ICE HOCKEY  The Story Of My Life

It's kind of funny the way it worked out... me, a hockey player. Before junior high school, I had absolutely no interest in sports whatsoever. Perhaps it was because my parents used to always force me into playing sports by enrolling me in programs such as sports camp.

During those years, I saw no value in any sports. I thought that running around chasing a ball was the biggest waste of time. It served no purpose. It made no money. Given that, I thought watching sports was an even bigger waste of time.

One of my favorite television episodes of the time was MacGyver, who happened to be an avid hockey player and fan. While I could care less about the episodes where he was on the ice or talked to players on the ice, I could never understand why he could be so enthusiastic about hockey. Most of his episodes were interesting: save the girl, protect the country, outwit terrorists; but any episode that had to deal with hockey just disappointed me. How could an action-packed program feature or mention sports?

As an avid channel surfer, I used to (and still do) run through thousands of channels a minute. However, I found myself occasionally tuning into the local Los Angeles Kings game. While chasing a puck seemed ridiculous, I did appreciate the hockey skating involved. Since then, I would occasionally, but not often, go ice skating at an ice rink during outings with my cousins.

Then one day, it happened. My friend and I had just finished the last of our high school exams. We decided to go ice skating. When the public skating session was over, we took our time taking our skates off. Meanwhile, a bunch of kids jumped onto the ice and began hockey practice.

My friend and I were somewhat intimidated. We sort of mastered skating forward, and then these little guys just started tearing the ice apart. They made sharp turns, skated backwards, and made grinding noises with the blades of their skates. Those little guys really had skills. It was then that I began appreciating hockey skating. We must have been watching them for at least 20 minutes.

"Hockey's cool," I told my friend.

"Why don't you join?," he asked.

"Because I don't have time." During high school, I really didn't have time for anything. I was one of those honors students and club president and active participant in various school organizations. However, I found myself tuning into Fox NHL games whenever I had a lot of homework or an exam to study for.

Living in southern California (back then), there was only one team to watch on TV, the Los Angeles Kings. It was really interesting watching them play. I paid attention to their skating and stickhandling skills. This was also the first time I heard the announcer refer to Gretzky as "The Great One."

Because the Kings games were the only ones I watched, "I thought it was not too justified to refer to a single hockey player as "The Great One" just because he scored a goal. But as I watched more hockey, I started understanding why people called him that. Not only that, but I also started understanding why people called different players different names. I'm glad I didn't start "talking hockey" to sports fanatics; I probably would have sounded very stupid. New to hockey, I decided to keep my mouth shut.

While I did watch hockey (not very much), I was still in confusion about many aspects of the game. Afraid I might sound stupid, I never bothered to ask. It took me a long time before I realized that when people mentioned "Cup Crazy" or hockey players wanting the cup, they referred to a trophy.

I continued watching hockey. There were times when Mom would ask what I was doing and I would reply, "Watching hockey." She would never believe me and ask what I was really doing. Then, I could neither talk to people about hockey or have people listen to me talk about hockey.

After graduating from high school, I went to U.C. Irvine. The university had rollerhockey as one of its recreational programs. During my first quarter, I was really playing (or trying to play) hockey. Then, I fell. Though I continued skating, the coach would tell me to stop. I'm all, "What?"

"You left your knee pad behind," he said. I looked back, and there it was, just sitting there. Then I looked at my knee and saw a major scrape. Blood and clear liquid was just oozing out of my knee. He took me to the office and said that I would need a little bit of this (pointing to rubbing alcohol).

After the sizzling and burning, he asked me if I was coming back. "Sure," I told him. Sure, I was not going to be back. After seeing a doctor (several doctors since I was at the university health center), he (she, they...) recommended that, at least for a while, I stop skating. This also ended my career with the U.C.I. rowing crew. After that, I gained a lot of free time.

With all this time on my hands, I loaded up and took in excess of 45 units a quarter. After that quarter, I became a total bookworm. I did not even think about hockey once. I stopped playing and watching it on TV. In two year's time, I graduated with a Bachelor's degree. Even though I took a job, I still did not even think about hockey. That is, I didn't think about it until a co-worker took me to his hockey game.

I had not thought about hockey for about 4 years. Due to my limited background, I still didn't understand much about hockey. Because my friend played rollerhockey, what I thought I knew about some aspects of hockey got even more confused. It took a while, but I started to realize that there were differences, even in rules, between ice hockey and rollerhockey.

