I started this blog many, many years ago, as a means of recording (pen to paper? keyboard to silicon?) my hockey memories from yore. Yore is getting further and further in the rear view mirror so when I circle back and read some of my own work here, I realize that perhaps the biggest beneficiary of …
Category: Taste of the Game
The Code…No, Not That One, The Other One
Much has been written about "the Code" in hockey. That tribal, primal, element that is the secret sauce of keeping order in the hockey universe. At its simplest level, it's "beat up our guy, and we'll beat up yours" or "Hurt our guy, even accidentally, and you better be ready to answer the bell". But …
Raised by…Torts?
A couple of weeks back, as I sat in the dressing room post-game still in full gear, I lamented out loud the previous hour's blunders. A give-away here, a botched pass there, the habitual whiffed shot from the slot. I recalled my dad joking with me way back one night when I was really young …
Time for a Hair Cut
Sam Malone, that make-believe character for the ages, cagey Red Sox vet, survivor of the bottle, once suggested "Well, you know what I always say, there are no bad boys, just boys with bad haircuts." That's good writing, no? And he wasn't wrong. And picking up from my recent post from just last Friday, here …
Waking Up Sore
Today is Tuesday. I played Sunday night and I played last night. Both were wonderful skates and I was tired at the end of each. This morning, when it seemed as dark as it could get and when my first somewhat coherent but still foggy thought was that I wished the dog was not a morning person, …
End of the Weekend
I looked forward to Sunday night hockey all weekend. Right from the point I left the dressing room after Friday afternoon hockey in fact. It is good to have good things to look forward to. As I hustled through the parking lot into the rink, I had to weave through some kids playing footy in …
Peanut Butter Cups
The older I get, the nuttier (no pun intended) the world gets. I'd like to think I am open-minded and believe there are few absolutes in this thing called life. (Perhaps it was my upbringing - ie. one of my father's sage chestnuts was that when it came to pie, there was no such thing …
Rink Tales 