I wanted nothing more than to go back to clinic this morning and show that coach he hadn't gotten the best of me last week. I really wanted to show up and be like "ok here I am, back for more." But I chickened out.
Here's my list of excuses:
#1- I couldn't breathe all day Saturday due to allergies and figured it would be the same on Sunday and didn't want to embarrass myself again by not being able to complete a drill without stopping in the middle. Ugh.
#2- I've had to get up early every day including Saturday and really just wanted to sleep in, dammit.
#3- Uhhh... that's pretty much all I've got. (Ok maybe I was a little scared to get my ass kicked again).
So as not to feel like a complete useless lump of laziness, I did do about 40 minutes of yoga when I got up. Note to self: You are much more flexible at the end of the day than you are when you just get out of bed. Yikes. Still, there are several poses that really open the hips and stretch out all those muscles so I'd like to do them on a more regular basis than once a week. Honestly, I'm surprised Tim Thomas is the only goalie doing yoga. It's such a perfect combination: flexibility, focus, mental discipline. What could be a better match for goaltending?
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Telling perfect strangers to "suck it". Or: Texting gone awry
Since I have nothing better to write about during my period of hell on earth known as "not playing hockey", I figured I'd share a little story. (Yayyy! Story time!) Now, to really "get" this one I need to give you some backstory.
The year was 2006... during the course of watching a Rangers/Devils game, when the Rangers scored a goal, I gleefully texted my best friend "SUCK IT!!!", as was our custom. Or so I thought. I had in reality inadvertently sent the text message to the first person on my contacts list, who just so happened to be someone I didn't know very well; a fellow female hockey player I was just starting to establish a friendship with. Knowing she was (and still is) on the quiet side and certainly not prone to use of naughty language (I know, I know... she plays hockey... she should at least swear), I quickly sent a followup text "Sorry!!! That wasn't meant for you!" I thought she had my number programmed in her phone- she did not. So all she had was a text from a random stranger yelling at her to "suck it" and then a followup text which she later said didn't really seem to make her feel any less weird. Fortunately, there were no hard feelings and it has become our standard joke.
Fast-forward to last night, to GoalieHusband's fantasy hockey draft. This friend is in the league as well, and I had a separate chat window open to talk to her during the draft. Unfortunately my computer had other ideas. I had to log out of chat to actually do anything productive with my team, and so I sent her a quick text to let her know why I had to log out. Now.... she had recently moved. I could have sworn she said her cell number hadn't changed... (you see where this is going don't you). I immediately got a response back.
Her: who is this?
Me (feeling like being a smartass): its GoalieGal.... SUCK IT MARTY!!!
Response: um.... my name is christopher. i think you have the wrong number.
Me: omg i'm sorry!
Response: its ok babe.... hope you connect with marty! ;)
My thoughts....
#1 EWWWW omgwtfbbq he did not just call me "BABE"
#2 EWWWW I want to throw up thinking about "connecting" with Marty.
#3 My friend is going to laugh her ass off when I tell her this.
She did. And she declared that it must indeed be hockey season now that the first "SUCK IT MARTY" text has been thrown down.
Let the season begin.
The year was 2006... during the course of watching a Rangers/Devils game, when the Rangers scored a goal, I gleefully texted my best friend "SUCK IT!!!", as was our custom. Or so I thought. I had in reality inadvertently sent the text message to the first person on my contacts list, who just so happened to be someone I didn't know very well; a fellow female hockey player I was just starting to establish a friendship with. Knowing she was (and still is) on the quiet side and certainly not prone to use of naughty language (I know, I know... she plays hockey... she should at least swear), I quickly sent a followup text "Sorry!!! That wasn't meant for you!" I thought she had my number programmed in her phone- she did not. So all she had was a text from a random stranger yelling at her to "suck it" and then a followup text which she later said didn't really seem to make her feel any less weird. Fortunately, there were no hard feelings and it has become our standard joke.
Fast-forward to last night, to GoalieHusband's fantasy hockey draft. This friend is in the league as well, and I had a separate chat window open to talk to her during the draft. Unfortunately my computer had other ideas. I had to log out of chat to actually do anything productive with my team, and so I sent her a quick text to let her know why I had to log out. Now.... she had recently moved. I could have sworn she said her cell number hadn't changed... (you see where this is going don't you). I immediately got a response back.
Her: who is this?
Me (feeling like being a smartass): its GoalieGal.... SUCK IT MARTY!!!
Response: um.... my name is christopher. i think you have the wrong number.
Me: omg i'm sorry!
