Cheating on real life with Hockey.

NP Smashing Fucking Pumpkins – Zero

Without exaggeration, hockey defines my week and by extension my life. Mondays are my Friday from my work week. Work is done and playtime can begin. All day, I have a singular focus. It starts when I get up and go into my hockey drawer and remove the things that don’t sit in the bag all week (underarmor, skate socks, hockey socks, and jersey.) I give the gear a once over, and then go off to work. I try to have a late lunch on Mondays so I’m not hungry when we hit the ice around 830. Literally, all day at work, I’m just pondering getting through the day until I can fly home, grab my gear, get a little pregame on, and take the 40 mile ride to Syosset.   Around 4pm, Im mentally checked out and I just want to go. Then, Freedom. Pop on the highway with the pregame playlist and away we go.

Get to the rink and I’m chirping in the room. Hit the ice and I seek out my running buddy, Kathy of to chirp her ear off. Sorry, I went to the Mick Foley school for Cheap Pops and Plugs.

 Go through a few drills which are always informative and get a light sweat going, then we it’s game time. It’s interesting, some folks don’t even watch, heads down waiting for their next shift. Some are just hydrating. Some are engaged, chirping everything and barking advice or encouragement. One guess which category I’m in.

After the game, we shoot the shit in the lockerroom for 5 minutes, my specialty is self deprecation. I get out of the room, and there’s Kat waiting for a quick postgame chat.  Ever thoughtful!

The moment I leave the rink, I’m starving, thinking of survival food. Tuesday is a rest and school day. Wednesday is a “school and the next week’s school work” day. Oh, and NEW COMIC BOOK DAY. Yeessssssss.

Thursday work is back, back through the system with the riff raff again. Friday, Friday is the day I start to feel it again. By the time Saturday is upon me, I’m already plugging. I see Sunday as the last hill to climb before Hockey Day and my Hockey Day routine.

 Holy Hot Dogs in a Handbasket, do I love hockey. It’s given sorely needed structure and rhythm to my life, and an escape from “Hey Ranger! Do birds eat other birds?”


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