My First Road Game

My First Road Game

Old hockey bums fall into two and only two categories; there are the has-beens and the never-wassers. I am a card carrying member of the latter category. However, I make it a matter of principle to never miss an opportunity to remind sons, daughters, nephews, nieces, and anyone else unfortunate enough to caught within earshot, that I really should have been a has-been had it not been for a tragic career ending injury. This dissertation usually climaxes with a statement borrowed from Reader's Digest, “And the older I get, the better I used to be.”

This story is about my first road game. It goes way back; I mean way,way back to the time when dirt was new and there were only (count em) six teams in the NHL. We are talking about minor hockey in a small western Canadian prairie town.

We were fortunate enough to have indoor rinks that were not at the mercy of” climatic anomalies”; but ice time was precious and jealously guarded. Each team had exactly sixty minutes for Saturday afternoon practice sessions, but the last ten minutes was spent sweeping the ice with big push brooms. Everybody had to sweep-no exceptions-except the goalie because he had to get the goalie equipment back to the equipment room for the next goalie. Then the rink attendant would flood the ice with a big barrel of hot water on runners. It had a spreader bar behind complete with a cloth drag to apply an even surface. When he was finished he shut the valve on the spreader bar and took a hard run at the gate because that thing was a bear to move off the ice. I think it had wheels that could be levered down, but it was still a bear to move. I can still hear the clunking sound of the ice creepers he wore to keep from breaking his neck! Sometimes there were teenagers hired to do this(they did it on skates), they were called rink-rats and were the envy of the neighborhood! But I digress! The point of all this being that sometimes two teams would pool their time and hold a scrimmage game. This meant two whole hours of ice time with only one session of sweeping; piggy heaven for young up-and-coming never-wassers!

Now the Saturday in question had a disappointing beginning due to a lack of cooperation on the part of a team that actually wanted to squander their precious ice time on practice rather than pooling their time for a scrimmage game. All too soon I found myself lugging the pads and gloves, etc. back to the equipment room. I was feeling somewhat cheated, not to mention in serious need of a hamburger. At this low point, the gods of the rink-rats smiled on me.

“ Hey sonny, how would you like to play a road game?” It was Mr. Bruchet, the coach of a juvenile team (this was a year ahead of my second and last year at the midget level). “Do you think you can hold your own with the big kids for a full sixty minutes-stop time-the real deal?”

This was too good to be true! In the foyer of the big arena across town I had seen an autographed photo of a much younger Alf Bruchet wearing a New York Ranger's uniform. This lucky team was mustering at the rink to travel to a town some distance away for an exhibition game. Their goalie had not shown up!

“I play with my big brother all the time” I said, trying to sound matter of fact.

The upshot of this discussion was a phone call home to get permission from my parents. Coach bought me a hamburger while I went to the equipment room and rustled up the best there was to offer. Traveling goalies got the pick of the litter! I tried not to act like someone who has just won a lottery!

There was no bus, it was all volunteers here. We were a happy caravan of parents and coaches and even a referee doing the driving. I ate my hamburger and snuggled into the back seat and tried to snooze. I was much too excited to sleep but I was very happy and relaxed. That was about to change big time!

Everyone in the car began to stir and stretch as we turned off the main highway and headed into the “thriving town” of Bellevue , Alberta. We were in the lead car of the caravan, suddenly the biggest black cat I ever saw ran across the road right in front of us! Hockey players, even young ones can be quite superstitious, there were gasps and moans and I did not endear myself to my teammates as I laughed at their distress. A look from the driver in the rear view mirror shut me up!

Bellevue, Alberta, at that time, was a coal mining town and it had a tough reputation. The arena looked like a perfect match to the reputation! As we filed in through the foyer with our equipment in tow, I could not help noticing that the lighting left a little to be desired. I had heard of some arenas not turning their lights up fully till game time so I pushed my apprehensions to the back of my mind. Still there was something here that was just not quite right, but I couldn't seem to put my finger on it. We went down a very poorly lit corridor to a dressing room that definitely left a lot to be desired. Oh well, we hired out to be tough, right?

Coach broke out the jerseys; I was pleased to see that my black hockey pants matched those of my teammates and the black trim on our bright orange jerseys. We would at least look like a hockey team, no matter how we played. Coach went over the roster, setting up the lines and who would get first try on the power play, and who got to fill in for penalty killing. There was a strong warning to stay out of the sin-bin.

He finished up by handing out the chewing gum and when he got to me, he kicked me hard in the pads and said very quietly, “These guys are pretty rough so just try to keep us close.”

Off we went to warm up; being a goalie is not always fun, but win or lose, there is no feeling like leading your team out onto the ice in a strange town!