Response: its ok babe.... hope you connect with marty! ;)
My thoughts....
#1 EWWWW omgwtfbbq he did not just call me "BABE"
#2 EWWWW I want to throw up thinking about "connecting" with Marty.
#3 My friend is going to laugh her ass off when I tell her this.
She did. And she declared that it must indeed be hockey season now that the first "SUCK IT MARTY" text has been thrown down.
Let the season begin.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Hello? Is this thing on?
Jumpin' Jesus on a pogo stick, has it really been almost 8 months since I've posted here? I believe I let fear of people randomly happening across this blog and figuring out where I play paralyze me for a while there. Its not completely unfounded. But honestly.... its a really big world wide web. So back to public status the blog goes. (Do I hear much rejoicing? Yeah I didn't think so).
Since I've been off the ice for a month, the only thing I really have of any import to relate is my experience at clinic yesterday. I figured going to clinic would be a better way to skate the rust off than jumping right into open hockey with the super fast guys. I thought "oh I'll take some shots and get back into the game and be all set". Yeah. Not so much. I haven't had my ass kicked that hard since I was paying for it. (LESSONS, you perverts!!!)
I was standing around at the boards, watching the skaters do their skater thing, when one of the coaches beckoned to me. "Goalie!" he said, and waved me to center ice, where he set up a string of about 8 cones. Oh boy, I thought. This can't be good. He instructed me to do suicides.... and then asked if I knew what they were. Oh yes, I do. This GoalieBrain doesn't forget a thing like that. So I did them. And when I got to the final cone and thought I was done he said "Ok, do 3 up-and-downs". I think I really wished for his death at that point. But I did it. Barely. And then he made me do it again. And then he peppered me with shots. By the time the skaters were ready to do their drills that incorporated shots, I could barely stand up, much less make a save that looked like anything other than what it was- me just getting my body in the way however I could. But one thing kept me going. The coach told me I had good form. And after I talked to a friend who used to be a coach in the area, I felt even better. He said I should take that as high praise, because that particular guy doesn't say stuff like that often. So go me.
I might just go back next week for more abuse.
Since I've been off the ice for a month, the only thing I really have of any import to relate is my experience at clinic yesterday. I figured going to clinic would be a better way to skate the rust off than jumping right into open hockey with the super fast guys. I thought "oh I'll take some shots and get back into the game and be all set". Yeah. Not so much. I haven't had my ass kicked that hard since I was paying for it. (LESSONS, you perverts!!!)
I was standing around at the boards, watching the skaters do their skater thing, when one of the coaches beckoned to me. "Goalie!" he said, and waved me to center ice, where he set up a string of about 8 cones. Oh boy, I thought. This can't be good. He instructed me to do suicides.... and then asked if I knew what they were. Oh yes, I do. This GoalieBrain doesn't forget a thing like that. So I did them. And when I got to the final cone and thought I was done he said "Ok, do 3 up-and-downs". I think I really wished for his death at that point. But I did it. Barely. And then he made me do it again. And then he peppered me with shots. By the time the skaters were ready to do their drills that incorporated shots, I could barely stand up, much less make a save that looked like anything other than what it was- me just getting my body in the way however I could. But one thing kept me going. The coach told me I had good form. And after I talked to a friend who used to be a coach in the area, I felt even better. He said I should take that as high praise, because that particular guy doesn't say stuff like that often. So go me.
I might just go back next week for more abuse.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Adventures with technology
I've always been a behind-the-scenes sort of person. The stuff that goes on that we don't even notice, that makes things run smoothly, usually intrigues me. So I'm not surprised that the two times this week that my reaction to ending up in the scorekeeper's box twice this week, fiddling with the scoreboard, had me thinking "hey that was kind of neat".
The first instance was at open hockey at an unfamiliar rink a few nights ago. Why would one need to run a scoreboard at open hockey, you might ask. If there are three goalies, and no clock anywhere to be found, running the clock on the scoreboard provides the only way to keep track of time and know when to change fairly. Of course, it took a bit for us to figure that out. As warmups were wrapping up that night and I was hanging out by the boards watching the other two goalies take shots, one of the goalies gave me the "10 minutes" signal. I nodded, looked around.... then skated over to him.
Me: This might sound dumb, but where's the clock?
Him (pointing to a lit display on the other side of the rink): Right over there.
Me: (silence)
Him: That's an exit sign isn't it.
Me: Yeah...
