SAINT BLAISE CONVERTS MOTHER TUCKER AT AN ICE RINK OFF I-95. (OR, WHAT WOULD YOUR LIFE BE LIKE IF YOUR WIFE AND YOUR DAUGHTER PLAYED HOCKEY?)

It took awhile for my wife to warm to hockey. She began to hate it because of me and refused to even step on the ice to skate with our kids to remain untainted by the most “odious and odoriferous” sport.

More than a decade into our mixed marriage (I: Polish-American Catholic carnivore from Michigan, and she: cradle southern Baptist turned Buddhist vegetarian), my wife announced that she wanted to play hockey. (To protect my wife’s privacy, let’s call her Tucker. Actually, Tucker is her name, but no one ever believes that. Her name has been mangled as Ticker, Hunter and Tuckle.)

I thought a couple things about Tucker’s suspicious transformation: First, she had had an affair with one of the hockey coaches, or hockey parents and she thinks this is the only way to buy my forgiveness or mask her infidelity. Second, I figured it might be some mild identity disorder caused by the deterioration of her Southern cultural life. Third, and most disturbing, I wondered who was going to stay home with the kids on Tuesday nights during adult league hockey games if both of us were playing hockey.

This was the truly terrifying prospect. Who would wear the hockey pants in my family?

How did this metamorphosis happen? Was it real? What in the world was I going to do about it? I take pride that so far I’ve never said: "Honey, if grown women of your striking beauty were meant to play the rough and tumble game of hockey, don=t you think they Mattel, Inc. would have made a Hockey Barbie by now?"

Both of my children, a 10-year-old girl named WJ, and an 8-year-old boy nicknamed Leelo, play hockey too. (My daughter, the only girl on the team, ran up more penalty minutes than all the other boys on her Squirt team combined. My son only took two penalties all season. What does this say about our parenting?)

My wife decided to play hockey after resisting the sport her kids and husband so loved, after she watched my son’s then 9-year-old teammate with dwarfism play the game. Her heart started to soften on a trip to Fredericksburg, Virginia where my son played in an end-of-season tournament with his Mite team (6 to 8-years-old).

When we first discussed whether she was going to the tournament, she balked. “Why would I drive four hours to a dingy, stinky hockey rink so a six-year-old can play hockey?” “He’s your son”, I responded, a bit self-righteously. “And he really wants to play,” I added.

I couldn’t go because on that same weekend, I was set to help coach my daughter’s hockey team for a tournament in Winston-Salem. “It won’t be any fun for me,” she said. “You love hockey, and you want to do it. It’s just work for me.”
I gently suggested she might surprise herself and have fun, visit a few Civil War sites, but it was up to her.

She relented, and her life will never be the same. Life never is the same anyway.
The ice rink in Fredericksburg has a mezzanine area about ten feet above the bench enclosures of both teams. The parents can hear every cuss word that comes out of the mouths of the coaches, as well as the criticism and praise directed at their own offspring.

What did Tucker hear? She heard hockey strategy, and slowly, painfully, like underarm chafing only apparent later, she began to understand the game she had so far resisted. More importantly, Tucker saw the zeal of Blaise.

Blaise didn’t have the longest legs, or the longest arms or the longest stick of the boys on the ice, but he had something physical dimensions can’t stop -- hockey reach -- the desire to get to puck no matter what is in the way. Blaise had a love and knowledge of hockey far beyond his size and age.

The kid hustled. He made body-on-the-ice, puck-blocking saves to stop the puck. He willed his body to go faster than seemed possible. And he scored on a diving, shape-shifting, contortionist’s shot. It was that shot, and the ensuing grin of ecstatic, otherworldly pleasure, that pierced the hockey-hating heart of my wife that day.

She had watched Blaise many times before, at practice at the Triangle Sportsplex, and at other games closer to home. Did her Confederate ancestors put a curse on her for marrying a Northerner, and force her to live as one for all time?
Something surprising and mysterious happened that day as Tucker looked down from her spy-in-the-sky spot over the Hillsborough Sharks’ bench area and saw Blaise’s “I just scored a goal” grin. She wanted to feel that way. After her youth spent in Raleigh, N.C., swimming, playing tennis and basketball, she wanted to get out on the ice.

I thank Saint Blaise of Oxford, N.C. for converting my wife to the sport of hockey in that faraway rink in Virginia, a few miles off of Interstate 95 and a world away from the ghosts of Dixie.

Of course, I’m not surprised that a boy-saint was responsible for this miracle. We Roman Catholics have a lot of saints, almost one for every occasion.

The official Saint Blaise, who died in 316, is invoked for serious, life threatening neck conditions, goiters, and diseases of the throat. According to ourcatechism.com, St. Blaise was persecuted for his faith and to punish him, he was thrown into a lake. Blaise did not sink, but instead stood on the water. No mention is made of ice in this miraculous event. After he returned to the shore, he was martyred after being beaten, his skin was torn off with wool combs, and finally, he was beheaded.