A couple months later, during my graduate studies, I took on recreational ice skating at a rink in Costa Mesa. On a weekly basis, I would socialize with this one girl at public skating session. Because our skating levels were the same (low), we had a lot in common. We often joked about how others could skate so well.

One night, we saw a bunch of little kids practice hockey. She said, "Look at those little guys skate. They skate so well. I wish we could skate like that. Maybe if we put on as much equipment as they do we could skate just as well." I never told her that for a while, I did do some hockey. But after the years, I retained only minimal skating skills.

"I'm going to play hockey," I told her. The next week, I watched a bunch of little kids (really little) play hockey. It was yellow versus black. Those little freaks chased the puck like bees to honey. They did not know what to do, except try to skate to the puck. I kept telling myself that I could do that. My skating skills were not what they used to be, but they could allow me to chase a puck.

Before I signed up for a beginning hockey league, I learned that the rink had a beginning hockey skills program. The people there ranged from little kids to some adults old enough to be my grandparents. What sucked was when people equal to my age or older missed a session, making me the oldest person on the ice. I could see parents of some of the more skilled kids in the clinic look at me like, "Poor guy, what's he doing here? He might as well give up." I didn't care.

Sometimes, I would see kids that reminded me of what I used to be. Some would refuse to go on the ice and battle their parents before participating. Some would use arguments like, "This is a waste of money" or "I have homework to do." I used to be there. I actually stopped to wonder. Although it probably meant nothing to the kids, I did, on occasion, tell the kids to have fun and enjoy hockey. I told them they would be glad they participated later. Nevertheless, some were so against playing that they would make excuses like the skates are hurting their feet or something.

I liked it when there were people my age and older. While some were well-experienced and just enjoyed coming to a practice clinic, a couple of people who had skating skills equal to or lesser than mine would often wonder why kids just didn't like hockey. In the back of my mind, my attitude toward those kids was, "Listen you little twerp, I am paying my own way to have fun here. Here you are, complaining and wasting valuable time pouting. You keep this up, and some day, you're going to grow up like me. You are going to be back on this rink re-learning what you are now and wishing you had already learned it so that you can play with the advanced teams. Worse yet, there will be times when you'll be the oldest person at the clinic and you'll feel like..."

For a while, I would attend these clinics twice a week. I would go after school, and I would go during my lunch break from work. And of course, I would attend as many free public sessions that I could go. It didn't take long for the coach to tell me to attend pickup hockey. He stated that participants are generally 18 and their levels are all equal to or better than mine.

At this point, it was time to purchase full hockey equipment. I was fortunate to have a very supportive coach that walked me through the process and help me select what was necessary while minimizing cost.

The next day, I went to my first pickup session and clinic, a 90 minute session. It was weird seeing a whole bunch of people carrying humongous bags and a couple of sticks. When I got to the locker room, it felt kind of weird. People were watching me from the corner of their eyes because I was the new guy. In the background, there were sounds of ripping tape, clunking skates, hockey bags being slid back and forth, velcro snapping all around, and snapping of buttons. It was an eerie sensation.

When I walked out of the locker room, I felt heavy. For the first time, I was walking with many extra pounds. I hadn't even stepped on the ice and I was already sweating. At this point, I had been on the ice countless times. However, today, I felt like I was getting on the ice for my very first time. With my gloves on, I held on to the boards as I stepped onto the ice. Everyone else literally just hopped on.

During my first round, I don't know what was going through my mind. Hockey players with torn equipment kept skating past me and around me. They would pivot and do backward crossovers. I felt that this was the first time I had ever skated.

I had no idea or clue of what to do. The coach blew the whistle, as if I knew what I was supposed to do. I just followed everyone else, and when I could control it, I made sure I was at the end of the line. Every now and then, the coach would give instructions for the drill. I had no clue what he was talking about. Occasionally, he would bring out a wipe-board. Despite his efforts and drawings, I still had, no clue what he was talking about. He drew somes Xs, Os, triangles, straight lines, squiggly ones, and Cs. This did not make it any clearer.

At this point, my equipment started to become painful. My helmet tried to squeeze my brains out. My gloves made it hard for me to hold my stick, which felt very heavy. It felt like my mouthguard wanted me to throw up. My skates squeezed every part of my feet. My cup was chaffing against my legs. My face mask made it impossible for me to address a few itches on my face.

