About that chicken shit goal: Skate or die

Awhile back I wrote a piece for Ripples, the Senior Center literary zine. It was a bit of creative nonfiction that included an amalgam of flashbacks on me carrying the puck in the offensive zone and scoring a lucky goal, only to realize that the defense had deliberately backed-off to give me a chance. Talk about flashbacks...

Friday night I was playing in a Wonder League game at the Kettering Recreation Center. This was the start of my second ten-game season with this "beginner-intermediate" league. The concept here is to play down to your opponent's level in order to give every player a chance to develop. This would be my eleventh game playing wing in this league and I had yet to score a goal.

Midway through the game I picked up a loose puck at center ice. My team captain, John Wonderly, who also happens to be the guy who started and runs the league, was behind me.

"Skate it in, Virgil!" he yelled to me.

I stick handled across the blue line, watching to my right to be sure my line mates were on side. As I crossed into the offensive zone, John shouted, "Take it to the outside!"

His plan would have had me pull up somewhere short of the corner, trying to center the puck to another forward. The defense was deliberately laying off in order to give me a chance to handle the puck, and I was getting pissed at the lack of respect. I needed to take it to the house. I opted to fake to the outside and cut for the center. I arrived at the top of the slot, unimpeded. At this point, they should have closed on me, but there was a crowd in front of the goal and no one tried to stop me from taking the ensuing snap shot.

As I crossed, the goalie moved with me. In doing so, he left the left side of the net wide open. My shot wended its way through the forest of leggings and skates and found the back of the net. I watched this occur in what seemed like slow motion with utter disbelief. My first game in Kettering - I'd had a feeling this place would be lucky for me. Loud cheering and fist bumps all around...

To my great embarrassment, they stopped the game and presented me with the puck - something they do every time someone gets their first Wonder League goal. Obviously, they'd noticed... Congratulations continued until well after the game. In the locker room, John made a big deal out of it, again.

"That was a chicken shit goal," I said.

"A goal's a goal," John replied.

Well there is a certain amount of validity to that. As one of my line mates pointed out when I told him they had been easing up on me, "The goalie wasn't letting up."

It's true, the shot and the goal were legit. After the game, I took the puck home and put it on the shelf in my home office with my other treasures, team photos, ten-minute play posters, Mothman Festival memorabilia... Here's the thing. If I want their respect, I'm going to have to earn it. That chicken shit goal probably went a long way toward achieving that.

The next time I see John, I will apologize. He has provided a great experience for a lot of hockey players of varying skill levels, and an opportunity for me to keep playing when I should be on a rocker on the back porch. Before the game, his wife had told me how much he admires what I am doing and how he hopes he will still be playing at my age. Some of the younger players have told me that, too.

When I told Amy I had made my first Wonder League goal, she said, "What did they do, let you score?"

"Yeah, kinda..." I said.

Truth is, I feel so alive right now, it's a bit frightening. When I finally decide to hang up my skates, I'll know the end is near.

Yours,

Harry