Shot Spot Spectacular

The last few days had been the perfect weather for the grandkids to get outside; Not so cold that you’d catch a chill or get aches from the ever creeping arthritis, not so warm that you’d come back inside damp and prone to illness, but the gentle middle ground for a change. That sort of thermometer area that hangs around minus ten Celsius, just the right weather for skating with the grandkids. The right weather for light crystalline powdered snow to form in the clouds as a cold front meets a warm front and the saturated clouds condense causing snowfall. It started snowing earlier this morning and the family and myself had watched as each precise, singular, and especial snowflake had landed. They reminded me of each person I knew as people are as unique as snowflakes and the odds are there will never be two that are exactly alike. The children gathered at the door anxious to get at clearing the pond so that their game of pickup hockey could go on.

“Grandpa, the snow has almost stopped, we’ll go clear the pond and the game can start.” said Alfred who was already mimicking a slap shot with an imaginary hockey stick.

I watched nervously as the last of the snowflakes settled to the ground, each an individual that plays as a complete team to blanket the ground in a pristine seeming coating. Maybe my knee won’t give out I thought as I worried over my old injuries that had been dormant since the gentle snow started to fall.

“Sure, I’ll stay behind and help clean up from breakfast. There are a lot of dishes to do.” I said thinking that I had cleverly delayed the inevitable hoping they’d forget about me.

The sun had not yet risen as it was only about half past seven in the morning, but the sun would rise as inevitably as the pond getting cleared. The children started to get dressed. I reflected to when I was the one shovelling the pond behind the family cabin so my siblings, and our friends could play pickup hockey to settle a grudge or to see who got to choose the next movie. A trout stocked pond by nature, it doubled as a place to practice the crudely built up skills of the novice hockey aficionado that I had become by age three. I was built up by age ten with what skills my family could instill in me and I dreamed of the National Hockey League and my favourite players, whom where featured in the All-Star Game mid-season due to their significance as leaders and their outstanding abilities as players in the big league.

I was just as tense as the children, but for different reasons. They were anxious to settle who got the top floor rooms for the rest of the holidays as first come first serve was not good enough as there were not enough rooms to go around even if shared equally. Three of them would have to be left out due to time constraints. I was to be a provisional player in their game of pickup hockey, but my age showed the hard years I had endured as an athlete who had been injury prone during my time with the National Hockey League. The initial injuries where a result of several dirty hits and the injuries kept reoccurring to shorten my career as I was placed on the Injury Roster time and time again from the same type of injury. I was currently watching the kids clean the settled snow from our pond out back through the kitchen window.

It had snowed hard enough to put foot high drifts across the open areas of our island and the pond was surly considered open ground. Each of my grandchildren, who already numbered a dozen or so was helping the effort. Each likened to a player on a hockey team in a blizzard of hockey teams, where coaches and scouts are blinded by the sheer number of players at the Junior level. Your natural talents for a given position are not adequate, but rather the fully developed you must shine during Junior years where you stand the chance of being drafted into the big leagues. I underwent a campaign against slovenliness in my personal regime and took up as much extra effort as I could to evolve into a unique prospect, as unique as the most intricate of snowflakes ever created.

I recalled how I had learned the game better than most of my friends and had become unique enough a snowflake to earn a spot in the Western Hockey League with the Brandon Wheat Kings by the time I was fifteen. I had developed into a potent prospect showing abilities that far outshine others in the league. Even my teammates could tell something destined me for a dazzling career filled with highlight reel goals, superbly blocked shots, breakaway plays, and scoring leader summaries. By the time I was a regular on the squad, they had selected me to play for Team Canada’s World Junior contingent. Through four years with them I had won three gold medals and a silver, but would my dream come true?

I played forward. One of those left/right wingers who could take the odd face off with grace. I was known for explosive speed and good in the corners where my stick handling was next to none and putting my fair size to good use dominating defencemen came in handy. Though four seasons with the Wheat Kings and eighty-eight goals, sixty-seven assists, and one hundred ninety-one penalty minutes, I had earned the ‘C’ on my jersey. I practised more than a lot of my teammates with the idea to make my snowflake stand out in a drift of faces and players with similar skills. When the scouts started showing up to games to fill out their prospect reports for the National Hockey League, I thought big and pushed myself to go further to define myself as a superstar.