It wasn't until about 5 minutes into play that he skated up to the bench and asked me if I knew how to run the scoreboard, having come up with the brilliant idea that we could use that clock to keep track of our shifts. I had no clue, but another guy on the bench said he'd used to work it and would go set it for us. Unfortunately, he didn't set it to just run straight time, he set it up for a 20-minute period. That was all well and good but had the unfortunate effect of setting off the "pavlov's dog" mechanism in all the skaters' brains when the horn went off 20 minutes later. Even though we'd only played for about 25 minutes, play came to a screeching halt.
Dopey Defenseman: Whoah. Is that it? We're done?
Me (from the net): Keep playing, we just set it to keep track of time.
DD: Ooohhhh....
Usually, the scoreboard dude would go over and reset the clock every 20 minutes when the horn sounded. However if he was on the ice at the time, whichever goalie wasn't playing would go into the box and try to figure it out. Goalies being quite a smart breed, I had confidence that it wouldn't take much. How hard could it be? Still it made for an amusing picture, seeing a goalie in the scorer's box, standing there staring at the board, poking at random buttons and looking up at the clock.
The first instance was at open hockey at an unfamiliar rink a few nights ago. Why would one need to run a scoreboard at open hockey, you might ask. If there are three goalies, and no clock anywhere to be found, running the clock on the scoreboard provides the only way to keep track of time and know when to change fairly. Of course, it took a bit for us to figure that out. As warmups were wrapping up that night and I was hanging out by the boards watching the other two goalies take shots, one of the goalies gave me the "10 minutes" signal. I nodded, looked around.... then skated over to him.
Me: This might sound dumb, but where's the clock?
Him (pointing to a lit display on the other side of the rink): Right over there.
Me: (silence)
Him: That's an exit sign isn't it.
Me: Yeah...
It wasn't until about 5 minutes into play that he skated up to the bench and asked me if I knew how to run the scoreboard, having come up with the brilliant idea that we could use that clock to keep track of our shifts. I had no clue, but another guy on the bench said he'd used to work it and would go set it for us. Unfortunately, he didn't set it to just run straight time, he set it up for a 20-minute period. That was all well and good but had the unfortunate effect of setting off the "pavlov's dog" mechanism in all the skaters' brains when the horn went off 20 minutes later. Even though we'd only played for about 25 minutes, play came to a screeching halt.
Dopey Defenseman: Whoah. Is that it? We're done?
Me (from the net): Keep playing, we just set it to keep track of time.
DD: Ooohhhh....
Usually, the scoreboard dude would go over and reset the clock every 20 minutes when the horn sounded. However if he was on the ice at the time, whichever goalie wasn't playing would go into the box and try to figure it out. Goalies being quite a smart breed, I had confidence that it wouldn't take much. How hard could it be? Still it made for an amusing picture, seeing a goalie in the scorer's box, standing there staring at the board, poking at random buttons and looking up at the clock.
Friday, January 30, 2009
My "hockey balls"
Recently, someone asked me if I've noticed anything different in my personality since I've started playing hockey. I thought about it, and answered that I think I'm more confident than I was. That's not saying much, considering I've never been all that confident, ever. But apparently, I also grew balls.
Earlier this week I was in a minor car accident in which I was absolutely, positively, nowhere near being anywhere at fault. An idiot with several missing brain cells tried to pull out onto a two-lane highway to turn left. Guess who was approaching in the left lane, minding her own business? Guess who honked madly, slammed on the brakes, and still was hit by this moronic individual who continued to pull out into oncoming traffic? Yeah, that would be me. Some choice words were exchanged, and the other driver backed his car back onto the street he came off of, to clear the road for traffic. I didn't budge, wanting it to be obvious to the cop where I was and what happened. And I had every intention of being a nice civil person. Until I was walking around the front of my car to inspect the damage, talking on the phone to my husband and telling him about the "***ing ***hole" who crashed into me. When I hung up, the passenger from the other car yelled across the street "Who's the ***ing ***hole?! You need to learn how to ***ing drive!"
Oh man.
Not the right thing to yell at me.
I charged across the street and got right in this jerk's face, yelling back at him. He continued yelling. We were yelling over each other and pointing angrily at each other and the scene, and the witness who had seen it all suddenly came over to try to calm me down. "Its not worth it...." she said, getting me to back away. And she's right. And that is absolutely not like me at all. Nevermind the fact that I could have gotten myself in a heap of trouble if that guy had a few more screws loose and a weapon of any kind. At that point the cop showed up and yelled from his window for all of us to get in our cars. I thought for sure at that point I was going to at least get a lecture. But you can always count on Ranger fans....
