Hockey = therapy

*I actually wrote and was about to post this the night Rich Peverly collapsed. Somehow it didn't seem right to post it at that time, so here it is a few days later.

Eight years ago, GoalieHusband and I adopted a black cat, who was supposed to be "his" cat. We already had a kitty at home who was allegedly "mine", but who in all honestly bonded mostly with GoalieHusband. We continued his tradition of naming black cats after something red or firey, and at the time the Carolina Hurricanes had just won the Cup, and on the way home he turned to me and said "Who is that guy with the big red hair?" He was referring, of course, to Mike Commodore. And that is how Commie got his name. "Commodore" didn't last long before we were shortening it to "Commie". and everyone thought we were making a political statement when we told them our cat's name. Even the vet couldn't quite get it right. They always thought it was "Commander" or "Coma-dore". Every now and then I'd call him "Commander Commodore", or even "Commodore Barry" (don't ask where that came from, other than a road trip to PA for a tournament). But although we adopted him ostensibly as GoalieHusband's cat, he soon became mine. He wormed his way into my heart and we had a bond that if I tried to describe it will only make me sound like the quintessential crazy cat lady. If he wasn't sleeping, he was following me around. I could only be seated for approximately 3 minutes before he'd materialize and jump into my lap. He'd lay on my chest at night and "hug" me, putting a paw on each shoulder and leaning his head against my cheek.

Over the last few years, Commie developed some health problems. He had an overactive thyroid, and his kidneys weren't the greatest. Having already lost one cat to kidney disease, I steeled myself for what I pictured his end would be like. I never imagined that taking him to the vet for what I thought was a bad tooth would be the last time I saw him. (Although.... if you follow me on twitter, you know I did have an inkling... I just did a fantastic job of shoving it way down underneath the sofa cushions of my mind). He'd been drooling, which at first was kind of funny and cute - he was old, after all - but when there began to be a not so pleasant odor, and a tinge of brown or red to it, I knew I had to take him in to be looked at. He was eating fine, and acting totally normal, the two things that are first to go when he doesn't feel well, so I didn't really think it was anything serious. Boy was I wrong. My little buddy had an enormous tumor on his right temporal mandibular joint, preventing him from opening his mouth more than about an inch. It was embedded into his jaw and extended to the roof of his mouth. Even under sedation, they couldn't get his mouth open. Thoroughly stunned, GoalieHusband and I met at the vet's office that afternoon to say our last goodbyes. Although he seemed to be acting ok, we knew it was only a matter of days before he'd be unable to eat, and we couldn't possibly even consider putting him through that torture.

I've spent the last several daze in a zombie-like state, doing best when I have something to distract me. I've used the words "heartbroken" and "utterly devastated" to describe the tear through the middle of my heart, but I know deep down it was the right decision. I keep reliving the last few minutes we spent with him. I removed his collar and stuffed it in my pocket, and for the next few days wore it as a bracelet. The clinking sound his tag made comforted me. But I had three games this weekend. Some people might have found a sub, and indeed I skipped practice that week, but I knew that getting on the ice with my "other" family would be the best thing for me. I put his tag on a long chain and tucked it under my shirt, close to my heart, and on Friday night my team played the best game I've ever seen us play, and we won 2-0. I faced 23 shots. It being the novice team, it was wonderful to see the way everyone clicked. Some of our newest players are really starting to "get it", and we were rolling as a unit the whole time.

Saturday, unfortunately, was the complete opposite. It was the white team, the league team, and we had more players than we'd had for the last several games; three lines of offense and three lines of defense. I think that sort of threw everyone off. I was way off my game myself, having a tough time adjusting from the previous night's pace. I know when my timing is off, and going back and forth between levels has been wrecking havoc with my game all season long. I'll play on the white team one weekend, and then be completely unable to stop a shot in practice three days later against the red team shooters. I'll go from a red game to a white game and completely forget that pucks can come at you up high or totally misread the speed of a shot. We lost 7-1. It was ugly. I'm not taking sole responsibility, because it was a team-wide collapse, but I was right there in the thick of it.

Fortunately we had a chance at redemption the next night. I think everyone felt the same- we needed to make up for that horrid performance. So much so that for the entire first period, I saw a grand total of three shots. I started to worry that I wouldn't be ready when the shots finally started coming, but I was. We ended up winning 3-1, and I would estimate my shots around 20. But they were 20 ridiculously hard shots to stop, including one dive to the side that was an ode to Tim Thomas. I hit my rhythm and was back in my groove, much to my relief. And none too soon. We have a game this weekend that is do-or-die, playoff-wise. If we win, we have a chance. If we don't, we're done until October. (Well... except for tournaments, which are in a world unto themselves). Since the minute we lost our playoff game last season it has been my goal to get back to playoffs again and do some damage this time. I think we can do it, if we realize we have to earn it.

