the opposition, and tamed to rage that fired that puck at me.  I destroyed the dream of the goal, and have forced them to re-think how they play the game.  I have beaten them, I am the victor.  In that second, I have just proven to everyone there that I am the best there is.

And I can’t think of anywhere else I would want to be.  And I love it.

The best part is when one of my team-mates sweeps out to the corner, corrals the puck I just deflected out there, clears it out of the defensive zone and creates a rush out of just one pass.  It is poetry in motion, and everything just flows together like it was meant to be.  The Hockey Gods have looked down on that piece of ice, stroked their beards wisely, and at that specific time, said to themselves, “Let’s make something magical happen.”

And it is at times like those that we are a brotherhood.  A sisterhood.  A hockeyhood.  Time stands still, and everything is easy.  And I love everyone in the building, along with all of those ancient hockey warriors who have fought on that piece of ice in years past.  Everyone should get to feel this, and I feel sorry for those who don’t know what they are missing out on.

But as quickly as it started, the moment is over.  The puck is back at my feet, and everyone – even the refs, it seems – is hacking away at it, forcing me to make save after save after save, never letting me take a breath to figure out what I need to do next.  I see my team-mates – that same hockeyhood from seconds ago – standing in the way of the puck so I can’t see it.  I watch the puck deflect off a team-mate and into the post.  I scream –  scream myself hoarse – at the player on my right to get the puck away from me.  It is within a metre of the goal line and I have no control of it.  It needs to leave, and it needs to leave NOW.  Just fucking move it.  Pass it.  Skate it.  I don’t care what you do, just MAKE IT GO AWAY.

NO!  DON’T PASS IT RIGHT ACROSS THE …

The puck is now behind me.  Players wearing the wrong colours are cheering and hugging each other.  And you are yelling at me.  Telling me I should have done better.  That I should have made that save.  Asking me sarcastically where the hell my stick was.  You make the biggest bone-headed play in the history of hockey, and it’s my fault we are now losing.

And I hate you.  I hate you and I want to hurt you.  I want to hurt you so much you will be scared to play again.  You were my team-mate, but after that play you don’t deserve to even share the ice with me.  I don’t care, I hate you.  Fuck off, and stay the fuck away from me before I rip your face off through that cage.

The very next shift, the centre wins the face-off, tears down the ice and goes top shelf blocker side to get that goal right back.  After the obligatory fist-bumps along the bench, he points his stick right at me and yells “That one’s for you, buddy”.

I am a goalie.  And I fucking love this game.

Filed Under: Ice hockey Tagged With: , , ,

Guest writer (Origin story): Aimee Hough

July 26, 2012 by Leave a Comment

The pocket rocket, the smiling assassin, the Christmas angel reveals the murderous thoughts underlying her appearance.Figure-skaters everywhere, relax.

“Smart alec man-child” … I got all emotional. In fact, I might get that put on my tombstone.

And for anybody who crosses her path, Hough is Hoff, as in cough, or maybe Hasselhoff. Woe betide those who get it wrong.

The rage behind Aimee Hough

By Aimee Hough

Aimee Hough yesterday.

Okay gang – I guess it’s my turn. My story; My adventure into the wonderful, thrilling, hilarious world that is hockey. The good and well… not so good; But I’ll get to that.

Alrighty. I have always been a team player. I have had sport sewn into every thread of the fabric I’d call my life. It was dancing and netball, but it was being part of the swimming club with my two older sisters, Jess and Kaitlyn that makes up most of my childhood memories. The Wednesday night training, the Sunday night time trials or spring interclub, where we would all pile into the bus and make the loud and laughter infused bus ride to MSAC at Albert Park where we would compete against surrounding clubs. Being the age that I was, would fall asleep on a close friend who, long story short, rescued me from bullies and has since become well…. Mine! This story is constantly remembered as we reminisce over the good old days (she says at 21 years of age). The point of this is the club environment. Engaging in a sport with people who make you feel accepted.

