Farewell to Hockey...

Apologies all for the somewhat large gap in posting for a couple of days-have been very busy with what we shall euphemistically call "off-ice issues":

Obligatory News Section: Be warned in advance-if you're looking for objective analysis of GB's bronze medal in Torun, then this is all you're going to get from me-it was quite an achievement for British hockey, given that the two teams above them, Italy and Ukraine, were way ahead of any other team in the group, by all accounts...although, as is ever the case with the international side, there are a host of "if onlys"-not least the final few minutes against the Ukraine-a team which the GB ranks had stood firm against for fifty-five minutes and held to two-all, before the Eastern Europeans finally found a way through and finished the game 4-2 to the good, denying the Brits a superb start to the tournament and perhaps setting the usual tone for Brits abroad-lots of effort, a few bright spots, but ultimately, a pat on the head and the hope that "next time, we'll really push for promotion to the top level"...

There you go-that's all the objective stuff you're going to get today...now onto the point of the post...

"They are all gone
And I alone sit lingering here;
Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.”
Henry Vaughan "World of Light"

"I wouldn't want to be faster
Or greener now if you were with me O you
Were the best of all my days"
Frank O' Hara: "Animals"

"Life is different from a skating season, and in life you never know which skate will be your last. Only that one of them will be."
Jack Falla: "Home Ice"

As I sit writing this, the radio is on and playing one of the staple sounds of hockey nights everywhere-(AC/DC's: "Highway to Hell", if you're interested), the sun is high in a clear blue sky and casting long afternoon shadows across the computer screen, and a stray ray of light is illuminating my 2005-vintage poster of Adam Calder on my bedroom door and giving the Blaze forward an almost unearthly glow as he stands frozen in the act of forever releasing a pass while turning hard. It is, one might say, a good day to be alive.

And I am reminded, on this lovely spring afternoon, how much I hate the bright, lamb-skipping, hopeful days of April.

Yesterday, I saw the final game of three playoff weekends in three weeks, as Nottingham pulled off a nailbiting penalty-shot win against Invicta to clench the ENL finals. With the thump of rubber, Invicta forward Andy Smith fired his penalty shot (the tenth of the shootout) into Alan Levers' pads and ended his and everyone else who plays hockey in the British men's leagues' season, sparking wild celebrations for the Lions and glum faces for the Dynamos.

And me, standing at the opposite end of the ice-I heard a voice from somewhere, whispering quietly, in an imitation of the Germans in every single bad war-film you've ever seen...

"For you, my friend, zis season is now over".


I'm not for one minute saying that hockey is now dead and gone until September-there are Coventry Phoenix women's games for me to go and watch until mid-May (which I will)-junior games are still going on and there are my own poor efforts at playing in recreational games to sustain me throughout the summer. Hell, if all else fails, you can always sacrifice sleep and spend the shortening nights marvelling at the speed, passion and skill of the NHL playoffs. All of which sustain the need that those of us who are part of this strange society which only comes together in the darkening nights of autumn and parts in the lengthening days of spring-those who feel tingles down our spines at the sight of steam rising off a freshly-cut ice-rink, or the sound of skates scraping on that same ice.

But, with the closing of the "big-leagues" for summer, something has once again left our lives-the knowledge that every weekend will allow you to forget, for two hours or so, the pressures of modern life and spend a few hours in the company of those who understand why, despite the lack of organisation and God only knows how many problems the sport has, people feel the need to come back week after week to watch what is, essentially, a bunch of people you don't know chasing a little lump of rubber around the ice.

So, on this spring afternoon, let's say farewell, for another year, to the following...

Farewell to the sounds:
The "ka-crunch" of flesh hitting plexi.
The "smack-thump" of a shot from the point hitting a goalies pads.
The sound of composite on vulcanised rubber as another slapshot heads for the net.
The "ssssssssssccccccccchrrrrrrrrippp" of a blade as a player performs a parallel stop.
The gasp of the crowd at a great shot or wonderful save...
The primal roar as gloves drop...
The moment when you walk into the arena, and hear the yells of the programme sellers, the music, the sounds of warm-up and think "game time!"

Farewell to the sights:
Watching the speed and excitement of a breakaway-for either team as forwards play split-second chicken with goalies.
David Beauregard's wrister-stick darting forward like a cobra's head striking and flicking the puck into the roof of the net.
Tony Hand skating with the puck, head up and eyes scanning the ice like a hunting falcon for an open team-mate.
Russ Cowley's stride as he accelerates onto a pass.
The perfection of a hip-check. Seen very rarely this season (in fact once, by Alex Dunn on Adam Calder in a game at the Skydome) but savagely beautiful to watch.
Rysn Finnerty turning hard, hunched low over his skates and grimacing as if he knows he's right on the edge of control.
Brad Voth's snarl, like an angry Rottweiler.
Jeff Legue flying down the right wing like a racehorse, head out, legs back and pumping, and stick far out in front as if for balance.
The two-on-one break, as the crowd rises at the sight of a pair of forwards tearing up the middle like a pair of human drag racers, side by side.
The blur of a goalie's glove as he plucks a speeding missile an inch wide out of the air with less than a second's warning.
That moment before a big hit, watching a player crouched and shifting position minutely like a guided missile as he goes in.

Farewell to the smells:
Hot dogs, coffee, and possibly a slight undertone of hockey-kit and sweat if you have a very sensitive nose indeed...it's the aroma of hockey-season...

As people filtered out of the Skydome last night, I recognised the same slightly sickening feeling I get every April around this time-one that is no doubt shared by thousands of fellow hockey fanatics all round the country. Only now, after nine years of suffering the same, I've realised finally what it is...

It's the moment when we grieve for the death of the hockey season just gone...and it's a moment I dread as the playoff weekend gets nearer.

It's a moment that, in some form, lasts all summer.

But, as every season about this time, when the hockeyless days stretch endlessly into the distance and you're sat scouring the Internet desperately hoping for rumours of new signings and wondering how you're going to fill those long weekend evenings when the round of barbeques, drinks in beer gardens and maybe even a day or two on the beach get wearing, consider this...

Us hockey fanatics think we're doing well, accept that the season has ended, and then, one Sunday night in mid-July when the off-season has already run for what seems like forever and the new season seems far away, we'll look at the calendar, going on with our lives perfectly well but still, somewhere, grieving that we're not at the rink preparing for another hockey match and haven't been for a long while, and the thought will rise...

"hey-we're getting closer to hockey season!"


And at that point, as the days slowly begin to shorten again, the farewells which cause us that dull ache in April finally fade away...and the season begins anew...

I fully appreciate that this post may seem like a bit of a ramble and is somewhat out-of-step with the usual factual content of this blog, but for some reason it seemed important to document the end of a season in such a way...

Later on this week we'll be back to looking at rumours, new signings and all the news floating round the EIHL, but until then, keep keeping your eye on the puck...