That was some warm up session! I instantly made some startling and distressing discoveries. First the lights were all the way up! What you see is what you get and that wasn't much! Next I solved the little mystery of what was not quite right. This was a coal mining town and the coal dust permeated everything; the ice was not white, it was a deep shade of gray! I took my time with my stretching exercises trying to give my eyes time to get accustomed to the somewhat disadvantaged circumstances. My aforementioned big brother had taught me the fine art of total focus on the puck ( a black puck on gray ice with precious little light) wow! Each warm up shot was a lesson in concentration! I thought of that big black cat as my pupils reached a stage of dilation that felt like my eyelids had been pulled up and over the top of my head! But the best discovery was saved for last; when the referee blew his whistle and called the meeting to order. Both teams lined up on their respective blue lines for the national anthem. I looked across center ice to see the other team in black jerseys with orange trim! Oops! No one had thought of “road whites”. There was just no telling us apart; it was me against the world!

“Keep us close” I muttered under my breath, “Yeah, sure Alfie!”

As the last tones of “We stand on guard for thee” faded into the go-get-um cheers and jeers of a very partisan home town crowd, I backpedaled into my position and slapped my goal posts with my goalie stick. I faked as much nonchalance as I could possibly muster and prepared to meet my fate. Once again the masters of the universe smiled on me!

The puck dropped and total mayhem erupted; we were considerably out sized and somewhat out classed in both speed and skill level. The saving factor in our favor was our opponent's total obsession with making fancy plays. Plays that even a klutzy defender could break up from his knees or even sprawled out flat on the ice. Given the lighting conditions they could have scored at will with high flip shots from center ice. But they didn't know that and I was not telling! They were bound and determined to get in close and that was where I lived.

Once again thanks to many hours spent with big brother drilling me on “make the attacker make the first move” I stonewalled several clean breakaways and made it clear that I was no pushover. They scored twice on plays that were obviously well practiced and equally well executed. They also hit each post once and the crossbar once! All three were nice solid highly resonant clanks; the kind that warm a goalie's heart and thoroughly demoralize the shooter. A perfect goalie's hat trick! The period ended two-zip and that was close enough for me.

As I passed coach on the way to the dressing room I noticed a wry smile. “Well at least you've got a hat trick” he chuckled.

A few adjustments to the lines and game plan were in order. I have no idea what they were as I spent the brief intermission completely zoned out with a cool wet paper towel draped over my eyes! I did catch a bit of conversation centered on the modified tractor equipped with a sweeper and tank that was resurfacing the ice. This was nothing short of a marvel and we felt like we had hit the big time.

Time to go-coach gave the word “For the first five minutes ice the puck” he said flatly. “Don't try to lug it out of our zone. Ice the puck and we will change at every whistle. They have fresh ice and will come out flying and shooting. Don't even try to keep up with them. We have two periods left, not just one. Let them knock themselves out. Watch those cross ice passes between the points;maybe they will get sloppy. Don't screen the goalie and do not take any stupid penalties!”

Coach was right; it was a shooting gallery, but thanks to his sage advice we seemed to be weathering the storm. Our total concentration on defense was raising the ire of the home town crowd,

“Shoot the puck!” they chanted, and shoot they did!

From all sides and all angles, fortunately, most of them though, very hard went harmlessly wide of the net. My teammates were careful not to block my vision, so I stopped em, and they cleared them down the ice.

I soon noticed that this end of the ice had considerably better light, and I would get to enjoy it all second period. Just past the nine minute mark they hemmed us in and really put the pressure on. I made a couple of saves that were just downright lucky and managed to smother the rebound for a whistle. We got some fresh legs on the ice but I had a sinking feeling that it was only a matter of time!

Sure enough, they won the face-off cleanly back to the point, the point man faked the shot and made a move on our center, but our center had seen this move all night. He poked the puck free and took off down the ice. Their goalie was pretty rusty from inaction and our guy beat him easily! Two to one! Our bench went crazy- the rest of the place was eerily silent!

Our goal took the wind out of their sails and the game soon degenerated into the kind of broken scrappy play that only a parent can stand to watch. This also causes frustration and that causes penalties. Would you believe it, we got a power play with just under three minutes left in the period. We did not score but did manage to get several good shots on goal.

As soon as the penalty was over they took it to us; they knew they had less than sixty seconds and they came on in waves! Our guys knew time was short and were just as desperate to hold their ground till the end of the period. Just before the buzzer there was a wild scramble in front of our goal. From my knees, I saw the puck squirt free and their winger pick it up and get set to shoot, then a big orange jersey came down in front of me. I gambled on the short side and stuck my catching glove out and around the fallen defense man.