As I got older the amount of swimmers lessened as did the appeal of the club. Thus became a lull in my sporting activities. Netball and dance were always there, as was EVERY sporting event I could get involved in at high school but sadly it just didn’t feel the same. Enter the Icehouse. In 2010 I began Figure skating with Jess and Kaity. 8:45 Saturday morning on the ‘Bradbury Rink’ became our thing to do. We began with swivels, c-cuts and edgework. As we moved up in class we were given sew on patches… awesome *rolls eyes*. Months later I purchased my overpriced (and soon to be irrelevant) figure skates. Although soon after it dawned on me, as much as I loved skating, it just wasn’t enough. I’ve been dancing for as long as I can remember but even as we were taught in skating “arms up – point where you want to go” I was never completely satisfied. A year later, Jess decided to work/live in Canada for seven months: Insert Jess’s absence and Kaitlyn’s demise due to poor knees. This was it – I needed a change. Hockey: Here I come!

Little did the world know …

The first few weeks of intro were monotonous. Then gear, sticks and pucks came along. I’m sold!!! Not to mention the sarcastic antics, movie quotes and shenanigans that I held similar with the coaches, Army and Lliam.

Last September I travelled to Canada and was able to partake in the glorious moment of buying my own gear. The shine of ‘hire gear’ lost its appeal after the first time I put on the cold, wet disgrace that is the shared shoulder pads. When it came to purchasing gear, being small, finally became a benefit. I’ll take my junior $150, Bauer Vapor 3.0’s, any day. Yes, I may be constantly ridiculed for my less than normal sized gloves. The best one from the change room was “are they your gloves? I can hang them from my rear view mirror”…… hilarious…

Here comes the not so good part of my adventure. How many times have any of the males been mistaken for a figure skater?? None I’m guessing. Well for a female, it’s either a hit or miss. I took my skates to be sharpened, where the onset of separation anxiety set in. When I came to collect them the girl took some time. She then called for assistance. Heart rate heightening. They both returned asking what type of skates. I simply said “Bauers”. They both returned with skates in hand, huge smiles and the other guy laughing “that’s what you get for assuming”. This, happy readers, is the downside of being a woman in the hockey world, or as a “blonde Christmas tree angel” as Alex Mcnabb so kindly labelled me, or as my dad seems to think I resemble Lisa Simpson on the ice. I guess I can live with that.

Don’t be fooled. I may be a little blonde, but all I can say is ‘Bring it!’ (I’m looking at you Nicko Place). I like to think I can hold my own. I may be knocked down but watch me smile as I pick myself up and keep on skating. Especially after I’ve taken you down with me.

Since the first day in intro, I haven’t looked back. I’ve been given exactly what was missing and I’m reluctant to let it go now – A club. A family. I’ve met so many genuine people that I’m so happy to know. Yes including the smart alec man-child that is this blogs creator. I’ve been given people who (on more than one occasion) can appreciate a good movie quote… okay…more than one…okay, the entire script. But as long as I can make people smile, I’m happy.

Aimee (in white) about to take out a helpless Rookie.

Hockey has provided me with so much: Great group of people, car park hockey and the ‘trouble station’, general skate, jersey preferences, chilling at the pub – constantly, Goon, Miracle, Young Blood, Mighty Ducks (and allllll the quotes that accompany them), my first Oakleigh experience, Sponsorship, talking for hours – walking back to the car – to continue another hour of talking, ROOKIES, sharing gear when somebody needs it (regardless if it fits, so long as someone can participate), Melbourne Ice games,  the endless sound of Velcro and the unimaginable, yet unexplainable filth that is hockey smell, countless advice, ‘Recovery drinks’, shit stirring anyone and everyone that walks by – especially Army and Lliam, intro, 5 X intermediate, first ever Dev League, the upcoming Ice road trip, the Gala, Summer league and the promise of the future.

To those who’ve joined me on this Journey – Thank you.

Filed Under: Ice hockey Tagged With: , , , , , ,

Meanwhile, whatever happened to that Nicko guy?

July 24, 2012 by 7 Comments

By Nicko

The coldest place on Earth, certainly under an Australian flag, is reputed to be Ridge A, 14,000 metres high on the Antarctic Plateau. The average winter temperature on Ridge A is said to be minus 70 degrees, Celsius, although nobody has ever set foot there.

But I’d challenge the Australian and American scientists, who declared this finding in 2009, after exhaustive satellite probing and climate imaging. I’d say to them: Oh yeah? Try hanging out at the dilapidated Olympic ice rink, in Oakleigh South, deep in the Melburnian suburban tundra, during mid-winter.

