02-24/No Sauce Needed

As we sat in the lobby of the Dix Hills Skating rink, I fumbled through my hockey bag looking for nothing. My roommate, and captain of the New York Center Ice Hockey team, was familiar with most of the guys, and I only knew him. Having not played in over 2 years, and only dabbling as an ice hockey goalie for the experience, I was much more used to the hard contact of wheels on the bottom of my skates.


I started the slow process of affixing the equipment to my body; the motions and procedures the same as preparing for a roller game. I had bought the goalie ice skates from a guy outside of "Play it Again Sports" about 5 years ago. Goalie skates, being lower and longer than regular skates, were made differently, and were more expensive typically. I had perused "Play it Again" looking for a cheap pair, however my size 13 ham hocks, make it a difficult find.


Luckily I met this guy outside of the shop for the purchase, after he declined Play it Again's offer to buy them from him for about 2 dollars. I gave him 30 for some reason.


The semi-rusted blades became a challenge for my grandfather and I to fix, but of course we made the blades look presentable, and I was able to find an edge to make them sharp.


As I reminisced of the days I bought them, I laced them up tightly. Looking down, the laces looked disheveled and not very symmetrical. Probably the most important part of my equipment that necessitated comfort, I let it go and continued my step-by-step process of dressing. This was my first game as a regular season goalie for an ice hockey team.

My roommate helped me put my jersey on over my chest protector, and I rested the helmet atop my head. This would be the best I looked all night.

As I stepped onto the ice, I realized immediately that the rushing had caused my skates to feel a little loose. Also, I barely moved - the skates were not as sharp as I had preferred. After throwing a little coal on the fire, the body started to work in unison and I steamed into port in front of the net.

A Zamboni's primary responsibility is to fill in the cracks of the ice created by sharp skates, resulting in a uniformly smooth ice surface. In order to rough up the ice in front of the net, a goalie will make lateral skating motions to cut up the ice with his skates. Professionals usually make about a dozen of these movements in 2 rows.

As I cruised in to the net area, I slowed to a snails pace so as to not fall into the net. I started the motions to cut up the ice, so that I wouldn't be sliding all over the place, and I made it through 4 of the about 24 required motions. Realizing this was not working, I gave a myself a feigned nod of approval, and skated off trying to eminate confidence in the shit job I just performed.

I took about 3 warm up shots and then skated away into the corner to stretch, not because I just realized what I got myself into. A certain lack of confidence was brewing and I started getting worried. I saw my roommate hit a rough patch of ice, and stumble slightly, but it was nothing of special note.

"Nice job, Zach," I yelled out.

I suppose I was trying to establish my worth and self-appointment of someone who matters on this team. I yelled this out with the intent to show that I was good friends with Zach, and that we "josh" each other often, and give each other noogies and wedgies.

Hopefully this would further establish my association with the captain of the team and I would have artificial prominence, and my so far sub par performance would be voided.

The shout only lasted about 2 seconds, but as I started mouthing the word "Zach," I realized no one was paying attention or had an idea of what I was doing. So I just looked like a large moron, making weird stretches, yelling some nonsense into the echoes of the ice rink. Realizing all this, I felt that my once great plan had now gone sour, and the confidence of the statement turned into some weird audio resembling barking or a car alarm. Nice.

I shuffled back into the crease to face some more shots. A pretty routine slap shot came my way, and I fell to my knees, and extended the portion of my legs from the knee down out, known as the butterfly. I had done this hundreds of times before as a roller hockey goalie, and a sufficient amount of times in the few games I played as an Ice Hockey goalie.

The puck trailed low and to the right, prompting me to decide on the butterfly, but as I went down I felt something strange.

We all know I've been defying the laws of physics by playing sports my whole life. The amount of weight I've stressed on my knees was nothing new. I've stretched, I've contorted, I've fallen and stepped oddly.

Flashback : Probably about 8 years old, I had a little league game in College Point, NY. I was relegated to the outfield, and usually watched the game by putting the mitt over my face and following the game through the holes in it like watching TV. My mother once made dinner prior to the game, and I suppose we were running late, so she wrapped up raviolis in tin foil, and I ate them later on at the game on the bench. No sauce.

Either way, I descended to the butterfly save, putting emphasis on the right leg, since the puck was headed that way. In just the perfect configuration, my right knee popped three times, and I felt a wash of warmth over the whole joint.

I continued to play, I guess working on adrenaline. I knew something was wrong but it didn't hurt, yet.

The first shot of the game was slow and fluttered at me like a bird, making it an easy glove save. It should have been as easy as the million times I caught a baseball thrown back to me. This one however, started at the glove side, giving me the impression of the easiness of the save, but by five feet away it has crossed my body to the right side. I already positioned myself to catch the slow moving puck with the glove on my left hand, but while momentarily stunned by the unexpected change of course, I awkwardly reached across my body with the glove.

I had just looked like a 2 year old, barely able to walk, being thrown a nerf football. Just like the little tike, I had that goofy, mouth open, no cares in the world, smile on my face, also shitting my pants - clapping my hands together in an attempt to catch the ball, all I got was air.

The puck hit the back of the net as softly as it had floated at me and passed me.

My other goal of note, was originally a save. It was in my glove, but I remember it feeling like a fish out of water, flopping inside the mitt. I snatched my arm up in an effort to silence the flopping, but some how it left my glove and flew into the net.

If you watched it on TV, picture me catching the puck, turning around, taking the puck out of the glove, then punting it into the net like I was kicking a field goal.

The knee still hurts, and I'm terrified to go to the doctor. It would be the smart thing to do, but my friend at work is going to give me acupuncture. He also said to rub olive oil on the skin, then use a comb over it. This should extrapolate old blood and crap that's sitting next to the joint.

What's a comb?

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