I know the title of this post isn’t the most skillful display of phraseology, but sometimes being overly dramatic is the only thing that works when describing just how bad something is. There are plenty of things going on in this world that are weighing on all of us, and I’m not trying to diminish their burden. But what else can be said about the never-ending pandemic and all the political turmoil around the world that hasn’t already been said. So, rather than bloviate on the same thing we cannot seem to escape, I thought I would meander into complaints of a more subjective nature. I decided to share one of the most difficult decisions I have ever had to make: Hanging up the hockey skates.
To most, something like this seems insignificant to say the least. Especially with all the aforementioned chaos described in the previous paragraph. But, in a world with so much beyond my control, I loved maintaining those things still under my charge. Like so many others in this world right now, some “thing” was taken away from me and had slowly worked its way back into my life as lockdown restrictions began to relax. For the majority of the past year, people lost their gym, art class, favorite orchestra hall, being a spectator at... well... pretty much anything. For me, it was our hockey league. We played at least once a week for the better part of the past twenty years. And when it finally came back, I realized it was time for me to say goodbye.
Like so many other Canadians, I grew up with this game in my blood. Played organized hockey through college, and was fortunate enough to find a group of friends and friends of friends that wanted to keep playing. It was a great way to stay in shape, keep in touch, and continue involvement in a sport that was so much more than a sport where I come from. It is honestly a way of life for many people up here, whether as a player or a fan.
So what forced me out? [Disclaimer: Do not read on if you're averse to blood-related stories]
Let’s just say there was a large puddle of blood on the ice that I found out, belonged to me. That’s pretty much the last thing I remember that night: Seeing that pool of red and realizing it was mine. I guess I must have gone into shock. Luckily for me, and I thank God to this day for this “coincidence,” there was a team medical trainer from the high school team that played right before us, who just happened to stick around to watch our game. And, if I’m not mistaken, they are all trained on the very thing that happened to me that night, which nearly took my life.
The puck was dumped into the opposing team’s zone and careened into the corner. I was the closest one from my team and began my pursuit to the puck, hoping to beat two members of the competition there, who just so happened to miss my counterpart breaking hard to the net, unabated. Not sure exactly what happened because, as you probably know, this is a very fast game, but I believe both defenders somehow found their legs tangled and one of them ended up head-over-skates. He was the one that nearly, though accidentally, almost took my life. His skate somehow found its way perfectly in-between my shoulder pads and my chin and came into my neck at what had to be, an almost perfect angle. It caught an artery, which immediately began pumping blood onto the ice with every already aerobically accelerated heartbeat.
From what I hear (again, I don’t remember much after seeing the blood), the trainer was on the ice attempting to pinch off the partially severed vessel while we awaited an ambulance. He saved my life and had he not been there, let alone had the wherewithal to attend to my affliction, I would not be here today. After my short stay at the hospital and some intense pleading from my wife, I was convinced that it was time to say goodbye to playing the sport I loved. I know COVID-19 is not directly responsible for pilfering this sport from my life, but I cannot help but partially blame the stupid virus. I mean it’s already taken so much, why not blame it for this too.
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