Part 1: Sport
Look at me. Twenty five years of age and I have experienced a quarter of a century, obviously some years of which I cannot recall (the early years, not the experimental ones of which thank you I remember quite vividly) and I'm currently residing within a country I sometimes forget I'm actually in. You may ask why and yet all I can describe to you is I have no answer. However, I do know this installment of my thoughts and travels was ignited by a frustrating ice hockey game reminiscent of less than favorable moments involved in childhood endeavors with sport. You're thinking, 'Get over it', its a game; but no dear friends and family, it is part of life. There is a reason why I can almost tangibly pick out memories of failed attempts at "sport" in the very early years when victory meant nothing and fun was the world. I use the word sport very liberally as it can be applied to most acts of gamesmanship or athleticism. If you laugh at what I'm about to say then please laugh along side me or at me but do yourself the due diligence and recall within the privacy of your own head when this happened to you, because in one form or another it did. Sucker!
The first Easter I can remember which had no religious significance was in my early years in Florida. Mom and I were walking to the the local park where an egg hunt was being held and at the end of the hunt from the faintest memory, a nightmare straight from Wes Craven consumed me and I found myself without eggs. My single goal, the simplest of tasks was to retrieve an egg for whatever glorious reason and show my mom. Not one single egg happened to find its hard-boiled, pastel colored little self in my basket. One would surely think a single egg would have found its way into my chubby hand from the depths of the crab grass in Miami, but alas, none did. The situation had gone awry as I looked up and saw a sea of happy little monsters quickly filling up their baskets with the loot. Needless to say I was disheartened and devastated where from which all I can remember as retribution is that the so called "moms" of the neighborhood had started the egg hunt early for whatever sick and twisted reason unbeknown to me.
Coming off a two goal game in which I scored both goals saving us from complete embarrassment in a 6-2 loss and having done so without our full roster I thought I would be golden to have another decent night. I had warmed up, stretched, ate well and hydrated before the game in some half ass attempt to play better but all I found at the end of the match was an agitated and sweaty ride home from a gentleman who had picked me up and whom I thought was going to be on the other team.
I skated around firing warm up pucks at our net minder, a french-Canadian who could certainly hold his own between the pipes. We had our full roster plus a rock star of a player named Nick from New Jersey. I played beside him last game and the way he was skating and shooting he most certainly should have had a hat trick. Weirdly enough I was the one that buried the only two that night. Unfortunately tonight the other team was short players and being the greenhorn on the team I was sent over with a few teammates to fill in the discrepancy. I didn't mind being sent to the other team for a game but the problem was we joined a team comprised of a cop, a married couple and a few others along with myself and my line mates that had all been playing with less combined experience than a single protective cup on the other side.
The "gentleman" who picked teams and whose ego could probably fill an Olympic size swimming pool was obviously taking this game to heart having kept all his former teammates and all the ringers on his side as well. I piped up against the decision but to no avail being told 'It's just a game and its fair because of the jersey schemes'. The game was over before it even started and although I had one ample opportunity to score as well as two great passes we couldn't get on the board. I think the score keeper at one point just put one up for us out of pity. I was genuinely disgruntled to say the least being slaughtered by my own teammates and made my displeasure known with body language rather than chirping all night. In a no-check league I was put in the box twice for open ice hits that probably could have been put onto a highlight reel worthy of NHL.com. Having taken my frustrations out on the right guys in a physical manner I think they realized that screwing with the inexperienced guys will at least cost their old bones a bit of bruising and some sore muscles in the morning. The Little League Baseball Syndrome does not fly with me.
Parts 2 and 3 to come later this evening...
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