WOMEN-IN-HOCKEY Digest 21

Topics covered in this issue include:

  1) Summer Hockey for Fall Players
	by email@hidden

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Date: Thu, 29 Jun 1995 01:27:30 -0400
From: email@hidden
To: email@hidden
Subject: Summer Hockey for Fall Players
Message-ID: 

             It=92s hard to imagine that my feet feel unfamiliar in my sk=
ate. I
hadn=92t taken more than six weeks off from hockey in well over 10 years.=
 There
were always summer leagues--often my favorite hockey. That=92s because su=
mmer
hockey is less serious but the people who play are better. After all, who=

would pull up thick padded pants and wear a plastic vest over their body =
on a
July Sunday afternoon but the most hockey crazed ?

	I am one of those people. Sick for hockey. I love it. It takes my mind o=
ff
my daily grind and releases me to one simple objective--put the little bl=
ack
thing in their net without letting them put it in ours. But the regular
season also has it=92s politics. Wouldn=92t the team be better if so-and-=
so
wasn=92t on it ? Why doesn=92t the coach put this one up front ? She=92s =
too slow
to play defense. Why does it cost so much this year ? Why did we order th=
is
ugly shirt ? =


	But the summer is different. The shirts are always cheap and ugly and
everybody loves them anyway--as long as they=92re light. You play with pe=
ople
you don=92t know too well so you wonder less why so-and-so is playing thi=
s or
that position. You=92re there to skate and usually your impressed by how =
good
everybody is. It is often hockey at it=92s best. You play to play.

	But this year was different. It=92s hard pulling my laces up now. I=92m =
twenty
pounds heavier than last year and at age 35 that hardly puts me at an
advantage. For some reason, after eight months, the extra weight from the=

baby just doesn=92t seem to want to go. I pull the strings out of the top=
 part
of my pants so I can bend over and lace-up.

	I  took a chance this year. I decided to cross the boarder and play in R=
hode
Island rather than with the familiar players of Massachusetts. Rhode Isla=
nd
was looking for =93experienced=94 players. I always play with the same pe=
ople so
I figured I=92d give this new group a chance. Little did I realize, and t=
he
friend I convinced to go with me, that these =93experienced=94 players we=
re born
about five years after I started playing.

	=93How was your prom ?=94 one of them asked the other. =93Prom ?=94 I th=
ought. I
scanned the locker room. =93Oh, tell your father I=92m driving you home. =
Mom
started letting me take the car to the games=94 They all seemed to know e=
ach
other. Their conversation flowed smoothly from kid to kid. I looked at my=

long-time hockey companion. She didn=92t seem to notice. She just continu=
ed to
put her various braces on that she needed for her joints from years of us=
e. =






	I got on the ice and realized that I was much bigger than most of these
girls. They hadn=92t finished growing yet. They ranged in age from 14 to =
18
years old. It turns out that most of them play for a team called the
Connecticut Polar Bears.

	I was impressed and really quite proud when the game started. These youn=
g
women covered their positions brilliantly. They crossed in the neutral zo=
ne,
left pretty drop passes and began to read the play well in advance. I tho=
ught
how such a high level of play never existed when I was the age of these
girls. Women=92s hockey was just on its third season in New England then.=


	When I got on the ice I was frustratingly slower and winded. I actually =
hurt
the team when I was playing--something that never happened to me before i=
n
the 22 years I=92ve played. I could feel their youthful frustration when =
I
lobbed my body over the boards to play the third shift. I had a romantic
notion that pregnancy and age would not be enough to put me at any
significant disadvantage to children who just learned to drive. But like
Nadia, I got the painful lesson that simple God given youth is more effec=
tive
than years of experience. =


	One little midget gave me a fierce glare as she came down the ice on the=

left side. Somehow, despite my armor of equipment, she seemed to know I w=
as
old and wounded. She was so much smaller than me. She dazzled her stick b=
ack
and forth in an attempt to get past me. I laughed to myself. I have a ver=
y
effective poke-check, or so I thought. But to my horror, after a
less-than-impressive move, she was on the other side of me. Apparently, a=
long
the way, I had lost my sense of timing as well.

	I have played in Europe, Canada, Switzerland and skated with what might =
be
considered the best women hockey players in the world. I have admired the=
m
when playing against them but never felt intimidated. Now, before a group=
 of
kids, I found my confidence gone. I couldn=92t skate as fast, couldn=92t =
last as
long and couldn=92t even use the tools I=92d developed over the years aga=
inst
them. I wondered if it were really time to quit.

	Then one of the little pests flew past me toward our net. She spun her b=
ody
to face the puck when I leaned my glove on the inside of her shoulder. It=

sent her butt-end (not referring to her stick) down the ice. I suddenly
realized that I still possessed one advantage--strength and the knowledge=
 of
when and how to use it.





	Moments later I was against the boards with one of them. These creatures=
 are
enthusiastic, mind-you. Her stick was thrashing away when I calmly presse=
d my
200 pound body against her. He stick=92s movement slowed--probably from l=
ack of
oxygen. I moved the puck away from her with the toe of my blade and passe=
d it
to a flying team-mate.

	We lost that particular game 7-6. I think I was on the ice for three of =
the
goals against us and on for one goal for us. (Not that I had much to do w=
ith
that goal.) In fact, our team hasn=92t won a single game.

	Yet, when the game was over I got the same feeling I=92ve been getting e=
very
time I step off the ice since I was thirteen. I felt great. Not my body o=
r
even my attitude. It=92s literally as if my spirits are lifted by playing=
 this
game. Even in the face of humiliation I felt great.

	I know now that I don=92t have to be the best or even one of the best to=
 love
to play. I don=92t have to be well known in the locker-room or even liked=
=2E It=92s
the game itself that has incredible value for me. Granted I don=92t like =
the
idea of children who could easily be my daughters giving me a snare and t=
hen
busting past me. But there is still some optimism in me. Maybe by August =
this
little baby pouch will shrink and I=92ll be able to lace my skates with m=
y
pants tied fully against my waist. Maybe my timing will come back. Maybe
these old skills I=92ve developed will once again be effective--especiall=
y
against these youthful, inexperienced speedsters.

	Oh, I=92m no longer a romantic. My seasons are numbered. I have my refer=
ee
patch and I intend to keep it current. There will be a passage soon, I=92=
m
afraid. But, until then, if you ever happen across some old rink this sum=
mer
on a Sunday afternoon on Route 140 in Rhode Island, stop by. You=92ll get=
 to
see some young women play some fantastic hockey. But if you see one of th=
em
try a showy move to get past the biggest and slowest one on the ice, give=
 her
a secret cheer. After all, even these young girls will be middle-aged mot=
hers
some day.   =



[Tanya Willow is the editor of =93The SnapShot=94 a newsletter on South S=
hore
Women=92s Hockey in Canton, Massachusetts.)


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End of WOMEN-IN-HOCKEY Digest 21
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