That, my whitecoated friends, is fucking cold.

The magnificent if chilly Oakleigh rink.

Wearing four layers, a beanie and gloves, I pushed through the front door a few Fridays ago, ducking the straps of plastic presumably designed to stop some bizarre breed of Ice Age-ready mosquito, with my trusty Reebok stick in one hand, and my bag of gear over my shoulder. I was nervous. It was the second time that week I had strapped on my armour and skates and tested the Oakleigh ice. On the Wednesday night, some Rookie friends and I had hired the ice for a scrimmage, which was a blast, especially for those of us debuting on this particular rink, which is tiny – much smaller than the Henke Rink we’re used to – and has no glass, meaning to be boarded involves being jammed against a fence about waist high. Even better, down the end where an ageing Zamboni creaks out between sessions, the ice dips away and there are holes in the bottom of the boards, so that a puck might disappear in there, mid-battle.

Believe it or not, until the 2009 season, this was home to the Melbourne Ice and it is still the scene for many games of winter and summer season hockey every year. As the only surviving rink in Melbourne, outside of Docklands, there isn’t much choice. It’s actually magnificent in its decay and history and authenticity as the last of the suburban hockey rinks.

On this Friday, I was in Oakleigh to finally come face-to-face with the Cult of Joey.

A while ago, I wrote a blog about how I’d found myself in a hockey funk; feeling like I wasn’t improving, wasn’t pushing myself … basically it was a written rant to kick myself up the arse and work harder, which is what I did almost immediately after writing it.

But an unexpected result of that piece was that I was publicly “called out” on Facebook by Joey Hughes, a star of the Melbourne Ice, to let him train the funk out of me.

It was an unforeseen twist, not least because a) I hadn’t realized this blog was being read by a wider hockey community, including my coaches Lliam and Army, let alone Joey Hughes and his Ice-import coaching partner, Martin Kutek, and b) I had recently raised questions about the violence of Joey’s brother, Ice captain Vinnie’s in an Ice game.

Joey Hughes, in action for the Ice. Pic: Canberra Times

So Joey Facebooking that he challenged me to come to Oakleigh and lose my funk was a shock, yet I had to politely say thanks but no thanks, because I was on a novel deadline, travelling a lot and couldn’t find the time to commit. Joey was having none of that and so, finally, here I was, pushing through the door and watching the fog hang over the ice of this tiny rink.

A couple of hours later, after my first Intro session of Next Level hockey, I sat on the boards with Joey, for a genuine chat. It wasn’t quite so cold that your words froze in front of you so that you had to read what each other was saying, but it wasn’t far off. Put it this way, I had sat, in my armour, for an hour, during the Intermediate class that followed mine, fully intending to play Game Time scrimmage, but was so bone-core frozen, I eventually abandoned the idea. Plus everybody looked too skilled for me, so I decided to watch a scrimmage or two before poking my skate out there.

Joey could pass for Latin, or maybe native American, or Italian. He has dark eyes and hair and carries himself like a dancer, but with an intense, harder edge, which comes out on the ice where he is something of a warrior. According to the NLHA website, he has been skating at Oakleigh since he was 11 years old, just before he took off to North America to chase his hockey dream. He’s been a hockey player all that time, and now he’s back at the Olympic rink, training a new generation of players.

The local hockey community is small and very welcoming, but I feel there has been a shade of Us & Them over the past year or so, where you’re either an Icehouse skater or a member of what I laughingly call The Cult of Joey. Many of the Next Level Hockey devotees have an evangelistic loyalty to their coaches, Joey and Martin, along with Tony Theobold, Vinnie Hughes and no doubt others I don’t know about yet.

Any chance they get, Next Level students will tell you about the personal attention, how their skills have improved dramatically, how Oakleigh is where you become a really good hockey player …

I had no reason to doubt them, I just always felt a loyalty to Lliam and Army, and the other Icehouse coaches, who have patiently watched me stumbling around for a long time now. (I spoke to Lliam about it once, and he shrugged that it was great Joey was doing his thing, just turning out more and better hockey players, which was the whole point.)

Even so, I couldn’t afford to drive out to Oakleigh at least one night a week on top of my Icehouse commitments. Real life didn’t have a window that large, regardless of my worry that I would be left behind in terms of development.