Suddenly, players began doing the drills. I had no time to worry about my equipment. Now, I needed to pay attention to see what these people were doing so I could do the same thing. I managed the first drill; I skated around five circles.

Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, the coach wanted us to do some passing drills. Here I am, the obvious new guy, amidst a myriad of experienced hockey players. I had just got used to the individual skills, and it didn't bother me too much that people had to skate around me to overtake me. It didn't even bother me that everyone was at the other side of the rink waiting for me to come back so that they could start a new drill. Now, I had to accept a pass from my partner and return it to him.

The first time the guy passed it to me, I missed it. I came to a skidding stop, and made my way to the puck. I passed it back to him... or at least behind him, and he had to go get it. Soon, people began overtaking the both of us. For the next drill, he lined up so that we wouldn't be paired together. I got really self-conscious at this point.

Then, for some reason, everyone skated to and sat on the boards. I figured I should do the same thing. I hopped on... and fell off. I tried frontwards and backwards, and I just had a terrible time trying to get on and sit on the boards. I know everyone was watching, but I did not want to see the looks on their faces and I refused to leave the rink. After a few moments, which felt like hours, I made it. Then this one guy skates up to me and says, "You're black. You're supposed to be sitting over there."

Okay, so I made it to the other side and was sitting patiently during the scrimmage. When it was my turn to play, I got the opportunity for more embarrassing moments. First, I learned where to stand. It suddenly occurred to me that forwards wait at the center line and defense wait behind them.

My side wins the face-off. Lucky me, the puck comes straight to me... I miss it. The other defenseman compensates. As I recover, I learn that the puck was on the other side of the rink. I decided that I shouldn't just stand there while a bunch of hockey players are sitting on the boards wondering what the hell I was doing. I proceeding into the zone.

"Offsides!" someone shouts. Actually, this word has been shouted for a long time, but I was so disoriented that I never paid attention to it. Apparently, the puck had left the zone and I needed to get back.

During my second round, someone mentioned I should stick to defense. I did.

"Scream!" the goalie shouted.

My first reaction was, "What an idiot. I know people like yelling and cheering at a hockey game, but why would the goalie tell people to scream?"

"He said screen," the other defenseman shouted at me.

"Screen!" the goalie shouted.

"Screen?," I uttered. By the time I got back to the boards, the coach explained to me that screen meant I was blocking the view of the goalie. He also explained what offsides meant, what icing meant, and a variety of terms I wished I paid attention to while watching hockey on TV.

It got late that night. The session was over. Just as it was when I entered the locker room earlier, people again started eyeing me from the corner of their eyes. This time, I felt worse. I can practically hear them think, "Idiot."

As I finished packing my hockey bag, I made my way to the exit. Fortunately, my stick didn't come close to whacking someone on the head this time.

"So how was it?," the coach asked.

"Great!," I said. "Yeah, great," I thought. Yeah, right. My shirt was so wet I felt I had just went swimming. I sweat so much that the equipment in my hockey bag doubled in weight. The tape I had put on my stick was dangling off. Yes, it was just great.

As I drove home that night, I kept asking myself, "Am I cut out to be a hockey player? Why do I play hockey? Why do I bother?" Maybe it was TV. Maybe it was because I told the girl I skated with I wanted to play. Maybe I miss it since that rollerhockey accident. I don't know.

I got home. I was painfully tired. My muscles were aching everywhere. I threw my bag to the floor, and I collapsed on the sofa. Both eyelids came down, but all of a sudden, one of my eyes opened. I think I need to take a shower.

I went to school next day. Throughout the entire time, I couldn't stop thinking about what happened last night on the rink. Time passed by fast. School's over. Normally, at this time, it would be time to go to that beginner hockey clinic.

When I got there, the coach asked, "Aren't you going to put on your equipment?"

"Why?," I asked. It was just a beginner practice session. I came all those other times and I didn't have any.

"Well, you spent money on it..." That's right, I spent up to $500 total in equipment, including skates. "...and you need to break in your new equipment."

"If needs be," I replied. I went back to the car, brought in my equipment, and started putting everything on in the locker room. Something didn't feel right, though. Something felt gross. Suddenly, it occurred to me. I should not have just thrown my hockey bag on the floor last night. I should have taken everything out and let it all dry.

As I skated in the beginner hockey clinic, I had fun, probably because I skated better than everyone else. But when it came to the pickup hockey and clinic last night, I wasn't sure how I felt about it. This was one of those "big fish in a fishbowl, small fish in a sea" situations."

