The Seven Stages of an Ass Kicking

(I wrote this a couple of years ago after a particularly bad game, and I just came back upon it while I was going through some archives. If you new readers hadn't seen this before, especially my fellow goalies, you might get a yuck or two out of it.)

I understand that when people have a terminal illness, they go through seven stages before they finally get the big game misconduct from God, and head up to the penalty box in the sky. I never really understood that concept until my hockey game Thursday night.

You see, your little pal likes to think that he can still play goalie at a decent level, even at the advanced age of 49. One of the leagues I play in is the “B” league in Lafayette, featuring several players that competed in college. Good, fast skate.

Last season, I was lucky enough to lead that league with a 2.7 goals against average, of course with the help of a very good defense. In the NHL, the goalie leader wins a trophy called the Vezina, named after former player Georges Vezina. In Lafayette, the players jokingly say the top goalie should win the Vagina award, because we're all a bunch of pussies.

I think they're joking.

Call the sumbitch whatever you want. I won it in a good league where the other goalies were much, much younger, and I'm proud of that. I can only imagine what the Vagina Trophy looks like. Probably somebody that's French. Goddamn, I hate the French.

Anyway, when we started a new season last Thursday, I had no reason to believe things would be that much different. We lost a few key players from last season, but our team has been together for awhile, so we could certainly overcome that, right?

We played a team called Damaged Goods, whom we pretty much owned last go-around. But before the start of the game, I looked over at the other side of the ice, and noticed that most of that team had changed, and had gotten much younger.

No worries- we’d use our experience and cunning to give these kids a hockey lesson.

Well, it turns out that some of these new boys also play on the club team at the University of Colorado, and were looking for a place to get some extra ice time. I knew after approximately two minutes that this was going to be a long night.

Would you consider losing 11-1 a long night? Yeah, me too. I actually heard my goals against average explode in the middle of the second period. During that agonizing hour and a half, I believe I experienced those seven stages that everyone talks about. I’ll try to describe them, in order, without getting tears all over my keyboard:

Stage one: Shock

From the opening drop of the puck, those boys were all over us like a second date. We had several players missing for the game, and were down to 10 skaters, versus the usual 13. Not good.

I looked at their three starting forwards, and I’m sure that if you combined their ages, they were still younger than me. Once again, not good.

I pulled a save out my ass early to keep them off the board, but it was clear that it wasn’t a matter of if they were going to score, but when, and how many. About five minutes in, a shot bounced off our player and right onto one of their sticks, and he put it in. Two minutes later, they shot one right between my defenseman’s leg that I never saw, and it was 2-0. I played fairly well the rest of the period, but they still got two more, and it was 4-0 after one.

The shock part was that I hadn’t given up four goals in an entire game in this league since last October. Welcome to the new season, son.

Stage two- Denial

At the end of the period, I actually said, “They’re not that good, boys. Let’s stop chasing them around, and play a little smarter, and we can get right back in this thing”. We’re talkin’ about denial here, kids. I couldn't even keep a straight face when I said it.

It took them five minutes of the second period to build the lead up to 6-0. It was at this point that we came to our next stage, which is…

Stage three- Bargaining

For the first time in forever, I was looking at giving up double figures in goals. As a goalie, you’ll do almost anything so that second digit doesn’t go up on the board.

I really started encouraging the rest of my team, because I could see them losing interest quickly. Have you ever heard that when a dog is humping your leg, you should just let him finish, and he’ll leave you alone? You haven’t? Anyway, that’s where we were. Just like me, they wanted to get it over with, wipe the spooge off their leg, and get to the part with the beer in the locker room.

But I still had three goals to play with to stay below 10, so I was doing everything I could to get them to buy into trying hard for me.

Stage four- Guilt

I was trying my best, but the goals kept coming, climaxing with the ultimate sucker punch, their eighth with four seconds left in the second period. I went to the bench, and tried to appeal to the pride of my mates; the guys I’ve been playing with for seven years.

“Boys, you know how much crap we’re going to take if they score 10 goals on us? Let’s try to save some respect here, fellas”.

