So I got in a mood to be thinking about hockey again last night and this morning and I pulled up an old writing thing I put down in 2000. I reread it a little and edited a few things and kinda wanted to share it because I felt like it was worth putting up.
Period One. The puck drops. The wingman holds his spot on the hatchmarks and a large red jersey leans an elbow into his shoulder. As the center fights the puck out of his skates, the wingman’s legs are buckling. The puck is kicked out right to the wingman. He pulls back with the puck and just wants to get it away from the red. Before the plan unfolds, the largest red jersey on the ice runs right through him. Barely aware of the last 4 seconds, he gets up to see everyone in his own end. Knowing now what made the breeze that cooled the nervous sweat on his face was the rush into his zone. The puck is a blur. While getting up, he tries to follow the puck. He cannot keep the puck in focus for more than a second. Like trying to follow a fast-moving insect in the open air, he’s not able to do it.
Stepping across the blue line, his team takes control of the puck. The defense speeds it around the boards. The puck touches the stick of the other wing and is drilled into the boards. The center sweeps down and knocks the puck out. As if galvanized by all the attention it was getting, the puck hops into the air and spins erratically as it hits the ice again. Without a second to waste, the wingman rushes behind the center as he picks up the black cylinder. Swooping like a hawk, another red jersey confronts the center. The center moves half a step to the right, bobs his head, and seemingly teleports to the left. The wingman has no time to react and the defenseman goes for him instead, the slower, dazed prey.
Somehow he avoids the hit full on but takes the hit solidly in his right shoulder. The hit ends any movement of his foot; he spun around like a top, his left still striving forward. Miraculously able to stay standing, he scans the situation. Running on his first impulse, he blazes into the corner where the puck should be in seconds. It arrived just as he had hoped. Just as he can send it back where it came from with a quick flick of his wrist, another red streak appears before him.
Again, he feels a crushing sensation all over. It quickly dissipates because he had somewhere to go. The wingman pumped his legs to get to in front of the padded wall of a goalie. While he was detained in the corner, the puck attempted escape from the attacking zone. A fellow blue jersey catches it at the line.
As if it were a pinball, the puck flew back right at the net. Everyone on the ice hears the soft thud when the goalie’s reflex-like save keeps the game even. The puck does not like being caught in the tender’s glove, it bounces out, making its way out as soon as it entered. The puck falls to the ground. In a blink of an eye the wingman instinctually slaps the puck past the tender to rest in the white stitching. The boys clad in blue gave a shout as they skated half the ice back to their bench, beating their sticks on the ice. Finally a chance to think and breath. Slaps fall on his head from all sides; in only 45 seconds, the winger made a lasting difference in the game.
Period One. The puck drops. The wingman holds his spot on the hatchmarks and a large red jersey leans an elbow into his shoulder. As the center fights the puck out of his skates, the wingman’s legs are buckling. The puck is kicked out right to the wingman. He pulls back with the puck and just wants to get it away from the red. Before the plan unfolds, the largest red jersey on the ice runs right through him. Barely aware of the last 4 seconds, he gets up to see everyone in his own end. Knowing now what made the breeze that cooled the nervous sweat on his face was the rush into his zone. The puck is a blur. While getting up, he tries to follow the puck. He cannot keep the puck in focus for more than a second. Like trying to follow a fast-moving insect in the open air, he’s not able to do it.
Stepping across the blue line, his team takes control of the puck. The defense speeds it around the boards. The puck touches the stick of the other wing and is drilled into the boards. The center sweeps down and knocks the puck out. As if galvanized by all the attention it was getting, the puck hops into the air and spins erratically as it hits the ice again. Without a second to waste, the wingman rushes behind the center as he picks up the black cylinder. Swooping like a hawk, another red jersey confronts the center. The center moves half a step to the right, bobs his head, and seemingly teleports to the left. The wingman has no time to react and the defenseman goes for him instead, the slower, dazed prey.
Somehow he avoids the hit full on but takes the hit solidly in his right shoulder. The hit ends any movement of his foot; he spun around like a top, his left still striving forward. Miraculously able to stay standing, he scans the situation. Running on his first impulse, he blazes into the corner where the puck should be in seconds. It arrived just as he had hoped. Just as he can send it back where it came from with a quick flick of his wrist, another red streak appears before him.
Again, he feels a crushing sensation all over. It quickly dissipates because he had somewhere to go. The wingman pumped his legs to get to in front of the padded wall of a goalie. While he was detained in the corner, the puck attempted escape from the attacking zone. A fellow blue jersey catches it at the line.
As if it were a pinball, the puck flew back right at the net. Everyone on the ice hears the soft thud when the goalie’s reflex-like save keeps the game even. The puck does not like being caught in the tender’s glove, it bounces out, making its way out as soon as it entered. The puck falls to the ground. In a blink of an eye the wingman instinctually slaps the puck past the tender to rest in the white stitching. The boys clad in blue gave a shout as they skated half the ice back to their bench, beating their sticks on the ice. Finally a chance to think and breath. Slaps fall on his head from all sides; in only 45 seconds, the winger made a lasting difference in the game.
posted by Marc at
11:43 AM
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