I did on the ice drills four seasons of the year, five days a week, four hours a day. To keep up with fitness, I worked out everyday starting with light stretches and did laps around the track for endurance training intermittently mixed with hundred meter sprints. Weights would occupy a couple hours a day where I would vary my program to account for both strength training and bulking up. The results showed that I had not wasted the effort as I had won three Calder Cups as captain of the Brandon Wheat Kings and was tentatively assigned to the number one draft spot in the up-and-coming NHL draft. It often left me to daydream of playing in Lord Stanley’s ultimate contest... The Stanley Cup. I knew not to let it get to my head and continually focused on draft day as I prepared.

I remember draft day... Butterflies... Joy... Awe... Discernment for the others. I sat out in the stands awaiting the start of proceedings where Tampa Bay would be up with the number one draft pick, not because of a lost season, but because of a rebuilding campaign that seen them trade for five of the top seven picks this year. Second overall to select would be the Winnipeg Jets, and then third belonged to Tampa yet again. As the lights dimmed in the auditorium, and the current president came to the stage to introduce the draft, I recall feeling a slight euphoria as I imagined myself up on stage wearing a team jersey belonging to my new NHL family.

I was nineteen, at the peak of my physical fitness, and was still young in terms of skills development, and if drafted I would have to continue the effort to earn a regular spot on the team’s roster. As a rookie, I would probably be assigned to the farm team to build skills with the other junior players. Although if I dazzled the team’s coaches and General Manager in the first few games, I could drift right along and start with the main club playing a bunch of games in the first season. After introductions were over, the GM from Tampa Bay took to the stage and announced the prospect of choice.

Just like all the good karma from all the effort in the universe ran through me and was being paid back, my name came up and they called me to the stage. I rushed up the isle and ran the five stairs to the top. When I got near the microphone, a bunch of team scouts and the GM shook hands with me, and someone handed me the jersey I had dreamed of for years... An official Tampa Bay Lightning game jersey. I was to start in the home opener against Chicago at right wing.

Come game night, I was filled with awe of who was in the dressing room with me... Real NHL superstars who had carved up the ice for years, earning their spots on the roster. I was told we were the favourite in our division to go all the way to the Stanley Cup but would have to pace ourselves to get there. When the puck was dropped, it hit me I was on my first ever official rush towards the opposition’s goal in the big league... The NHL.

The defenseman who gathered the loose puck charged towards the opposite end of the ice, and I lingered long enough at the blue line to let him cross. I found myself open at the point and tapped the ice. The pass came and I one-timed the puck... G-O-A-L!!!! I had scored my first NHL goal on my first shift, with my first shot. The home crowd roared with appreciation and I hit my knee, pumping my stick in the air like the late great Teemu Selanne. I went on that season to score twenty nine goals, and fifty-three assists in thirty-seven games with the mother club, and I won the rookie scoring leader trophy, the Art Ross Trophy. Later that season I played in nine playoff games with eleven points total, and was fortunate enough to play in the last series against Dallas, earning seven points, five goals and two assists.

We won that year... The parade was great and unexpected for a rookie, just nineteen by then. Every year I grew stronger and played harder. Over the years I appeared in seventeen All Star Games, winning Hardest Shot twice, Accuracy once, and Fastest Skater twice. Traded throughout the years I played with Tampa for twenty-five seasons, three seasons for the Winnipeg Jets, and my final two for the Calgary Flames. I won five Lord Stanley Cups, being awarded MVP in three of them. I even once won the Lady Bing Trophy for the most gentlemanly player.

Years after retirement I lace the skates to play pickup hockey for what may be the last time with grandchildren whom are unique snowflakes of their own. Not all will play hockey but have their own blizzards to deal with in life. If they want to shine and stand out in what they do, they will have to put a lot of effort into their development too. Then they will stand the chance of being noticed by their peers and superiors for what they have become. As I stand on the edge of the frozen pond, where it all began fifty years ago, I recalled that first time I was laced into skates by my father and I tentatively hit the ice, not sure how my body would handle it early in the morning this Christmas Day.