One of the guys said, “Al, they’ll be laughing at you. I can live with that”.

At that point I realized that I play with a bunch of dickheads. Seems like I would have noticed that by now.

So much for stage four. The lesson here- you can’t make a hockey player feel guilty. Let’s just move on…

Stage five- Anger

I got through the first eight minutes of the third with no goals, and was starting to think that I was going to make it. Then I looked up when the puck was in the other end for a change and noticed that one their kids was “cherry picking”.

For those of you that don’t know, cherry picking is when a player will completely disregard playing defense, and move way forward, hoping to get a long pass out of the zone, resulting in a breakaway. It’s a bullshit way to play hockey, and really bullshit when your team has an eight goal lead. It’s the same thing as stealing bases with a big lead in baseball. You just don’t do it- it shows no class.

I had a brief word with him when he came to my side of the ice.

Me- “Are you really cherry picking with an eight goal lead?”

Punk Ass- “I’m trying to get my hat trick. No offense, dude.”

Me- “None taken, dude. Oh, just one more thing, sonny. If you do it again, I’m not even going to try and stop the shot. I’m going to skate out and tomahawk your motherfucking knees with my stick. Thought you might want to know that.”

I lifted my helmet so that he could see my eyes when I told him. He knew I meant it, and he didn’t do it again.

Like I always say to my wife- kick my ass, but don’t embarrass me.

Stage six- Depression

The ninth goal came with ten minutes left, and then two minutes later, a guy took a shot from a bad angle that squeezed in between my skate and the near post. Goal number 10 just had to be completely my fault, didn’t it? It wouldn’t have been a perfect night otherwise.

And there it was. Ten goals. All of a sudden, I felt like I couldn’t hang with the kids anymore, even though I was playing in the league championship game and winning the Vagina less than a month ago. Now, I felt like I was…almost 50.

I haven’t really thought about how much time I have left playing hockey. I’ve always said that I want to play until I’m 50, and we’ll see where we are at that point. Both knees are shot to hell, and I have a torn rotator cuff. I keep a barrel full of Advil in the trunk of my car. But I still have one good shoulder, and these wits. So I have that going for me, which is nice.

I always promised myself that if I suck, I’m hanging ‘em up. I’m way too competitive to keep playing if I can’t cut the mustard. No old-man leagues for me, either. I like playing with and against the kids, you know, like 35.

(Writer's note: It's three years later, and I'm playing in an old man league. Way to stick by your convictions, Al.)

Plus, because I waited until I was old to start having children, I have to somehow stay active so that they don’t have to wheel me in to their high school graduation ceremony. Haven't been mistaken for my kids' grandpa yet- don't want that to happen if I can avoid it.

Stage seven- Acceptance and Hope

After goal 11, I actually played pretty tough the rest of the way, and when the final buzzer sounded, the kids finally stopped humping my leg. The referee, who’s a friend of mine, skated up to me and said, “Why didn’t you play this well earlier? You might have held them to eight.” Some friend, eh? What an asshole...

I checked with the scorekeeper after the game, and it turns out we were outshot 49-20. I guess that would partially explain the carnage, and why my heart was beating like a rabbit until three in the morning.

The next day, I got back on the horse and played my usual Friday lunchtime pickup game. After enduring no end of shit from the lads in the locker room for my performance the night before, I went out and played fairly well.

It gave me hope.

I hope I can make it across the border.

I hope to see my friend, and shake his hand.

I hope the Pacific Ocean is as blue as it has been in my dreams.

Wait…that’s Shawshank Redemption. Here’s what I really hope (still try to imagine Morgan Freeman’s voice for this- it’s pretty cool):

I hope that it was just a bad night, and I haven’t turned into a giant block of Swiss cheese. (Because Swiss cheese has a bunch of holes in it. Old goalie joke. Try to keep up.)

I hope that I have a little more time left playing the game, because I love playing it so much.

I hope I never have to look up at the scoreboard and see the number 11 ever again.

I hope…