I’m pretty sure our young Blaise wears Kevlar neck protection (as all hockey players should) against the potentially fatal though, rare, accidental slash from razor sharp skate blades. So far, the U.S.A. Hockey organization and the Vatican take no official position on this.

Our St. Blaise is the patron saint of quick-acting hockey conversions during a tournament road trip. Within a month of that Fredericksburg tournament, we went to a public skating session and we skated as a family. Dad, mom, daughter and son skated together for the first time ever. I’d been skating with the kids since before they turned three-years-old. The boycott had ended.

Skating together as a family led to Tucker taking skating lessons, and later Learn to Play Hockey classes. Tucker quickly went from hockey classes to playing in our rinks’ developmental hockey league – D League. She played for the mighty Pylons, with their blaze orange jerseys. Tucker wore my first league jersey from the days when I played for the Pylons. Number 5. Red Wings defenseman Nick Nidstrom’s number. Leelo’s number as well.

Now Tucker plays in a women’s league. How were we to know that my wife started playing hockey at the right point in our nation’s history, a time when being a Hockey Mom became political? There were a lot of things that year we couldn’t have known, like how girls’ hockey would save the world.

To be continued . . .

A GLOVE-DROPPING PALINECTOMY: HOCKEY MOMS AT CENTER ICE

How were we to know that when the homemade bumper sticker -- "My Hockey Mom Can Beat Up Your Soccer Mom" -- peeled off our old station wagon, a political wormhole was created in the universe, propelling hockey mom Sarah Palin out of the wilds of Alaska and toward the White House?

That bumper sticker was a products liability suit waiting to happen -- it contained no warning: "Cosmic laws prohibit the removal of this sticker. This means you!"

It happened all right. I say we removed it, but my wife will tell you it was my fault. And that is true.

I agreed with her that we hockey parents are tougher than those soccer parents (at least we carry more equipment that generally stinks more). And certainly we are more working-class (except when we aren't). Do we need a bumper sticker to trumpet our superiority in the pantheon of sports parenting?

The request for the removal of the offending piece of First Amendment-protected free speech from the bumper of her car came in July, well before either political convention. The argument I made was that our soccer mom friends might be offended by the aggressive tone and implication of class warfare.

I didn't actually see my wife remove it, but it disappeared from the back of the car. (Former President Clinton, who had been campaigning in our neighborhood for Hillary, was one of my original suspects until I realized that he had an alibi that only time travel could refute.) I should have taken all this as a warning. I didn't.

Why did I disturb this homemade testament to my wife's ever growing love of hockey? My wife is a former public defender, a trial-tested and battle-hardened criminal defense lawyer. She can take on any prosecutor, judge or cop, so you can imagine what she'd do to an average soccer mom.

Even more problematic was the fact that my wife was given the bumper sticker by the team manager of my son's hockey team, a team that I coach. She loved the sticker and all it represented. It also had a Carolina blue background and a place of honor to the left of our "More Hockey Less War" sticker, and above the Carolina Hurricanes' red and black swirling logo.

Had I known the price we'd pay for my ignorance, we would have pasted hundreds of those stickers all over both of our cars.

From the very first, my Southern-born wife couldn't stand Gov. Palin -- her accent, her smirk, her politics. I found Palin refreshing and charming. Her world view reminded me of the views of my extended family members who hail from the suburbs of Detroit. No way I'd vote for her troglodyte policies, but I saw the attraction.

This only made my wife angrier. She was the hockey mom of our hockey-playing kids. How could I emotionally cheat on her by not hating everything Palin stood for, including her looks?

Forget about debating. Let's drop the gloves, ladies. At center ice of the RBC Center, we'd have Alaskan oil-pumping Gov. Hockey Mom versus vegetarian Defender of the Criminal Defense Universe Hockey Mom (who skates and is learning to play hockey!).

And shouldn't this election be decided by hockey moms on opposite ends of the spectrum, fighting to the bitter end for what they believe, and not by the undemocratic Electoral College that didn't originally include the voices and votes of women, hockey-playing or not?

My wife's new bumper sticker is "Hockey Mom For Obama." She's daring Sarah, or anyone else, to come by and peel that one off the bumper.

[An edited version appeared in the Raleigh News and Observer editorial pages on Oct. 2, 2008]

RATS FIND HOSTILE ICE IN SECOND ROUND OF PLAYOFFS

I want to blame the Eno River Rats' 6-0 thumping at the hands of the Ice Dogs on nomenclature and the attributes of our hockey team totem animal.

