The Hockey Boys

The Chicago Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup on Monday.  Ten years ago this would have been a non-event for me.  The hockey boys changed all that for me though.  Today I’ll watch coverage of the parade and rally with pride and excitement.  Here’s why.

I grew up in the Blackhawks blackout era.  Their owner, in a (foolish) attempt to drive ticket sales, refused to televise the hockey games.  If you wanted to watch the Hawks, he argued, you had to buy a ticket.  It was a dumb move, killing a generation of potential fans.  As a result I mostly looked down on the sport.  I deemed what little I knew to be barbaric.  Hockey players were a savage bunch, vulgar, wild and with few teeth.  They were allowed to punch each other’s lights out during a game.  It was encouraged even!  So uncivil.

Since I didn’t really know anyone who played hockey and it wasn’t on television, my opinion of the sport remained unchanged for years.  Until I met Tommy.  A hockey player.

Tommy had played in high school, college, and grad school.  And continued to play in rec leagues after that.  His nickname was the Urinator because after one to many concussions he would pee his pants any time he received a big hit.  After his 11pm hockey game he would stay out until 2 or 3 am drinking beer with his teammates.  As you can guess, armed with this knowledge, my opinion did not change right away.

It wasn’t until I started watching some of his old man league games that I started to appreciate the sport.  You had to recognize the tenacity it took to get that little teeny hockey puck past the hulking goalie, all while wearing 3/8” blades.  I still wasn’t crazy about the fighting having spent the past two years in a job where my number one goal each day was to not have any physical altercations in my classroom.  But once I learned that Tommy had not once in over fifteen years of hockey playing engaged in a fight, I realized you didn’t have to tussle to play the sport.

Then I met the hockey boys and I really fell in love with the game.  A few months into our marriage a former Wheaton College teammate of Tommy’s passed away unexpectedly.  The funeral brought all the hockey boys back together, a tragic reunion after many years without a lot of contact.  Because of this loss the boys committed to more regular reunions.

Which was why I found myself hosting the hockey boys a year later.  They came to town for an alumni hockey game at Wheaton.  We had recently purchased a house in the area with a big basement.  And we had beer.  It was really all that was necessary to deem our home a suitable base for the weekend. 

Between the college game and beer runs the boys camped out at our house while I fluctuated between trying to stay out of their way and enjoying their company.  I sat on the porch, listening to stories from their college days and the constant good-natured jabs at one another, understanding for the first time why hockey was so important to my husband.  These were Tommy’s people.  Wickedly funny, coarse, and more than a little mischievous, on the surface the hockey boys were exactly what you would expect.  But beyond that they were good hearted, kind, loyal and the kind of friends who would drop anything when another brother was in need.  They laughed loudly while drinking beer and beamed proudly while speaking about their kids.  They played flashlight tag in my basement at 4am.  A bunch of 30 year olds running around in the dark trying to hide and shining lights on each other.

We’ve seen the hockey boys a few more times over the years.  The regular December reunion hasn’t seen solid attendance for the last few years but this April they all came together for a wedding.  They were the same combination of funny and irreverent and solid and upstanding.  They were still a band of brothers, these hockey boys, and I found myself grateful for my husband’s place among them.  

There seems to be a different camaraderie among hockey players.  Perhaps because it attracts a certain kind of guy, or maybe the unique hockey stench forms an unbreakable bond among its members.  I think it may have something to do with the rules of fighting.  Despite my initial distain for the combat aspect of the sport, I’ve come to respect, even appreciate the fighting.  Fighting doesn’t usually happen all willy nilly, a result of hot tempers.  Players fight to protect their own.  If someone takes a particularly hard and unprovoked hit on one of the smaller players you can bet you’ll see gloves thrown off later in the game.  They fight for each other, in defense of their teammates.  It’s kind of cool.  (Of course some fights are just because one guy ran his mouth a little too hard, but on the whole you find a reason for thrown punches.)

I’ve come to really love hockey and the spirit of the hockey boys.  I may even be a bigger fan than my husband.  And though I swore up and down no kid of mine would ever play hockey, I’m finding myself looking forward to a house full of hockey boys (or girls) and all their teammates.  I can think of no finer group for Monster or Toots to join.