When the cop eventually approached my window, he looked down at the "C" on the shoulder of my Rangers jersey and said "That better be a Messier jersey." I said with a hopeful smile on my face, "No, it's Jagr....". He groaned, grabbed my paperwork, and walked away. Could have been worse though, he could have been a Devils fan. Then I definitely would have been in trouble. But I think the fact that both the driver and the passenger of the other car gave him all kinds of shit probably trumps any hockey loyalties and will go farther in this guy's memory should there ever be a situation that comes down to the jerkoff's word against mine (such as, any kind of ridiculous charges that result from me charging across the street like that).
I seriously have no idea where that burst of brashness came from. I can only think it must be "hockey balls", because I get the same way when defending my net. And I'm still fired up about the incident, honestly. Hopefully I can bring some of that on the ice with me when we have our next game.
Earlier this week I was in a minor car accident in which I was absolutely, positively, nowhere near being anywhere at fault. An idiot with several missing brain cells tried to pull out onto a two-lane highway to turn left. Guess who was approaching in the left lane, minding her own business? Guess who honked madly, slammed on the brakes, and still was hit by this moronic individual who continued to pull out into oncoming traffic? Yeah, that would be me. Some choice words were exchanged, and the other driver backed his car back onto the street he came off of, to clear the road for traffic. I didn't budge, wanting it to be obvious to the cop where I was and what happened. And I had every intention of being a nice civil person. Until I was walking around the front of my car to inspect the damage, talking on the phone to my husband and telling him about the "***ing ***hole" who crashed into me. When I hung up, the passenger from the other car yelled across the street "Who's the ***ing ***hole?! You need to learn how to ***ing drive!"
Oh man.
Not the right thing to yell at me.
I charged across the street and got right in this jerk's face, yelling back at him. He continued yelling. We were yelling over each other and pointing angrily at each other and the scene, and the witness who had seen it all suddenly came over to try to calm me down. "Its not worth it...." she said, getting me to back away. And she's right. And that is absolutely not like me at all. Nevermind the fact that I could have gotten myself in a heap of trouble if that guy had a few more screws loose and a weapon of any kind. At that point the cop showed up and yelled from his window for all of us to get in our cars. I thought for sure at that point I was going to at least get a lecture. But you can always count on Ranger fans....
When the cop eventually approached my window, he looked down at the "C" on the shoulder of my Rangers jersey and said "That better be a Messier jersey." I said with a hopeful smile on my face, "No, it's Jagr....". He groaned, grabbed my paperwork, and walked away. Could have been worse though, he could have been a Devils fan. Then I definitely would have been in trouble. But I think the fact that both the driver and the passenger of the other car gave him all kinds of shit probably trumps any hockey loyalties and will go farther in this guy's memory should there ever be a situation that comes down to the jerkoff's word against mine (such as, any kind of ridiculous charges that result from me charging across the street like that).
I seriously have no idea where that burst of brashness came from. I can only think it must be "hockey balls", because I get the same way when defending my net. And I'm still fired up about the incident, honestly. Hopefully I can bring some of that on the ice with me when we have our next game.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Quotes from the Womens' Locker Room
Since I'm not in there all that often, this probably won't be a regular feature. But this was just too good not to share.
Last night I went to adult skills clinic, since I knew I'd be unable to make it out to open hockey this morning. I dropped my gear in the "Womens' Locker Room", or "closet" and started getting ready. The last few times I came to clinic on a Thursday night, I had company in the form of a friendly young woman who had just started (literally- never played before that first night) playing hockey, and also happens to be attending med school. I was just wondering if she'd be there that night when the door opened and in she walked. After greeting each other, since it had been a while since I'd seen her, I asked her how her classes were going. "Pretty good," she said, and with bright enthusiasm followed up with "Today we learned how to do rectal and vaginal exams!"
I didn't really know what to say to that. So I asked if she meant they did them on real people (as opposed to hearing a lecture). She confirmed that yes, they were done on real people.
That begs the question..... who are the dudes volunteering for rectal exams done by med students? And do we really want to know?
Last night I went to adult skills clinic, since I knew I'd be unable to make it out to open hockey this morning. I dropped my gear in the "Womens' Locker Room", or "closet" and started getting ready. The last few times I came to clinic on a Thursday night, I had company in the form of a friendly young woman who had just started (literally- never played before that first night) playing hockey, and also happens to be attending med school. I was just wondering if she'd be there that night when the door opened and in she walked. After greeting each other, since it had been a while since I'd seen her, I asked her how her classes were going. "Pretty good," she said, and with bright enthusiasm followed up with "Today we learned how to do rectal and vaginal exams!"
