BC: Week 3

Bad girl, bad girl. It's Friday and I forgot to write about this past Wednesday's practice. Which is a problem. It's been 48 hours since I was there, and the details are already fading from my memory. Not that Joe wasn't memorable: he and Lyle had a little sibling rivalry going that morning, which was alll the more entertaining when you remember that they aren't related. And Scott, Scott, Scott... I find I am drawn to you, like a moth to a flame, as you whisper sweet nothings to me on the ice. You know what I'm talking about. Those tender words of love, like "what heck are you doing with your chicken wings up in the air? No wonder you can't catch that puck." Ah, you sweet talker, you!

Welcome back Ronnie! It was nice to have a target again. Lyle actually slipped and called you a goalie. Did anyone else but you and me notice that? Maybe absence does make the heart grow fonder.

I felt faster this week. Don't burst my bubble and tell me any differently, OK? Us old chicks need to cling to our illusions. I hope I'm not seen as the hockey equivalent of Blanche DuBois, though. I don't have any scarves big enough to drape over the mercury vapor lamps. But come to think of it, it couldn't have hurt Blanche to lower a shoulder and deliver a good solid check to ol' Stanley, eh?

We broke into two groups after warming up Ronnie with left/center/right lane shots. The east end group stayed in the east end the entire time, and the west end group stayed in the west, and instead of the players swapping ends the coaches swapped ends that morning. Interesting twist. And very necessary, because Lyle's victims were chewing up the ice pretty badly, especially when we started playing bowling for skaters. You know the game I'm talking about: where we peel off into bunches of three, doing ever-faster crossovers between the tops of the circles and the goal crease. Inevitably, someone will lose an edge and go skidding across the ice towards the other two skaters, who themselves are teetering on the brink of losing an edge. And just like bowling, that 7-10 split is always so hard to pick up in that second frame. The Scott+Joe victims, on the other hand, were working on our tight turns. First time through, officially without pucks, and the second time through, still sometimes without pucks although we were supposed to have pucks the whole time. Sigh... I guess I'll still need to keep that day job, huh? But, hey, did I mention that I felt faster that morning?

We probably did some other stuff, too, but it's been two days, one hockey game and one drop-in clinic since the class, so it's all kinda blurring together right now. Maybe some sugar will help clear the fog. I think I'll go trick-or-treating as a demure housewife. No one will recognize me!

Until next week, keep your head up and your eyes on the goal.

BC: Week 2

This is week number 'two' but I'm calling it "weak too", as in doggone they wore us out this morning! Everyone really worked up a sweat today. And that is despite the fact that it was officially freezing this morning, complete with frost on the whole nine yards of grass. So even though the rink was cold, cold, cold this morning, we managed to do our fair share of perspiring.

What else did we do besides drip? Well, it all started with the ever-humbling sideways jumping over your stick. Two footed, and then one-footed. Yeah, Lyle, that was my strong foot, you should have seen how lame my weak-footed hop was... Then on to some stationary dribbling, front, side, other side, around the horn and back again. I think that's where I started to seriously sweat. Finding a buddy to pass with was easier, but doggone why doesn't that puck go where it should have gone? And don't even get me started on the directional integrity of my backhand pass versus my forehand pass.

We then split into two groups, one groups that was seriously chewing-up the ice with Joe and Scott doing tight turns of all sorts, while the other group was playing heat-seeking missile with Lyle as we shuffle-skated and tried to keep puck possession from our opponents. Except when we were in cahoots with our opponents, who were our glorified passing cones. Ah, yes.

We then moved back into a committee of the whole, which, if you know what happens when you design by committee then you have an idea of what happens when we try doing one-on-one's down the ice. Luckily, there was only one near-death experience. That's why we wear all that padding, right?

And wrap it all up in a nice little bow, by skating some figure eight's and keeping those turns tight, tight, tight.

Ronnie, Ronnie... calling all goalies!!

Until next week, keep your head up and your eyes on the goal.

The Start of Another Season

Here we are, back at the Breakfast Club.

As I was coming into the rink from the parking lot, my fellow BC-er commented that boy it was hard to get up this morning. For him, he was coming all the way from Ann Arbor, so the alarm clock jarred him awake at 4:30am. Me? I’m only coming from the Milford area, so I snored away until being rudely awoken by that stupid buzz-buzz-buzz at 5am.

But, come we did,
and we will,
because
hockey
is worth it.


Think about it. What else do you have going on in your life that you voluntarily get up at o’dark thirty in the morning, eh?