Getting after it

It’s March? When did that happen? All of a sudden we only have two more league games before the end of the season, and it’s crunch time. Last season we clinched a playoff spot early, finishing first in the division. This season we struggled a bit more, and are fighting for our playoff lives as we come down the stretch. Saturday night we faced a particularly difficult opponent. The last time we played them, we lost 1-0, and were told that no one else in our division had been able to keep the score so low. That was back in the beginning of the season though, when we didn’t have holes in the roster. For a few weeks we were without our coach (injury), and for various other reasons we seemed to never have our full team for games. Everyone came back just in time though. Having recently been cleared by her doctor (even though she played the week before, shhhh), Hkygrl12 was back in the lineup, and most of the rest of the team was there as well on Saturday. We have a few exuberant young-ins, which adds a whole other layer of amusement to a locker room that's already rife with it. They’re quite taken with the movie “Frozen”, and have been serenading us with its songs lately during practice. They commandeered the iPod player as we got ready for the game and forced us all to listen to … I have no idea. Some song from the movie that sounded like a Broadway musical to me. Not exactly pre-game hockey music. I belly-ached about it good-naturedly, and gionta182 and I kept rolling our eyes at each other, but they were not to be deterred and sang along loudly.  In recompense I requested one of the few popular-music songs I’ve latched onto recently: "Radioactive". I honestly have no idea what most of the words even are, I just really dig that song. In fact it got stuck in my head Saturday night and is still there. This is it, the apocalypse.

Well, now we will be forced to listen to the musical number before every game we have left, because we played probably our best game of the season. Everyone played hard, and just did not give up. They scored first, in the first period, on a play I was handcuffed on. I had to cover the puck carrier, but there was another girl sneaking down behind that no one saw, and with the D drawn to the puck carrier she had an easy goal. I tried to get over in time but didn’t quite get there. That was probably in the first half of the period, but fortunately we evened it up not long after. I think that buoyed everyone’s spirits. And then I spent half a period with  my head up my ass. Ok, not really. But there were two pretty lousy goals in the second period, putting us down 3-1, and I figured that was it. But we didn’t give up. Including me. We just kept fighting and fighting and slowly climbed out of our hole, eventually scoring 4 unanswered goals. Including killing a 6 –on-4 power play (empty net). When we made it 3-2 I shouted and cheered. When it was 3-3, I just bent down and breathed deep, determined to center myself and stay steady and do my part. Then it was 3-4 and again I drew deep on my yoga to stay calm. When the empty-netter sealed it with 3 seconds to go, I nearly dropped to my knees. I couldn’t get to my teammates fast enough after that final buzzer. We were a giant mass of happiness. That win meant A LOT in terms of our confidence and our playoff hopes. One down, two to go. In games I’ve been working on focusing only on the next shot, and that’s what we have to do in a broader sense with these games. One at a time. That’s the only way we can get there. And do we ever want to get there. #GoGoalieGo

Waking up the Goaliebrain

For the last five months at work I've been on a major project and logging lots of hours. I didn't take any time off over the holidays, in fact I worked most weekends and holiday days. I have a reprieve, just in time for my favorite thing ever - Olympic hockey. I've taken a few much-needed days off, scheduled around the women's hockey games I don't want to miss. (The big men's games are mostly on the weekend, so no vacation time needed there). Yesterday morning I settled down with a nice hot cup of coffee and watched the replay of the Canada vs Switzerland game. And I was hooked within minutes. I had the same feeling I got all those years ago when I walked into the rink for a public skate and saw women playing. The skating plans were quickly abandoned, and I spent the next hour transfixed.

It would be a few years before I would become a part of that big and quirky family, and I really did enjoy my years playing with the guys. In fact sometimes I miss it a little bit. For as much as I have been a proponent of there being no gender on the ice, there really is a difference. I've always said "I don't care what's in you're pants, when you're on the ice you're just a hockey player". But now I kind of get it. I've spent years watching the NHL and hearing about players who as kids idolized this or that player, and whose goal was to make it to the show one day. It wasn't until yesterday morning that I really got it. The close-up of the goalie reveals the same intense gaze, but this one is highlighted with eyeliner and mascara. (Hey, they're going to be on camera. I don't blame them for wearing makeup). There are braids and pony-tails flying out of the backs of helmets as the players hustle up the ice. The shots of the bench look an awful lot like my own bench. Those are WOMEN out there. People just like me. I found myself randomly just breaking out into a grin, basking in the joy of watching the best women in the world in the sport I love. I still think that when you get right down to it, hockey players are hockey players regardless of their chromosomes, but having the chance to watch all women at this skill level is really invigorating.

The game itself wasn't all that exciting - at least for most people. I was in goalie heaven. Most of the play was in Switzerland's zone, and Swiss goalie Florence Schelling was absolutely killing it. My eyes were glued to her the entire time, hoping maybe some subtle thing would subconsciously soak into the Goaliebrain. She had 69 shots and stopped 64 of them, there certainly was ample opportunity for me to learn something. But as poised and confident and disciplined and skilled as they are, it's nice to hear they can be a little goofy too. It was during the game that the commentators mentioned that the teams dress at Shayba Arena, but practice at a different one, which they have to walk to. (I don't really get that... are there no locker rooms at the practice rink?)  Evidently the Swiss team was walking over for practice, and poor Florence Schelling was waddling along in her gear, when an Olympic volunteer took pity on her and gave her some assistance:

As if she was the first goalie to ever go for a ride on a luggage cart....