If you had to pick the winner between a dog on ice and a rat on ice - knowing nothing else - I bet you pick the dog. Then throw in that the River Rats were lacking two of their Canadian skaters who score a lot of goals for them. Wait, that sounds like an excuse for losing, so I better stick to the name issue.

We showed this season that if a Rat is taught to skate, hold a stick, play a bit of defense and play as a pack animal, the Rat can defeat a dog on ice, a dragon on ice and even a frozen torpedo.

Alas, last night the ice was laced with an unseen rat poison.

Next week, the skating rodents of Hillsborough will rise up and skate like the giant, pre-historic Rat skaters from the time of the Woolly Mammoth.

Go, Eno River Rats!

ENO RIVER RATS ROCKET INTO PLAYOFFS!

Hillsborough, NC -

The expansion Eno River Rats (formerly Pylons), a team that spent a few seasons as the perpetual doormat of the TAHL C-League, are playing a winning brand of hockey. Led by all-star goalie, Professor Tom "The Great Wall of Hillsborough", and Captain Ron, "Minister of Defense", the Rats have stepped up their play for the playoffs.

The other Rats are:
Canadian Hammer Joe
Marc Slick Stick
Michigan Bob
Toledo Blade Greg
Greg The Legend
Red Wing George
Kristi Kommando
Alexander The Lesser
Ivan The Terribly Fast
Boom-Boom Eugene
Big D Jeremy
Bob The Blade
Ann Up on the Glass
Brain Doctor David
CancunCraig

Next Tuesday, the River Rats take on the Ice Dogs at 9:00PM EST. The game will not be televised.



Photo by Rat Nation official player/photographer David "Brain Doctor" Blum
See more Rat action shots by Dr. Blum:

http://www.pbase.com/davideb/rats&page=all

GREAT PEOPLE IN HISTORY WHO PLAYED HOCKEY

Can you name some famous people who played hockey? I don't mean people who are known primarily as hockey players. I know some, but I'd like your help here.

Hint: One famous guy lived in Rome and spoke Polish fluently (as well as a number of other languages).

As a boy, Pope John Paul II played hockey on a frozen river in his native Poland. There is no confirmation of rumours that his preference for curved hockey stick blades led him to the priesthood and on to bigger things holding a curved shepherd's staff.

This post will be updated.

The Bravest Hockey Fan I Know

My friend MR wears her bright red Carolina Hurricanes’ t-shirt to every hospital visit to show her toughness when she gets her blood drawn to fight her post-polio symptoms. She calls this her “vampire treatments”.

If anyone deserved to wear one of those “Give blood, play hockey” shirts, MR does.

This Savannah girl has had shoulder surgeries to repair the more than 50-years of using her strong arms to walk with crutches, she's had hip replacement surgery, and now post-polio syndrome, something few doctors have any idea how to treat.

Sometimes I imagine her playing sled hockey, speeding down the ice, scoring a goal and lifting her stick in the air and pumping her fists. [check out our National Team: http://www.usahockey.com//Template_Usahockey.aspx?NAV=TU_10&ID=194136 ]

MR is tough, generous and loving. She can also yell extremely loud at ‘Canes games, and afterwards give the kids a ride on her wheelchair on the way out of the RBC Center. What more could one want in a hockey fan and a friend?

She’s my hero.

REVENGE OF HOCKEY BARBIE (TM of Mattel, Inc.)

I was so wrong about Hockey Barbie(TM). As my wife pointed out this afternoon, modern Barbie's(TM) legs do bend, at least a little bit. Not like in the old days when Barbie's(TM) straight legs prevented her from skating anywhere but hugging the boards in those baby steps.

I wanted to correct my earlier post before Mattel, Inc.'s lawyers came calling. The legal action is called "ice slander". It's when a real human accuses a doll of not being able to skate and the corporate lawyers threaten to harm (in a nice way) the wrongdoer.

My daughter's Hockey Barbie(TM) can skate a bit. To show I'm a good sport, I let the generic, life-size Hockey [Not-Barbie(TM)] Doll, pictured on this page, hug the actual Stanley Cup.

I'm glad my daughter doesn't play with Barbie(TM) dolls anymore. There are better role models for aspiring hockey players, such as the entire USA womens Olympic hockey team.

Things real girls and women can do that Barbies(TM) can't do:
1. Cross-overs forward or backward.
2. C-cuts.
3. Swizzles forward or backwards.
4. Hockey stops.
5. Play goalie.
6. Play forward.
7. Have real bodies not freakish, rubber dimensions.
6. Anything else you can think of . . .

[*Note the doll pictured above is a generic Hockey [Not-Barbie(TM)] doll who preferred to remain anonymous. She asked for privacy not because of trademark or copyright reasons. Everywhere on this page where the word "Barbie" is written, I've placed a TM for Trademark of Mattel, Inc. I love lawyers. Really. I'm married to one.]