The Older They Get

Had to take a bit of break from this chronicling business and just concentrate on BEING a hockey dad for a bit; not so much for the kids sake as for my own state of mind. Really just trying to sort stuff out in my own head so I could maybe regurgitate it back should the the Boy or the Devil come seeking explanations and solace. In retrospect, I am again seeing and realizing what I do pretty much every year around this time -- tryout time. The first thing I realize is that I manage to forget what these convoluted tryouts are like until they come up again a year later.

To start, I was standing in an arena this past week, quite apart from all the other expectant parents, because I was seething on behalf of the Devil, who was in the process of trying out for the third team. It was bad enough that we had to lean on the teachings of Jung and Freud just to get her to take the ice for tryouts with the top team. Now we were simply providing our most reassuring shoulders to get her to compete to make the third team..the second team skates still a stinging three-night blur that saw her relegated with little to no explanation.

She did, in fact, make the third team, though I would readily admit the player I watched and urged on betwixt the fingers shielding my eyes, was but a shadow of the enthusiastic young girl we've been used to watching. Two, or more specifically the last rejection, had most certainly taken its toll on her somewhat delicate psyche. Add to this the fact that she was taken hostage by some virus (flu-like symptoms that knocked her on her ass) just after the first of three skates that caused her to miss the second skate altogether. Fortunately, the coach of this third team had done his homework and gave her more than the benefit of the doubt as she battled through the last tryout. Post tryout he acknowledged her efforts to date, which he had recorded, as we all thanked him for looking beyond an admittedly weaker effort than what she was capable of delivering. Having made the cut, we optimistically look forward to a new season with a new coach and a mostly new set of teammates and parents.

The Boy on the other hand is another year older and another year wiser where hockey tryouts are concerned. So he wasn't as heart-broken, or at least he didn't show it, as he had been in years past when he experienced his release from a team he feels he should have made and belongs on. A team he knows he can compete on. The only part that likely stung a little was the fact that he didn't even make it past two of five scheduled skates.

Having been through several evaluations over the years, we both questioned the validity and efficacy of the drills this particular coach decided to employ. A lot of shooting which is great if you are evaluating goalies. Quite a bit of skating, which is typical and obviously demonstrates who can keep up. But little in the way of real-game situations. We suppose it is not really ours to say, but this is a brand new coach who has no experience with this particular group of players and you would assume that above all else he would want to figure out who could compete for the puck...on the boards, in the corners; where games at this age are won and lost. After getting the proverbial hook after skate two, the Boy reasoned that he didn't really want to play for a coach who was not able to effectively evaluate his skills or those of others he felt should likewise not have been cut.

In a similarly reasoned move, one of the Boy's teammates from the past few seasons actually pulled his helmet out of the ring of prospective selections for the top team when he looked around and realized the coach had cut a bunch of guys he wanted to play with.

And so, these young lads are all coming to realize that they are not going to the NHL. The most important thing in that case is that they have fun in the couple of years they have left playing minor hockey. Some, and I hope the Boy is among them, will continue to play midget, some level of junior hockey and then maybe in College or University.

Selfishly I'm just waiting to play in some rec league with the Boy. Based on his current post-game tardiness I am quite certain he is gearing up for the same. I can quite easily envision the two of us sitting side by each in tattered t-shirts, drenched in sweat (one of us much more so than the other), skates untied, hockey socks curled down around our ankles and frosty Coors lights in our hands. We'll recall the highlights and lowlights of the game just past, sling a few off colour jokes and look forward to next week. It won't be particularly good or fast hockey; but it won't need to be.

I caught a glimpse of this potential future earlier this year when me and my closest circle of friends entered our rag tag, once-a-year ball hockey, slo-pitch, drinking team, aptly named Stick U, in an annual charity ball hockey tournament down in Toronto. With a couple of regulars out due to injury or some unfathomable and unappreciated marital commitment, the Boy was called upon to fill in. Initially, at least one of my buddies wasn't too sure about how the Boy would fare in a rec "Mens" division. My pals and I of course still view our children as just that...children. But I was fairly confident the Boy would do ok. Of course, I had the foresight of having watched him grow on the ice over the last couple of years. Matching up on a line together in the first game, I proudly watched the Boy more than hold his own as he would continue to do through the rest of the tournament. The formerly ineffective Stick U squad posted its best record to date. Regardless the goals, scores and results, I had a blast playing with and watching my kid interact with some of my best friends.

I hope there will be many more such opportunities to share a rink, a bench, a dressing room and a beer or two with the Boy, the Devil or both. I'm sure it won't be long before both are out-skating, out-passing and out-shooting the Old Man. I'm also sure playing alongside either or both them will keep this old man from getting too old too quick.

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