Time flew. Soon I found myself having to decide whether I was going to the pickup hockey and clinic session, which was just a couple hours away. I started thinking, balancing the pros and cons, and then I said, "Screw it. I'm going." And I continued going every week. Fortunately, for every time I went, I did fewer embarrasing things. I finally got competent.

After a while, I decided to join a hockey league at a different rink. It was time to move out of clinics and pickup, and it did turn out for the better. It was the same story, though, but this time, I actually looked like I knew what I was doing.

Joining a league gave me new challenges. I moved from individual play to team play, and I found this more difficult. I found myself constantly thinking about strategy and plays. I had to start thinking and playing what's good for the team and what would give my team the advantage. Before, I would catch the puck and just dump it. Here, I found it necessary to look around and see where I was going to pass or shoot it.

In addition to playing real games (as opposed to pickup at the previous rink), there were practices, which I enjoyed much. There was always something new and challenging. Every now and then, the coach would come up with an idea. He would say stuff like I want you to do this, this, and this. It was difficult, but I did have a good time.

Then one day, I got a new coach. He must have been in the army before he came. In the words of one of my teammates, he's insane. He began his practice sessions by telling us to stretch out. That was no problem.

"I didn't like that," he shouted. Before I could even say, "So what?," he yelled, "Everybody down and give me 10 pushups." He'd make us go halfway. He'd make us count out loud. He'd make us do it again. He'd even tell us to repeat phrases after him such as, "I am a hockey player. I am here to work hard. I am going to try my best." And every time it sounded like we didn't mean it, even it the least bit, he'd make us do push ups again.

Then, he'd make us do other crazy drills. He enjoys making us do a "Mary Poppins" type maneuver, by hopping sideways, feet over feet, stick in both hands, drill along the line from one side of the rink to another. That kills us, and he loves making us do it... just because we hate it. And as always, if any of us appeared to not try our best, we had to do push ups.

Someone mentioned to him that he disliked doing backward crossovers. So, lucky us, we got to do backward crossovers through the entire Olympic size rink. That killed our feet. And once again, when we appeared to didn't do our best, he'd make us do push ups.

He loves making us do push ups so much that he'd make us do a couple extra sets when we get on the rink late. And, to keep us on our toes, literally, he would say something like, "I want all of you to do your best. If any of you, just one of you, fails to give me 100%, you're all doing push ups." Another of his favorite lines is, "If you do this drill well, you can drink water."

Every now and then, he would get creative. He'd say something like, "I want you to do this. I will show you this once." And that was it. He would only show us once. Those of us that didn't get it or pay too much attention moved to the back of the line. We dreaded doing one of his drills wrong in front of him. He'd even come up with stuff like diving at the blue lines and spinning around. He called it "making use of our protective equipment."

After practice, we scrimmaged. And when we did not try our best, we had to do push ups. When the entire session was over, he'd have us all line up against the boards. Then he'd make us do sprints at least twice. And if we looked like we didn't try our best or if we looked tired, he'd make us do it again.

By the time we finished our sprints, I was exhausted. I don't think I have ever been more exhausted in my life. I could barely stand. I never had leg cramps in both legs at the same time before. I was so tired, I even drove home slow, and I rarely go 30 miles per hour on the freeway.

Occasionally during the games, this same coach would watch us. If we lose the game, he'd make us sprint across the ice at least twice. One thing for sure about this guy, he loves making us do push ups and sprints.

Soon, it was time for practice again. I was so killed the last time that I wasn't sure if I wanted to practice at this rink, or at least with this coach again, but once again, I took the attitude of "Screw it, I'm going."

I went to practice again. He did the same things again, except this time, I didn't feel as bad. After all, it wasn't personal. In fact, I actually found his attitude humorous. I may occasionally say to my teammates, "He wants us to do what?," but all in all, I survived. After practice, he quickly loses his militaristic style. He gives us fatherly congratulations on a good practice. Occasionally, he would bring handouts on playing and tips for improvement.

Of course I went home exhausted again, but this time, it was a kind of good exhaustion. It was the kind that made you feel like you really accomplished something. I used to think his making us shout, "I am a hockey player" was just silly. But I guess that the saying is true: if you say something long enough, you start believing it. I knew, from this point on, despite what has happened in the past, and what will happen in the future, that I am a hockey player.

About This Site | (C) 1998 DC. All Rights Reserved. | This page last updated July 22, 1998.