And so I’d hear the Cult of Joey rave about Oakleigh, and wonder. Until now. On this Friday, I joined Intro and quickly had all my usual technical faults identified. Told to bend my knee to 90 degrees, while my non-skating foot was horizontally in front of me, I managed maybe 30 degrees, which had Joey skating along beside me, saying, “You gotta be kidding me?” and me giving him a colourful explanation of my age compared to his and where he could shove his deep knee bend. To which he laughed and explained why I simply have to bend my knees more, even though – like everybody – I totally thought I was already.

And so it went.

Part of the Next Level way is to drive its students to be better, to buy in, to forge together and commit. It’s definitely a more driven, different atmosphere to the Icehouse classes where Lliam and Army push us hard, but in a slightly more casual, shambolic way. Lliam’s description of how to fire a wrist-shot (which in his case, is a bullet) was along the lines of: “Look, I learned this at age four and I can’t really explain it, but it works, so do it like this.”

As you know by now, I love these classes and have improved more than I ever could have imagined over 18 months of training and lessons.

Talking to Joey, on the boards after my class, he explained that he had read my “funk” blog and felt a genuine desire to help. He said he read about a passionate rookie who’d hit a wall, and rode in to help if he could. Fresh eyes, is all he thought. Even as an elite international player, Joey said he benefits hugely from new ideas, new voices, different slants on the same technical or fitness issues. So he wanted me to come along and hear something new.

And he’s been totally right. Martin has already given me some amazing tips about outside edge work, everything Joey has said has been useful. It’s great.

And on Wednesdays, Lliam and Army have begun the long road of Intermediate classes again, with encouragement and enthusiasm for our improvement.

I’ve relaxed and can feel improvement happening, even in Dev League where I’ve been in the thick of things. We’re in good hands at both venues, and talking to Joey, just like Lliam, that’s the whole point. There’s an excitement about how many rookies are swelling the ranks of the playing numbers in Victoria; a genuine problem at Ice Hockey Victoria level of how the Hell to accommodate so many people who want ice time.

The Cult of Joey might exist in the enthusiasm of NLHA skaters, but not among the coaches. Joey and Lliam, as Victorian born and bred stars, are mutually enjoying the ride as hockey surges in Australia.

As am I, now savouring personal, friendly, expert teaching from so many Melbourne Ice stars, and with my rookie mates both encouraging me and hanging shit at me at every turn.

Life’s good and the funk is gone.

Filed Under: Ice hockey Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Guest writer (Origin story): Jack Hammet

July 23, 2012 by Leave a Comment

WORLD EXCLUSIVE

Today’s guest writer is Jack Hammet and I feel a need to explain how we came to know each other.

He’s more or less the same age as Will (AKA BIg Cat). In fact, Jack went to school with Will and his wider circle of mates, which is where I first heard about him. What I heard wasn’t always great. From all accounts, Jack was a little more wild than the others; more prepared to really push boundaries and potentially get into trouble. I’ve always been a big believer that teenagers should get into some trouble (ask my younger son, Mack – AKA Wookie, AKA Mackquist – for an account of The Ferret Incident sometime and you’ll hear an outstanding story of the kind of trouble kids should get into).

Teenagers should push things a bit, but not so much that you worry for them, that you’re scared. I heard rumours of this kid who played it harder and faster than the rest of the school crowd, and I’d seen guys like that in my generation, especially in journalism, where some cadets couldn’t handle the hard-drinking, hard-living, dick-swinging world that was daily papers. Some spun out badly and were alcoholics or fuck-ups by their mid-20s. Others swam on, survived and matured.

So, I finally got to meet Jack when I ventured down to the Icehouse. He and Big Cat had been skating most of the summer, in fact from the moment VCE exams ended, if not before. They were getting good as I literally staggered onto the ice, barely vertical.

And here’s the thing, this manchild instantly struck me as an outstanding person. I was ready for some punk Hellraiser (and he still loves that profile, as you will read between the lines below – he’s a happy Goon) but damn, if Jack, big bad Jack, wasn’t a man I could look in the eye and just know that he was a good one. He wasn’t always a genius – he hurt Will one day, needlessly slamming him during a Stick & Puck session – but he travelled for a while, then came back and you could see him growing into himself, losing the anger that (until the piece below) I had never understood, and had really only heard about.

