The Best Game You Can Name, Part One

I've long wanted to write a blog post about hockey -- detailing my experience and "career", mostly because it would bring back lots of cool memories. So here goes.

The Great Canadian Game has always been intertwined with my life. I remember watching the old cabinet TV with Dad, asking which colour he was rooting for so I could pull for the other guys. The first player I knew of was of course #99, through some kids books and just because he was the best in the 80's. Around the same time, I would have also known about Lanny McDonald, because Uncle Don (Dad's brother) knows him personally and sent me an autographed photo and a Calgary T-shirt. That simple act likely saved me from being a Canucks fan. Once I had a genuine favorite team, I got more and more into watching hockey. It had its ups and downs of course. The first game I watched start-to-finish was Game Seven of the Calgary-Vancouver series in the 1989 playoffs, which ended in dramatic fashion with an overtime goal that, were it scored today, may not have counted thanks to video replay. I was hooked, and followed the Flames all the way to their Stanley Cup win.

At some point I picked up a hockey stick and played various games with Dad, whether it was shooting a tennis ball at each other in the basement, stickhandling golf balls, and taking shots on each other in the driveway with a bocci-sized inflatable ball. It was our version of playing catch. Dad would get home from work and it wouldn't be long before we would grab our stuff and head outside.

That evolved into playing street hockey with school friends, not sure when but must have been late in elementary school. We would play in lacrosse boxes, underground parking lots, and a small group of us had a standing appointment Fridays after school to gather in a cul-de-sac for what became known as Brian Chow hockey (he was the goalie, and it was his house). When roller blades caught on, we started using those relentlessly. I would skate from home to B.C.'s place near UVic just to take part. These games were typical road hockey -- everyone in his favorite jersey, playing for the Stanley Cup over and over. We did lots of play-fights with the jersey over the head being the measure of a victory.

Eventually, I started to express an interest in trying ice hockey, and at the time I especially idolized goalies. My poor parents -- after picking up and dropping several sports over the years, now he wants to play the most expensive one, at the most expensive position! Ever-supportive, they signed me up at Saanich Minor Hockey to start in the fall of 1991. We took a family holiday to West Edmonton Mall that summer, and I remember watching some of a kids tournament at the rink there. I badly wanted to play goal, and watched those two players in particular with great envy. I guess my folks talked me out of the crease -- and I don't think I raised much of a fuss about it, I was just excited to get on the ice.

September came and I was all set -- sort of. Turned out my first day of junior high was the very same day as my first tryout earlier that morning. I had a few pieces of new gear, helmet and jock strap, but the rest was hauled out of Dad's old hockey bag. I must have looked pretty strange to those other kids, with my beat up pads, pipe-style skates and Gordie Howe-era gloves. I couldn't skate well at all, but a few coaches pulled me aside and gave some pointers. They must have pulled Dad aside as well, because I was in new skates in time for that second ice session. I must not have been the only novice at the Pee-Wee tryouts, but it felt that way to me! By the second and third sessions, I was amazed at how quickly I got the hang of stopping and controlling myself on the blades. I managed to smash through that daunting barrier of being a poor skater and got to having fun on the ice pretty quickly. The plan to be a goalie went out the window, though I did put on the goalie pads twice just to see what it was like.

I had some awesome coaches while playing house league my first three seasons at Pearkes Arena. Wes was the first, a very supportive young fellow who really knew how to make it fun for us kids. Once the minor hockey system gets past the tryout sessions and plucks the more serious, talented kids for the rep teams, what's left is truly honest, fun hockey. Wes had me looking forward to every practice and game with a level of butterflies that I would experience again many times heading to the rink for years to come. I saw him once years later, shocking him while working as a clerk at a Sidney beer store. Imagine his suprise when a tall, lanky punk kid was ringing up his case of beer and suddenly pronounced, "You're Wes, my first hockey coach!" Knocked his mullet off, I did. I won't forget my last game on his team -- it was a tournament, and our final contest (probably a consolation game of some kind) went to a shootout. Wes had me take one of the shots, and I buried a wrister for my first and only goal all year. After scoring, I was stunned and kept steaming straight ahead, crashing into the end boards with my arms raised, because I didn't think to turn or stop I guess. Wes even wrote about it in the year-end newsletter.

Mom and Dad shelled out for summer hockey school my first two years, both times were week-long camps at Pearkes. It was really cool to experience a higher level of instruction and competition, combined with some hockey-focused dry land training. Most of the kids there had big hockey dreams -- I recall one talk in the dressing room when a coach asked everyone who had hopes of playing in the WHL to raise his hand. The thought had never occurred to me, but since everyone else had their hands up, I did the same. I don't remember how long that thought lasted. FYI, I didn't make it to the 'Dub, or out of house league for that matter. One of the pros who worked that camp was Dave Lowry, who I got some one-on-one time with on the ice, and who gave a talk to a group of us that changed my perception of pro hockey players. He'd just been taken by the Florida Panthers in the expansion draft, and we all thought he'd be choked about having to play for what was sure to be a losing team. Lowry told us all that it's a sad reality that pretty much everyone in the league wanted to play in the U.S. because of money. The taxes are lower, and the salaries are all in U.S. dollars (some were still paid in CDN back then). Nice little dose of reality for some of us naive kids.

