Slapshot
I played roller hockey today. For the first time in probably seven or eight years. It was the most fun I've had in... probably seven or eight years. I know what you're thinking: either I'm a virgin or I've hit a long dry spell, because there's no way roller hockey is better than sex. Well, it is. It was tonight. Imagine going without sex for seven years; how good would it feel to finally get laid again? That's what it felt like.
It took me a few minutes to get used to the skates again. But it was, as the saying goes, like riding a bike. You never really forget how to do it. Soon I was skating backwards, in figure-eights, whatever. It all came back. Like I should have been born with wheels attached to my feet.
My shot didn't come back quite so easily, having been used the last eight years for lacrosse. It's a similar motion, but not quite the same. It worked well enough, though. I could still carry the puck (ball, really) just like I could before, although I lost it a little when I looked up from it.
Oh! Joy. Pure, unadulterated joy. I missed you, hockey. You were such a huge part of my life, but I lost you. It wasn't all my fault. We moved from the suburbs of Philadelphia to rural Maryland. Hockey isn't as big there for some reason. Neighborhood games that happened daily in Chalfont were non-existent in Maryland.
School ended, ride the bus home. Drop your school bag, run upstairs and change. Grab the phone. "Are we playing? Good." Garage, get skates on, grab stick and gloves. Do we need the net? OK. Up the street, pick teams. Who's goalie? start playing. Faceoff. pass. Gliding towards the net, pass. pass. Shot. Score! Clear the puck out, no faceoffs after goals. Slows the game too much. Goals get traded, back and forth. Car! Move the nets, let it pass.
We play for as long as we can. Usually until it's dark. Because we can, because there is nothing more important. These games were everything. They were all we looked forward to all day. Homework came second to hockey. Do it after the game. There's only so much daylight, not nearly enough time to play. Fights happened. They're part of the game. No hard feelings the next day. This is how it was.
We tried to play when we got to Maryland, but one-on-one, two-on-two games just aren't the same. The energy, the passion wasn't there. No one else in the neighborhood wants to play. Don't they understand? Don't they know what these games are, what hockey is?
And so the years passed hockey-less. Sure, we watched on TV. But the Flyers don't come on DC TV all that often. We went to some games, when the Flyers played the Capitals. They were amazing. The building covered in more orange than blue. Eventually, these trips stopped too.
And I missed it, all of it. But it disappeared, the time filled by other activities. Until tonight. It felt so good to be on skates again. Better than I remember, actually. So from now on, every Thursday at 7 I'll be playing roller hockey.
It took me a few minutes to get used to the skates again. But it was, as the saying goes, like riding a bike. You never really forget how to do it. Soon I was skating backwards, in figure-eights, whatever. It all came back. Like I should have been born with wheels attached to my feet.
My shot didn't come back quite so easily, having been used the last eight years for lacrosse. It's a similar motion, but not quite the same. It worked well enough, though. I could still carry the puck (ball, really) just like I could before, although I lost it a little when I looked up from it.
Oh! Joy. Pure, unadulterated joy. I missed you, hockey. You were such a huge part of my life, but I lost you. It wasn't all my fault. We moved from the suburbs of Philadelphia to rural Maryland. Hockey isn't as big there for some reason. Neighborhood games that happened daily in Chalfont were non-existent in Maryland.
School ended, ride the bus home. Drop your school bag, run upstairs and change. Grab the phone. "Are we playing? Good." Garage, get skates on, grab stick and gloves. Do we need the net? OK. Up the street, pick teams. Who's goalie? start playing. Faceoff. pass. Gliding towards the net, pass. pass. Shot. Score! Clear the puck out, no faceoffs after goals. Slows the game too much. Goals get traded, back and forth. Car! Move the nets, let it pass.
We play for as long as we can. Usually until it's dark. Because we can, because there is nothing more important. These games were everything. They were all we looked forward to all day. Homework came second to hockey. Do it after the game. There's only so much daylight, not nearly enough time to play. Fights happened. They're part of the game. No hard feelings the next day. This is how it was.
We tried to play when we got to Maryland, but one-on-one, two-on-two games just aren't the same. The energy, the passion wasn't there. No one else in the neighborhood wants to play. Don't they understand? Don't they know what these games are, what hockey is?
And so the years passed hockey-less. Sure, we watched on TV. But the Flyers don't come on DC TV all that often. We went to some games, when the Flyers played the Capitals. They were amazing. The building covered in more orange than blue. Eventually, these trips stopped too.
And I missed it, all of it. But it disappeared, the time filled by other activities. Until tonight. It felt so good to be on skates again. Better than I remember, actually. So from now on, every Thursday at 7 I'll be playing roller hockey.
posted by Jonathan McGee at 8:08 PM
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