Here we are,  a whole – what? 12 or 18 months later, and Jack is a lock for a leadership role in whichever team he lands on; he’s helping rookie defenders know where to position themselves, what not to do; he’s endlessly there for people.

Rock on, Jack, and thanks for this piece. It’s from the heart and honest and for that, respect.

Nicko

Does blood bounce on ice?

By Jack Hammet

I hate to start this on a depressing note but bear with me, it’s not all sad, and I think it’s important in explaining my story and unwavering love for hockey…

When I was 7, my mum was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was a long and hard road that unfortunately ended five years later with her passing away when I was about to hit 13. I never knew my dad and for a lot of my childhood it was just my mum and I. As you would expect, this formed a strong connection between us and she was my rock. When she passed away, everything changed for me. I found myself dealing with a step dad trying to drown his sorrows in beer (and doing well at it) and a little brother who was still far too young to look after himself. This left me, just entering my teenage years, trying to balance looking after my brother, school (which I hated) and the anger/confusion/sadness and everything else that resided within me as a result of my mum’s death.

“What? Who? Me?” Jack (standing) in his element.

But I feel in a lot of ways, that sport was my saviour. I know other people that have been through similar things and become drug dealers, criminals and all kinds of things and I honestly think that sport has kept me grounded and given me something to focus on and provided an outlet for all the anger I had.

(No more depressing stuff, I promise.)

I always loved sport and had played football (Aussie Rules) since I was old enough to run, I loved the contact and was always good at dropping (and sometimes injuring) other players. For this reason, I played full back. I played full back for the Fitzroy Lions for about eight years before I made the switch to basketball.

Immediately I missed the contact and got fouled out most games for my first season and occasionally ejected (kicked out of the stadium). In both basketball and football, I found myself getting in trouble due to fights. I went to a pretty rough school for most of high school and needed to be able to look after myself. I was pretty big in comparison to most people my age but decided I better learn how to fight anyway so I started doing MMA/ judo/ karate/ jujitsu/ boxing and a whole bunch of other fighting styles as well as my personal favourite, sporting brawls!

As those of you who have spent time with me will know, I like to have a laugh and do stupid shit but once the game starts, whatever that sport may be, I get much more serious! I’m not one to go looking for a fight but if people mess with my teammates, I’ll be coming for them. This attitude was appreciated by my teammates but not so much by refs, parents etc… Due to this, basketball just didn’t quite fit my style. But that all changed when I discovered ice hockey!

When I was nearing the end of year 12, I saw a family friend who was managing the Icehouse at the time. Once I told him I had never skated before, he told me I had to go down and give it a go. I made a day of it and brought a few friends down with me (one of them being Will “Kittens” Place). Will and I immediately fell in love and came back later that night for a pond hockey session, I came back the next day and bought my first pair of hockey skates. To say I was hooked is an understatement! It was then that I started watching the NHL and AIHL and started following the greatest hockey teams on the planet, the Pittsburgh Penguins and the Melbourne Ice!

It was not long after this that I met Joey Hughes (of Melbourne Ice and NLHA fame) at a party. We got talking (and drinking). He encouraged me to keep up the hockey and to come down and get trained by him. The fact that even the top level players in Australia are so chilled out and happy to talk to newbies made me feel right at home and seeing his passion for hockey only made my love for it stronger.

I felt straight away that I had found a sport that I truly clicked with. The parts I was most fond of were the contact, the team (family like) oriented mentality and of course, the fighting. I had to pinch myself, I had finally found a sport where I wouldn’t get in trouble (well not too much) for fighting!

From the day of that first skate, hockey became a big part of my life. And has become more and more so as time has passed, to the point

The only pic I could find of Jack in a Washington Capitals jersey, instead of his Penguins kit. He remains fun to annoy. … oh, wait. I’ve made a huge mistake. – Nicko

where I now even work at the Icehouse. It is safe to say that I bleed hockey!

Throughout all of the year 12 exam period, I didn’t study, well not biology and business management anyway, I studied hockey! I spent the better part of every day down at the Icehouse. Even on days I had exams, I would skate in the morning, rush to my exam, do it as quickly as possible, then go back to the Icehouse to practice my crossovers and hockey stops, the important stuff, not stupid school work.