If any of you are runners, I must say for the record that you are nuts to go running at o’dark thirty in the morning. Everybody thinks us hockey players are nut cases, but, uh, hullloo, I am skating with enough body armor to stop a bullet, in a building, where the only other thing that could run into me is another idiot who maybe outweighs me by 40-100 pounds. You runners? You are nuts to be sharing the road with a bunch of half-sleeping zombies who are texting while driving while also trying to drink their coffee, all the while they are driving a vehicle that outweighs you by a factor of two or three hundred-to-one. So, tell me again, who exactly is whacko between the hockey player and the runner? Yeah, just as I thought. Case closed…

As usual, I wasn’t able to get on the ice until after Lyle had already started the warm-up drills. Scott must have been feeling a little off today, because he didn’t razz me about “here comes the second shift…” Joe, on the other hand, reminded me that I owe the Zamboni driver an apology for denting his ice at my daughter’s game this past Sunday.


Speaking of being off, where were our goalies, Ronnie and Bob? I got to the rink at 5:45am expecting to see Ronnie smiling away while the over-eager beavers shot on him. Apparently the rink opens at 5:15am, and apparently there are some among you who actually get to the rink early enough to spend a good ten to thirty minutes of “free” time skating around and practicing your shots. So I have grown accustomed to having Ronnie be the first person I see when I get to the rink. Imagine my dismay when not only was the net empty, but there weren’t any early-risers skating around. I had to do a double-take. Yup, it’s 5:45am, and while I was actually a bit earlier getting to the rink than my usual 05:59:59, I could have swore that there were usually a good handful of guys who get there early enough to make me feel like I am really as late as I usually am.

So if I got to the rink at 5:45am, why did I still manage to not get out on the ice for the start of warm-ups at 6am? I can’t blame it on Sara. Yeah, she was there, and us chicks did our usual chit-chat thing. But, it’s not like we need more than about seven minutes to get dressed so I can’t blame it on the fact that I hadn’t seen Sara in weeks and we were chit-chatting. So what exactly was my excuse then, huh? I bought a new stick on Sunday, and hadn’t yet taken the time to tape it. So I spent time, apparently too much time, taping it up to hit the ice.

Ah, yes… new season, new stick, and same ol’ friends. Life is good!


If you have a friend who forgot to sign-up in time for the start of the season, it’s still not too late. Drag him (or her) along. Heck, Tom and Richard didn’t sign up until this past Sunday. I should know, I was at the front counter when they were signing up, and I gave them a hard time and told them I’d be looking for them on Wednesday morning. You know, “I’ll be lookin’ for you,” spoken in a Robert DiNiro accent from “Meet the Fockers”, two fingers waving from your eyes toward your victim.


Which brings me to the real topic of this blog, that being what were the victims subjected to during today’s practice? The only thing that was victimized was my pride. As usual. Lyle and Scott and Joe do their level best to try to get us out of our comfort zones and into a higher performance zone. Sometimes we’re just zoned, though. We worked on jumping and balance, stickhandling, deeking, shooting, passing.. whew, yeah, I did indeed work up a sweat this morning. I could say more, but I’ve already said quite a bit even if it probably wasn’t about what you were hoping to read. That’s too bad for you, eh? If you don’t like what I write, then why don’cha pick up your keyboard and give it a try at authoring a blog posting or two yourself? Kirk says his dance ticket is too crowded to fit me in until after Thanksgiving. So how about you, Todd? Or maybe someone else? Come on, boys, you need to represent your half of the species. Otherwise, you’ll be stuck listening to me yammer all season long.


Until we meet again, keep your head up and your eyes on the goal.

The Start of Another Year

Here we are, back at the Breakfast Club.

As I was coming into the rink from the parking lot, my fellow BC-er commented that boy it was hard to get up this morning. For him, he was coming all the way from Ann Arbor, so the alarm clock jarred him awake at 4:30am. Me? I’m only coming from the Milford area, so I snored away until being rudely awoken by that stupid buzz-buzz-buzz at 5am.

But, come we did, and we will, because hockey is worth it.


Think about it. What else do you have going on in your life that you voluntarily get up at o’dark thirty in the morning, eh?

