This week in hockey crimes and misdemeanors

I spent an unlovely week in Ohio and returned just in time for my team's most recent game. It was predictable that almost two weeks off resulted in some hockey plays that didn't quite work out for me personally or my team.

In the world of spin in which we live, these errors could be called "unfortunate events." Attentive readers, however, know that I pull no punches on this blog and I can only say my boners are all my own.

And they ain't pretty. To wit:

The crime: I'm at wing, skating up the right boards in our own end and just before I skate across the blue line, some geezer from the other team steals the puck from me.

The result: The first result is I looked like a total duncecake. The second result is that I prolonged our opponent's offensive possession, although they didn't score. Still, one of their D-men got off a pretty good slapshot that went wide and almost smacked me in the nether-regions. Which, btw, I totally deserved.

The lesson: Don't stare at the puck. The puck has nothing to say to you. It doesn't want to compliment you on your own stick, ask you out after the game or admire that nifty move on the previous shift. The puck is a gob of vulcanized rubber and looks like all the other pucks, to be quite candid.

If I hadn't been looking down, I might have noticed I wasn't playing with myself and that there was a guy wearing a jersey coming at me -- and his jersey wasn't the same color as my jersey. I could have either chipped the puck along the boards or moved to my left -- a smart lateral move because my opponent's momentum was carrying him to the boards. In check hockey, looking down would also have resulted in me getting knocked senseless by an opponent who, quite frankly, would have been doing me a favor because the current wiring doesn't exactly meet code.

The crime: I'm at right wing, other team has the puck. I'm in the slot, one of my D-men smartly sends the pucks around the boards -- against the grain of the play -- and the other team's man on the point promptly beats me to the boards and the puck and even gets a pass off that I fail to block. Again, our opponent's possession is prolonged because you-know-who had a head wedgie, i.e. noggin-stuck-between-the-butt-cheeks. 

The result: We escaped again, but it's kind of hard to play offense when you're always on defense.

The lesson: I actually was in good position initially -- watching the point man on the weak side. My mistake was losing sight of the puck for a moment and not anticipating that our D was going to bang it on the boards to my side -- a logical play for them to make. If I see it coming, I would have gotten a better jump on the race to the boards/puck. I may not have beaten my man, but at the least I could have tied him up and prevented the pass back toward the middle of the ice, i.e. the danger zone where good offensive chances reside.

This week in hockey crimes and misdemeanors

The league I play in doesn't do much in the way of stat tracking -- hell, the Pasadena's rink didn't even work for yesterday's set of games. But I've often occasionally about my plus-minus rating, although I'm probably happier not knowing it. My hope is that I've gotten to the point where I can achieve a zero rating -- nothing too good or bad happens when I'm on the ice!

And what that in mind, the latest batch of hockey mistakes that keeps me awake at night:

The Crime: Yesterday's game. I'm at right wing. My team's up 3 to 1 or 4 to 1 with maybe less than five minutes to go (thank you, non-working scoreboard!) and I'm working the puck up the boards in the other team's zone. I manage to get down to the corner before the other team's D-man steals the puck and takes off around the net, with me chasing him. I reach out with my stick and...

The Result:...allegedly trip him, according to the late whistle from the referee. I actually think it was more of a hook than a trip, but who am I to quibble about details. In any event, we're protecting a lead late in the game and now I've put the other team on the power play. All the way down at the other end of the ice I can hear my goalie call out to me "Steve!" as in "Steve, what the f--k were you thinking?" Excellent question! We almost surrendered a goal on the power play, but my goalie was able to sit on the puck an inch before it crossed the goal line. I'm sure he was silently thanking me for that puck suppository.

The Lesson: What was I thinking? The answer is, of course, I wasn't thinking. I was playing hockey, which attentive readers know shrinks one's brain matter to one percent of normal capacity. I was in "get the f--k away from my puck" mode and probably the only thing that was gonna stop me was a taser to the testicles. That said, the lesson here is think. Although many hockey teams -- including mine -- have pretty good penalty kills, a penalty kill still cripples a team's offensive chances and few teams are good enough to sacrifice quality shots on goal. So if you're reading this, don't revel in your PIMs. Vow to reduce them.

This week in hockey crimes and misdemeanors

Another hockey season has rolled around, so it’s time for my personal favorite feature on this blog: Hockey Crimes and Misdemeanors, in which I detail the many boners I commit on the ice.

And I’m not talking about the good kind of boner. In fact, I’m pretty certain I don’t have the skill to skate, stickhandle and…never mind.

In any event, we’re now two games deep into the fall season, time enough for me to set the exciting sport of ice hockey back a few decades. To wit:

THE CRIME: I’m at right wing, in the slot in the other team’s zone and a loose puck goes skittering over to the right boards, where it comes to a gentle rest. I’m the closest guy to the puck, so I head in that direction and shout “I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” to the second-closest player, who happens to be one of my team’s defensemen. I get near the boards, make a nice sharp turn toward the goal line, stick my stick out to gather in the puck and…and…and…missed the little fucker.

THE RESULT: But I had a lovely skate to the goal line, wondering when vulcanized rubber became so lightweight. That left my D-man to struggle for the puck while I played with myself in the corner.

THE LESSON:  First, there’s the whole “I got it” thing – don’t yell “I’ve got it” unless you are reasonably sure you’re gonna get it. Second, this was a good lesson on the joys of overskating. Grabbing a puck and charging toward the goal line is a good idea, but it would have been smarter to get to the boards, execute a good stop, grab the puck and then dash off to the races. Of course, that would have required a good stop with my right foot on the outside, and that’s not quite my stop-on-a-dime foot. Hey right foot: fuck you!

THE CRIME: We’re hanging on to a two-goal lead in the third period and trying to be defensive-minded. I chase one of the other team’s players through the neutral zone, catch him and poke check the puck away – and get tangled with him in the process. To prevent him from catching back up to the puck, I might have held his stick for a couple of extra seconds. To prevent me from possibly holding his stick, he bopped me in the head with his glove. I might have not let go of his stick after said bopping. We both got whistled two minutes for roughing and a four-on-four ensued. 

THE RESULT: Neither team scored during the penalty. But I earned the satisfaction of being assessed a roughing penalty for the third straight game.

THE LESSON: The play started as one of my better defensive efforts – and I’m not boasting by any means because on the hockey evolutionary ladder, my defensive game has yet to reach the slime stage. But as the play unfolded and the neurons in my brain were firing, I was vaguely aware that I was near or crossing that invisible line that helps induce a whistle. It may have been worth taking a penalty if the guy had a clear shot on our goal – but he didn’t. I would have been wise to untangle and get after that puck.