It wasn’t long before I joined classes and Lliam and Army became my mentors, I skipped intro and went straight to intermediate classes … a term of that and I was on to dev league. As with past sports, it was clear that defence was where I belonged and I couldn’t have been happier!

I got my first hockey injury at around the same time at a stick and puck session.  Being a male, I thought the helmet cage made me look soft, so naturally, I put a screwdriver to it and went without. I was on the ice for no longer than 20 seconds before I realized my mistake, I took a slap shot to the face and got knocked out. As I woke in a pool of blood, I realized that cage was probably there for a reason… I made the trip to the hospital in my full gear (minus skates, gloves and helmet) and once I was recommended for plastic surgery (no scar) but also had the option of stitches (scar) to get my lip put back together, I took the stitches. It was then, sitting in the car in my gear, going home with a mouth full of stitches, that I felt like a real hockey player and I have never looked back.

This is only the beginning of my hockey journey, I’m 19 years young and I’ve got a lot to learn (I now wear a cage and just deal with looking stupid) plenty of time to work on my skating, shooting, dangles and all the rest of it. I’ve met some awesome people through hockey and I know I’ll continue to meet more. Thank you to those of you who have been there with me so far, I look forward to skating alongside you for years to come.

I am eagerly waiting to play my first season of summer hockey this year and I can’t wait to play my first game, score my first goal, get my first check (even if summer is non contact) but more than anything… I can’t wait to drop the gloves!

Filed Under: Ice hockey Tagged With: , , , , , ,

Guest writer: Jess 2

July 22, 2012 by Leave a Comment

Jess had such a great response to her first post, she’s saddled up again. So over to her …

Cluelessness and contusions

By Jess

So, Oakleigh. People seem to have mixed opinions on it but when I walked (ok more like crept) in on Tuesday night to get fitted for skates I fell in love. I love the fog hanging in the air adding a ‘sacred’ feel to the place, like the ghosts of players past still haunting the ice. I love the ‘used’ feel of the place – shit has happened here. Players that I will probably never fully appreciate have trained and played here. The scars of long forgotten games are etched in the bones of this great shed. It makes me think of the stories old men tell, stoic warriors going forth to do battle in the name of pride and honor. And sitting above it all like the silent sentinel watching over its domain, Next Level Hockey.

When I first started looking at skates I asked a few people where they had gotten theirs and what they thought of them. A friend that plays for the Alberta Pandas (Brandi Buss #2 defense WHOOP WHOOP), sorry, said that she skates in Bauer Vapors as they run slightly narrower than other skates and suit her feet better. “but you’re better off just finding somewhere that has a shitload of skates and trying everything on to find what suits you.” Awesome advice, if I was in Canada and could go to one of the bazillions of hockey pro shops they have. In Melbourne, we’re kind of limited. On the local side the advice I was getting was “Go see Joey at Oakleigh”. This kept coming up a lot, always in a tone that assumed I knew what people were on about. I didn’t. I’M NEW PEOPLE! If I haven’t been introduced to you at a game or met you in the bar before or after a game I DON’T KNOW YOU! Hell, there’s still some of our own players I don’t know which ones are which, so if I’ve met you and I haven’t seemed suitably in awe, feel free to point out why I should be. It’s not arrogant if you’re just teaching the new chick. I’m not one of those people who has memorized every player in the league – if I’ve met you, I know you. If I haven’t, I’m sure I will eventually. We’re not a super huge community and we’re pretty close knit. Everyone seems to be involved on multiple levels which is what makes this sport great; guys that play AIHL play and coach in the Vic league and lower club hockey and also rock in to drop in sessions so you can find yourself facing off against a guy you watch routinely smash players much better than yourself, both terrifying and exciting at the same time. But this means there is a huge amount of people to meet and I’m sorry but I just haven’t got around to it yet which led to this embarrassing conversation.

“Why does everyone tell me to go see Joey like I should know who Joey is? Should I know who Joey is?”

“Uh yeah, Joey Hughes, plays for the Ice … brother of Vinnie……”

FML, of course I had heard of Joey, it had just never occurred to me he was that Joey but as I said: small community.

