Old goal scorers never die, their shot just weakens ’til they don’t score any more, and their bodies age into the older demographic of those present in any given game of shinny.

I have played Friday afternoons for many years, as a spare at first, for years, maybe a decade or more, and then as I cared less about blowing off work early on Friday’s, as a full-timer. I am fully entrenched as a full-timer now.

Today was about as good a day as life can provide a breathing human. I started work early, with genuinely wonderful good people, who work as a team, treat humour as a key attribute to teamwork, and who never question the 3:00 meeting in my calendar with someone named “Albert”. (Friday hockey is at Albert McCormick arena). And at 2:45, I shut it down and headed out.

It was a busy week, but I got to the rink a bit early, unusual for me, and fired no less than 10 slapshots happily towards empty nets at both ends before the goalers were ready, with most missing the cage, but the noise of the puck hitting the boards being almost as fun as puck hitting twine.

I can play for weeks without scoring, and some weeks, am frustratingly tired 10 minutes into an 80 minute scrimmage. Not today. I had some jump, the puck followed me around on a few magic moments and I think I had a couple of apples myself.

Age changes us slowly in less than desirable ways. I used to sleep well after hockey. It didn’t matter what time I played, when I hit the pillow I was out. No more. I am tired now, the Doggo walked and post-game cocktail kicking in, but I won’t sleep well tonite. But one has to roll with the flow of the game, and so when I turn in tonite, I will just lay there, awake, sore, knowing that sleep coming slow is another small gift and that my mind racing, wide awake, between a thousand points of focus is an upside to Friday night, after hockey.

Looking forward to breakfast in the morning, a fresh, wood-fired bagel, done just so by the local bagel joint who know their biz like Carter knows pills, maybe a little peanut butter, the healthy kind I think, but generous in application, and a dollop of local honey on the B-side, and some Contrabean Coffee as the chaser. I will take it slower tomorrow, as it’s the weekend and I’m really looking forward to an outside day to finish up yard work before winter. My love will be out there with me, we’ll chirp each other all day long, and the doggo will follow us around.

And Sunday will come soon enough, and then I’ll fall in love all over again because Sunday night hockey….well, let’s not compare it to Friday.