Rec hockey: why I keep coming back for more

Tuesday night games are the worst.

At 9:30 p.m. – a time I’m usually getting ready for bed – I throw my stinky hockey equipment in my freezing cold truck and drive to a freezing cold arena.

Puck drop is at 10:15 p.m. and I don’t want to miss warm-ups.

The dressing room is small, crowded and reeks like about 12 bags of sweaty old hockey equipment.

I get dressed, take the ice and skate a few laps before doing a completely improper stretch routine, which probably does more harm than good. By the end of my 35-second stretch, I usually know which muscles are going to hurt most by the end of the first period.

During my first shift, I feel great. I fly up and down the ice with teenager-like gusto. For the first few minutes, I even back-check a little.

As the game wears on, my legs wear out. At the end of each shift, I trudge back to the bench gasping for air and wonder how I’ll get through the next one. I look around the bench and notice that nobody else looks as tired as I feel and I become concerned about my lack of conditioning.

For some totally unscientific reason, just being on the ice for a goal usually boosts my energy level for a while. Having a goal scored against us – especially if I am responsible – has the exact opposite effect.

If the game is close, the third period will be hard fought and I will need every drop of fuel in the tank to keep my shaky legs moving for another five or six shifts. Damn my desk job and generally sedentary lifestyle!

With minutes to go, we attack, looking for that game-winning goal. One of my more ambitious teammates grabs the puck zigzags around the offensive zone.  I park myself in front of the net and try not to fall down.

Ambitious Guy shoots! A mad scramble! Somehow the puck emerges right on my stick! Despite my glaring lack of effort and talent, I manage to whack the biscuit into the wide-open net before falling down in a gasping, sweaty heap.  We win the game! I am a hero!

Afterwards, the team heads to the seedy local pub where we drink cheap beer, eat chicken wings and make jokes about how old we are and how much we suck at hockey and at life in general.

I get home at about 1 a.m. My wife is annoyed. I set my alarm for 6:30 a.m., cursing myself for staying out so late.

Rec hockey is pretty much the best thing ever.

Leo is a former Advocate editor. Contact him by email at newsdeadline@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter at www.twitter.com/LeoPare