So after basking in the glorious stupidity of my cluelessness I wandered down to Oakleigh after work. There was a kids class on when I got there so I stood and watched  for a while. Big mistake. Highly depressing knowing a twelve year old kid is better than you’re ever going to be. But I stayed. I don’t know if it’s because I’m starting to develop that ‘suck it up’ hockey player attitude or because I was a little in awe, both of my surroundings and the kids on the ice; regardless, I stayed. At this point I REALLY need to thank Martin and Tony, who missed the start of an Ice Academy training session he was running with Joey to help fit me out. I watched those kids before I left, they can afford to miss a session. Fitting beginner skaters must be the most irritating thing in the world. I don’t know if the way I answered any of the questions was helpful or just plain irrelevant and to be honest a lot of my answers were “I don’t know” accompanied with an apologetic shrug but we got there in the end. I am now the proud owner of a set of Bauer Vapor X3.0 skates! They are even the limited edition ones I was lusting over on the internet (I like the color better, I’m shallow, whatever). And they are AWESOME!  I suck, but the skates are awesome! Since getting them I’ve done a minimum of two hours a night on the ice, except Friday as I had to work late but no excuses I know. And to my great astonishment and relief I didn’t die! I’m nowhere near as good as I’d like to be but I’m not as god awful as I feared I would be. I stacked out twice on the first night, once on the second and got taken out by a “friend” Saturday night (you’ll get yours, don’t you worry about that!) On a side note to the guys at Next Level be bloody proud of your students, had three of them helping me out my first night on the ice while working on their own skating and their help was invaluable. Also to Martin who asked me when I would be joining Next Level when I saw him at the Icehouse only to have me laugh and say “Sorry, I’d prefer not to die”, I don’t think any of you would deliberately kill me with hockey drills but after hearing about the steps up students have had to make in skill, intensity and fitness I know I’m not ready for that. Maybe when I reach Base Level I’ll look at Next Level but for now I’m going to settle for getting on the ice as much as I can and maybe beginner skate school when the new term starts and possibly work on how to throw a punch without loosing my footing, for the next time I go skating with my so called friend.

Post script: Feeling epically ripped of that I didn’t bruise after being taken out Saturday night. What’s the point in being sore if you have nothing to show for it!? Maybe it’s my pole dance side coming out too much, bruises and pole burn compared amongst the class at the end of each lesson has become a bit of a tradition; one I’m sure I’ll carry on through my hockey adventure.

Filed Under: Ice hockey

Guest writer (Origin story): Brendan Parsons

July 19, 2012 by 1 Comment

WORLD EXCLUSIVE

Today’s guest writer is Brendan Parsons, one of the free-thinkers of the rookies I train and play with, and a Facebook star. I knew if he wrote for this blog, it would be more than worth reading, and I was right. Thanks, Brendan.

(btw, I’m out of submissions … you had better all keep writing or you’ll be subjected to my ramblings again. You’ve been warned. Nicko)

Owning the ice

By Brendan Parsons

It’s a mid-Thursday morning in October at the Icehouse, the rink is empty save for two figure skaters lazily carving spirals on the centre circle.  A scruffy guy in his late twenties steps onto the ice, his legs seem to be bitching about the lack of sleep evident on his face, be he acts like he’s here to work.  A few tightened laces later a younger guy joins him; similar, but skinnier, fresher looking and with some unscuffed Reebok skates.  After a few cold-laps, they start skating together and chatting.  They start to break into the familiar call and repeat dance steps that those of us without toe picks recognise.  One semi-steady Mohawk turn, echoed by a fainter one in reply. An outside-edge glide turn, closely followed by an outside edge fall.  Both attempt to shoot-the-duck, but no one is filling their pot tonight.

After a few more laps they’re chatting again, now arguing the difference between Shona’s explanation of crossover vs Scuba’s explanation of crossovers; the guys are in different hockey school classes – Shona and Scuba don’t teach together. You could tell that the weight transfer in these moves was a long debated topic. You can hear that the older one is between jobs and icing his free days, while the younger just graduated uni and is killing time before he heads overseas.   You can also hear the tension in the discussion.

Brendan Parsons in action for the Tigersharks.

The younger one abruptly disengages from the conversation and peels off in skating’s equivalent of a huff; a slow glide turn against the rotation of the Burberry rink.  From this faintly competitive exchange, it’s clear that they are brothers.  People with brothers recognize this interaction well – me especially, because I’m the older one.