Three things happened all at once; the puck lodged firmly in the web of my glove, the buzzer sounded and the crowd went absolutely crazy! I took the puck and a new name back to the dressing room. I felt like I was bullet-proof!

Coach was late to the dressing room because he had been consulting with the other coach. They both agreed not to shorten their benches because this was only an exhibition game. This meant that everyone would continue to play. I had the sneaking suspicion that coach wanted to do a little line matching. Their first line was much better than ours, offensively, but pretty even defensively. Our second line had just proved to be a match to theirs, having scored the only goal of the period. Our third line might just have an edge late in the game. I leaned back in the corner, savored the cool wet towel on my eyes and thought of my big brother. He would love my new name!

Time to go; fresh chewing gum- “Go get um!” coach exclaimed. ”Leave it all on the ice-you can snooze on the way home.”

The home town crowd was in a frenzy; they were clearly used to being ahead by a larger margin, and did not take kindly to having their favorite winger robbed of a sure goal by a blind catch. A save made by a “pint sized goalie with a horseshoe in his pants” Things were pretty even now; both teams seem to abandon all caution and just play wide open end to end hockey. This fun to watch, but much more fun to play! There were good scoring chances at both ends and by the the ten minute mark we had traded goals.

We scored first so the game was tied for over four and a half minutes; that quieted the crowd till they went ahead again. Three to two; that is as close as it gets.

Coach called a time out after they scored “Okay you guys,” he said, ”Remember what we have been practicing back home? We're gonna start changing on the fly. Thirty seconds on the ice, max. Dump it out and down the ice nice and soft so not to ice it, and give them a rest. You gotta skate your buns off, if you want to beat these guys, but you can do it if you really try. You okay Fletcher?”

I tossed the water bottle back. “I'm fine,” I lied and headed back to the net.

We won the face off and it seemed like the tide had turned. The play was still wide open but we were definitely pulling ahead. Sure enough they got caught short trying to match our line changes and their defense had to take a penalty to prevent a sure goal. We scored in the last seconds of the power play.

All tied! Three apiece! Thee minutes and twelve seconds left to play. It got loud, very loud but noise does not put points on the scoreboard. I could tell by the return to all out defensive mode that my teammates were content to get a tie. This is bad news for goalies because one bad bounce and it is game over. I had a nagging hunch that I had used up all nine lives of that big black cat's good luck. Thanks to coach our fast line changes gave us fresh legs and our well practiced clearing of the puck into open areas of the ice gave us the territorial advantage. You simply cannot be scored on if the puck is in the other end of the rink. We went into the last minute of play with both sides desperate for even the smallest advantage.

My teammates were doing a yeoman's job of defense and puck clearing, but nobody is perfect. Our defense was getting tired and our captain banked the puck out of our zone a little bit too hard. Luckily the wing man on that side was a little guy in his first year on the team. He was a very fast skater and was determined to win the race to the puck and negate the icing call that would bring the face off all the way back to our end. Last minute of play face offs in your defensive end are not a good thing! He won the race; the linesman waved off the icing call; but he over skated the puck, lost an edge and wound up sliding on his backside behind their net.

Our center had followed him into their zone, hoping for a centering attempt. He was a slower skater and a little behind the play, but crazy things happen in hockey.

The defense man, who had the big slap shot, lost the race with our winger but picked up the puck our guy had left in the corner; he saw the lane behind his net blocked by our winger busy regaining his feet and our center coming on hard. He panicked and made a quick pass across the front of their goal. His defensive partner who was just catching up on the play was not ready for it. The puck went under his stick, hit his skate and bounced under their goalie's stick too. He was not expecting it either!

Quicker than you can say”expletive deleted” the puck was in the net! The red light went on and after the corporate sigh that followed you could have heard the proverbial pin drop! Even our bench was in shocked silence!

My big brother's words thundered in my mind, “Keep your stick on the ice!”

The clock showed twenty-two seconds left. They won the face off and dumped the puck into our end; their goalie high-tailed it to their bench. Six attackers! I saw from the corner of my eye that there were three point men- the biggest that they had-including “you know who” positioned in the high slot. There was a long scrum behind our net back and forth corner to corner but all behind our goal line. All scrum; no shot. Game over! Four to three visitors win!

The winning goal was credited to the last of our players to “handle” the puck. This is not the stuff of first star status. You guessed it; some dear scorekeeper had counted the 47 shots I had faced, and 44 out of 47 was good enough. From the dressing room, as I unbuckled my pads, I heard my name announced over the P.A. System. The name that stuck with me for the duration of my brief never-wasser career. Horseshoe Fletcher!