My coach in years two and three was a man who made a huge difference in my life then, and would once again many years later: Graham Harvey. A new dad and a newly-hired bus driver, Graham teamed up with his younger brother Bram and buddy Phil to coach our squad. Those guys were just awesome -- where Wes was even-keeled, polite and always positive, these three were a lot more passionate and profane. They would dazzle us in practice with their hockey skill, and puzzle us in the room with some rather mature, colourful humour. They would be over the top after a win, and downright angry after a bad loss. Sometimes I would come away from the rink mad at Graham for chewing us out, but in the end he was the best coach I ever had. He knew how to talk to young men -- hell, he still was one himself! That trio showed a perfect blend of hockey knowledge, skill and communication ability that's left an impression even now (obviously).

It should be mentioned that the Saanich house teams were consistently awful. We got to play all over town against the house teams of other minor associations, and we would typically lose by double digits. Still, the way it was set up allowed us the chance to skate in all the rinks of Greater Victoria, out in Sooke, and in several tournaments further afield in places like Kerry Park and Mill Bay. The grand-daddy of them all was the Memorial Arena, where I'd been a spectator countless times with Dad and with my buddies. What an awesome experience it was to use those massive dressing rooms, hit the ice in a huge empty arena, line up on the same benches as those Cougars we all watched, and wind up in that same penalty box where so many unfortunate WHL'ers were heckled so mercilessly.

Our home rink at Pearkes remains a very special place for me. It's got a distinct smell, and a layout that's familiar in the same way as my first school. Also like an elementary school, when I walk in there now, it seems a lot smaller than I remember it as a kid. But I love walking down that same hallway with my bag and sticks, and suiting up on that same locker room bench that I did as a 13-year-old. Being an adult and a father now, I know what kind of work goes into making a place like that operate -- all the volunteers and civic support that make kids sports happen. But to a child in the moment, it just seems like heading out for a run in the park.

Fairly early in my hockey life, I had to grow into some kind of character on the ice. Because of my dad's hockey war stories and on-going influence, I wound up as the goonish type who would take a lot of penalties. I played all but one season as a kid on defence, which offered plenty of chances to rough it up. I was on the taller, stronger side of the kids in Pee Wee and Bantam, so I could get away with doing some nasty things. In hindsight, I must have been reveling in the fact that I'd found a place I could get a bit violent and not have any serious consequences aside from a very short jail term. After several years of that, I mellowed out -- a pattern that would repeat itself in my adult career. I guess the rest of the kids caught up in size, and that made me focus more on playing smarter hockey.

Mom and Dad were the typical Canadian hockey parents. Early morning ice times, Dad was usually the one to handle those. Both of them came to lots of my games, though they usually wouldn't be sitting together. Mom would bundle up and watch from the bleachers while Dad would come down behind the goal where he could see me closest. I'm told he did lots of hollering and cheering from back there, but I never heard any of it. Simple acoustics. I would always give him a wave though. After each game, Dad would have some observations and advice about a handful of key plays that really helped me try and do better. What more can you ask eh?

I went all the way through minor hockey to the end of the midget level (end of my grade 12 year). I wanted to keep going, and came out to a tryout for the next level without even being sure what that level was. Well I was way behind those guys -- clearly most of the boys stopped playing and the only ones left were a lot more competitive. There was body checking involved, which wasn't part of the game at the house level I was used to. I wasn't able to keep up, and was pasted to the boards more than once. I decided it wasn't for me, and gave it up to concentrate on starting college that fall. It was 1996, and that was it for me after five memorable seasons.

(This is such a long story, I'll have to post about my return to the game another day.)

Minor hockey gave me a place to associate with my peers in a different way than at school. I was not an outgoing person in school, and often felt isolated -- at least from the cool kids. At the rink, I was one of the cool kids -- we all were. I had many great teammates, along with a few bad apples (there's a life lesson right there). There were times when a certain boy would be picked on and singled out, but now I was on the side of the majority. That sounds bad, but I think it was important for me to feel like one of the gang. Often our team would get into it with our opponents on the ice, and even a few times off the ice. What a thrill it was to be standing up for myself and my teammates!

The adults involved in minor hockey are the best of the best Canada has to offer: selfless, endlessly supportive, and willing to put up with a few headaches and tight budgets for the greater good. This goes for all youth sports of course, but for me personally, it was hockey that made the biggest impression. And as with so many things, I owe it all to Mom and Dad.