I didn't really know what to say to that. So I asked if she meant they did them on real people (as opposed to hearing a lecture). She confirmed that yes, they were done on real people.
That begs the question..... who are the dudes volunteering for rectal exams done by med students? And do we really want to know?
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
GoalieHusband's Triumphant Return
After nine long months of watching from the bench or stands as his wife and friends played the game he loves and wished he could play, GoalieHusband made his official return to the ice on Monday night. I can't even imagine how difficult it was to be on the outside like that, wishing desperately that he could be out there on the ice with us, and I give him huge kudos for handling it so well. I know I would have been a cranky, moody, grumpy mess had it been me. That's a long time to be sidelined. (For those following along at home, he had ACL reconstruction surgery back in April. His knee was an absolute disaster when they finally got in there to make things right.)
To make matters worse, not only was he missing out on ice time with our team, which has become a pretty solid group, the team moved up to the next level while he was out. I know that had to sting, because he was ready to move up long before the rest of us were. Because of the long layoff, he was concerned about his stamina (rightly so) and about getting his legs and hockey sense back, so he reluctantly signed up for a season in the instructional league to spend some time getting the rust off. On Monday night, he played his first game, and I went along with him to watch - I wouldn't have missed it for the world.
Being the rink rats that we are, we've become friendly with several of the staff and people who are there as much as we are. So when we arrived on Monday night and he stopped at the front desk to get his jersey, that was the first of several rounds of warm welcomes he was to receive that night. Since we were incredibly early (due in part to his nerves), we wandered over to see the other instructional league game in progress. As soon as we walked in the door, from across the ice both coaches threw their arms up in the air and cheered. We stopped by the penalty box and one of the refs came over and greeted him heartily through the glass. Granted, some of these people are our drinking buddies, but it was clear that they were truly happy to have him back. And it didn't end there. When his team came out on the ice to warm up, the same ref came over and gave him a big clap on the back in welcome. And I saw him also get similar greetings from the coaches when they arrived. It actually almost made me misty-eyed.
He played extremely well for having been gone so long, and was part of two 5-on-3 penalty kills. (His team had a revolving door installed in the penalty box. It was mind-blowing. As was the forwards' failure to grasp the concept of "offsides". But that's why its an instructional league...)And there is no doubt in my mind that he is truly "back", because after being slammed pretty hard into the boards by a player who uses his lack of ability to stop as an excuse to hit people, he turned around and yelled (and I heard this with my own ears all the way over on the bleachers), "You hit me like that again and I'll f*&#in' deck you."
Ah yes... Welcome back, GoalieHusband. I have no doubt that you'll be joining the rest of the team after this season is over. It's been a long time and I miss my "big dumb defenseman". ;)
To make matters worse, not only was he missing out on ice time with our team, which has become a pretty solid group, the team moved up to the next level while he was out. I know that had to sting, because he was ready to move up long before the rest of us were. Because of the long layoff, he was concerned about his stamina (rightly so) and about getting his legs and hockey sense back, so he reluctantly signed up for a season in the instructional league to spend some time getting the rust off. On Monday night, he played his first game, and I went along with him to watch - I wouldn't have missed it for the world.
Being the rink rats that we are, we've become friendly with several of the staff and people who are there as much as we are. So when we arrived on Monday night and he stopped at the front desk to get his jersey, that was the first of several rounds of warm welcomes he was to receive that night. Since we were incredibly early (due in part to his nerves), we wandered over to see the other instructional league game in progress. As soon as we walked in the door, from across the ice both coaches threw their arms up in the air and cheered. We stopped by the penalty box and one of the refs came over and greeted him heartily through the glass. Granted, some of these people are our drinking buddies, but it was clear that they were truly happy to have him back. And it didn't end there. When his team came out on the ice to warm up, the same ref came over and gave him a big clap on the back in welcome. And I saw him also get similar greetings from the coaches when they arrived. It actually almost made me misty-eyed.
He played extremely well for having been gone so long, and was part of two 5-on-3 penalty kills. (His team had a revolving door installed in the penalty box. It was mind-blowing. As was the forwards' failure to grasp the concept of "offsides". But that's why its an instructional league...)And there is no doubt in my mind that he is truly "back", because after being slammed pretty hard into the boards by a player who uses his lack of ability to stop as an excuse to hit people, he turned around and yelled (and I heard this with my own ears all the way over on the bleachers), "You hit me like that again and I'll f*&#in' deck you."
Ah yes... Welcome back, GoalieHusband. I have no doubt that you'll be joining the rest of the team after this season is over. It's been a long time and I miss my "big dumb defenseman". ;)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)