If any of you are runners, I must say for the record that you are nuts to go running at o’dark thirty in the morning. Everybody thinks us hockey players are nut cases, but, uh, hullloo, I am skating with enough body armor to stop a bullet, in a building, where the only other thing that could run into me is another idiot who maybe outweighs me by 40-100 pounds. You runners? You are nuts to be sharing the road with a bunch of half-sleeping zombies who are texting while driving while also trying to drink their coffee, all the while they are driving a vehicle that outweighs you by a factor of two or three hundred-to-one. So, tell me again, who exactly is whacko between the hockey player and the runner? Yeah, just as I thought. Case closed…

As usual, I wasn’t able to get on the ice until after Lyle had already started the warm-up drills. Scott must have been feeling a little off today, because he didn’t razz me about “here comes the second shift…” Joe, on the other hand, reminded me that I owe the Zamboni driver an apology for denting his ice at my daughter’s game this past Sunday.

Speaking of being off, where were our goalies, Ronnie and Bob? I got to the rink at 5:45am expecting to see Ronnie smiling away while the over-eager beavers shot on him. Apparently the rink opens at 5:15am, and apparently there are some among you who actually get to the rink early enough to spend a good ten to thirty minutes of “free” time skating around and practicing your shots. So I have grown accustomed to having Ronnie be the first person I see when I get to the rink. Imagine my dismay when not only was the net empty, but there weren’t any early-risers skating around. I had to do a double-take. Yup, it’s 5:45am, and while I was actually a bit earlier getting to the rink than my usual 05:59:59, I could have swore that there were usually a good handful of guys who get there early enough to make me feel like I am really as late as I usually am.

So if I got to the rink at 5:45am, why did I still manage to not get out on the ice for the start of warm-ups at 6am? I can’t blame it on Sara. Yeah, she was there, and us chicks did our usual chit-chat thing. But, it’s not like we need more than about seven minutes to get dressed so I can’t blame it on the fact that I hadn’t seen Sara in weeks and we were chit-chatting. So what exactly was my excuse then, huh? I bought a new stick on Sunday, and hadn’t yet taken the time to tape it. So I spent time, apparently too much time, taping it up to hit the ice.

Ah, yes… new season, new stick, and same ol’ friends. Life is good!

If you have a friend who forgot to sign-up in time for the start of the season, it’s still not too late. Drag him (or her) along. Heck, Tom and Richard didn’t sign up until this past Sunday. I should know, I was at the front counter when they were signing up, and I gave them a hard time and told them I’d be looking for them on Wednesday morning. You know, “I’ll be lookin’ for you,” spoken in a Robert DiNiro accent from “Meet the Fockers”, two fingers waving from your eyes toward your victim.

Which brings me to the real topic of this blog, that being what were the victims subjected to during today’s practice? The only thing that was victimized was my pride. As usual. Lyle and Scott and Joe do their level best to try to get us out of our comfort zones and into a higher performance zone. Sometimes we’re just zoned, though. We worked on jumping and balance, stickhandling, deeking, shooting, passing.. whew, yeah, I did indeed work up a sweat this morning. I could say more, but I’ve already said quite a bit even if it probably wasn’t about what you were hoping to read. That’s too bad for you, eh? If you don’t like what I write, then why don’cha pick up your keyboard and give it a try at authoring a blog posting or two yourself? Kirk says his dance ticket is too crowded to fit me in until after Thanksgiving. So how about you, Todd? Or maybe someone else? Come on, boys, you need to represent your half of the species. Otherwise, you’ll be stuck listening to me yammer all season long.

Until we meet again, keep your head up and your eyes on the goal.

Breakfast Club: Here We Go Again!

Here we go again.

Usually, when someone says, "here we go again," it is accompanied by a roll of the eyes. Maybe also an exhasperated sigh.

Yup, yup, here we go again.

Sigh.

But wouldn't it be nice to turn that on its tail? Don'cha wish that when you thought to yourself, "here we go again," that you thought of something good instead of something dreadful?

It's hard to imagine, right?

Here we are, smack in the middle of another campaign season. Both candidates say they are the agent for change, that it won't be politics as usual, that they have a purpose and a vision for America. Yet, we've been inundated with negative slams and vile innuendo.

Sigh.

Here we go again.

But wait! There IS hope for America. A new day IS dawning. No, not in the world of politics. In a better world. A world where there is a puck in every bag, where no one's locked out of the locker room and where you can always find a friend with a roll of tape. A world where it doesn't matter whether your jersey is black or white, where you are judged not by the contents of your bag but by the character of your performance.

Yeah! Yeah, here we go again!

It's time for the regular season of the Breakfast Club to start up again. Next week! Yeah! I can't wait. Here we go again...