My brother Aric and I always got on well growing up here in Melbourne but rarely had anything in common.  From our early years we were quite different people.  Maybe it was our savvy personal marketing, but people found it easy to categorise me as the smart one, and Aric as the sporty one. There was no competition in either field. We both notably exceled in our chosen exploits, and stayed off the other’s turf (in my case, literally off his soccer pitch). As we grew up, and it became less necessary to label yourself as ‘smart’ or ‘sporty’, we found we were more similar that we’d thought, but you could never call us friends. He remains six years younger than me, and with an age gap that large, we were always in different life stages: when I graduated high-school, he started there; when he started uni, I was already out working full time, and when I started playing ice hockey, I kept it a secret from him…

If I’m being kind, I couldn’t explain why I didn’t tell him – he loves watching NHL, went to games in the US and was complaining of being bored with soccer and futbol – but if I’m being honest I know exactly why I didn’t tell him. For the first time in my life, I was actually not completely useless at a sport.

The years of doing weekly ‘sport-ed’ in high school led me to believe that I hated sports.  Sport-ed was an internment class for people not chosen for interschool matches, but who were legally obligated to be detained during school hours. This often involved diversionary sports like going to the gym, bowling, playing t-ball (we were not capable of baseball) or sometimes just sitting in the sun (think Bad News Bears crossed with the Breakfast Club).  Now I see that what I hated was not sport, but the sports on offer; cricket (four hours after school, not thanks), football (no chance unless you started in utero), tennis & table tennis (all that bending to get missed balls was a pain in the abs), and field hockey (I was, and remain, a dangerous menace with a stick which spent little time in my hands).

I had always wanted to try hockey, and about once a year I would Google it at work, send an e-mail, make a phone call and get zilch, until I remembered it a year later and repeated the fruitless endeavor.  Then Icehouse opened. They said “Sure! But our next beginner class starts in 9 months.” I waited. I pined. I dreamt.

Us in last year’s Ice Blitz at the Winter festival (me, centre in orange, Aric to the left in orange) also, Dan Dixon, Todd Harbor, Will Ong, Emma Poyton, Chris Lourie) – this is where I first met all these people who are now all close hockey associates.

I picked up ice hockey quickly.  It utilised my natural skills; balance, agility, and predicting elastic collision trajectories. I was also easily distracted in other sports when balls would go out-of-bounds, so it was perfect. Moreover, I was meeting new people, keeping fit and having fun. The last thing I needed was my kid brother hanging around eclipsing my meagre progress. I just wanted a sport of my own.

Aric eventually found out, though I carefully hid it until I knew he couldn’t join me in term 1 (yes, agreed, I am a monster), but he was mad-keen and started Beginner in term 2.  On reflection, it was his progress close on my heel that pushed me forward; to go to general skate, to practice my hockey stops, and to ignore Army and Matt’s advice to redo the beginner class that Aric would be in…

Our sibling rivalry did get me thinking though; is sibling rivalry sometimes a good thing?  Would the Sedin twins be as quick if they weren’t racing each other? Would Gretsky have practiced 4-5 hours a day in his backyard rink if his brothers weren’t his lines-mates? Have the Wong brothers made each other what they are, for the Ice? Would Joey Hughes have started playing if he hadn’t seen his brother score a goal after watching the Mighty Ducks (this possibly apocryphal account comes via the internet – seeking conformation)? Perhaps not.

I am starting to believe that hockey isn’t just a game; it’s a lifestyle, a family. And since my brother is skating on distant ice rinks from Iran to Kiev, I have actually missed the time we spent together skating. I don’t regret starting hockey on my own, but one day I may.  I’m thankful that he had the tenacity to follow me and is now here so we can share this sport as friends.

If we do play on a team together in the future (with jerseys broadcasting A.Parsons and B.Parsons), I hope that we continue to push each other forward and when he comes back, we continue skating together. Now when people meet the two of us, they no longer say he’s the sporty one, or that I’m the intellectual one, they comment on how similar we are and how committed we are to our common, unreasonable obsession.

And despite him hating all my hockey-related posts on Facebook, he even said I could use his skates while he’s away. Now that’s brotherly love.

 

This blog post goes out to all the hockey siblings; the Daws, the McNabs, the Places, the Houghs, and any others whom I’m yet to meet.

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