Irony

Final words on coaching suspension until a status change. There is a bit of humor in all this. I go tilting at windmills, looking to get the establishment to budge in my search for supplemental discipline. There's a lot of Hammurabi's code when it comes to the history of hockey discipline...eye for an eye sort of thing. Tom gets whacked illegally leading to 5 games lost due to concussion. Seemed like a reasonable starting point. In a comical twist, I got the suspension all right, my own. Remind me not to do my own negotiating.
Bergen Record reporter found the development interesting. NJYHL and Youth Devils might consider suspending their P.R. folks in addition to moi.

Tom is quite motivated. Has had two practices, and happily went public skating twice this weekend in anticipation of his first game back. Had a conflict with the Devils, so he played for his school. Was one of eight skaters for Mountain Lakes, converted a goal mouth scramble in the third, and emerged with a GWG. Shared the experience in the stands with son Ted, ex wife and her boyfriend. Kinfolk Karma. Next stop, thanksgiving in DC with Junior Devils and Grandfolks and second cousins. Taking Amtrak down, old school. We'll hustle home and catch the middle school game if we're lucky.

Spoke to Randolph HS coach, a former def partner. Spoke about how lucrative coaching is. Pity I got tangled in this controversy, not exactly good news for prospective employers. All part of the journey, we'll see how it turns out. If the priority is what's best for Tom, things are still pretty OK. Psyched for DC...should be a gas.

bounced!

Things got a little too hot for the Devils youth hockey organization, and as of now, yours truly is a former coach. I'll digest the info of my ouster before writing, lest I get too emotionally reactive, but...It kinda boils down to gassing the guy who goes public with the concussion outrage. A 2:00 penalty for concussing an 11 year old isn't the right message. I guess both parties fell into the cliche of "you gotta do what you gotta do." Now I can join the Hockey gossip dads, somewhere I know I'll fit right in. Not quite as useful on the resume...hah!

cleared to play

On Monday Thomas was checked out by his pediatrician and was cleared to resume playing. We kept him out of the checking drills at practice, and will have one more practice before a game on Sunday. His headaches have been gone for about a week now.

A reporter from the Bergen Record checked in. He's doing a feature on concussions in youth sports, and finds Tom's story interesting because he hasn't encountered any pre-teens with sports concussions before. In this case, "coming in first" is most definitely not a good thing. In my dual role as parent and coach, the parent side is leading the way as I protest the act that injured Tom.

What happens at the next level, after the hormonal changes that accompany puberty? The force of hits will increase as will the tendency toward violent collisions. If you chart it on a graph, the increase in violent collisions will be exponential. As a parent of a kid who's already had his first of say, three strikes, with the second strike much easier to attain, it doesn't project well for Tom. The goal is to avoid that first one, but sadly, that threshold has been passed.

Saving grace: Tom had his mouthguard in place and was biting down it when he was injured. I'm sure it reduced the trauma. We are now looking into the Messier helmet for additional protection.

http://bleacherreport.com/articles/266170-the-messier-project-mark-messier-leads-fight-against-concussions

Whether or not this helmet catches on probably depends on whether or not it passes the NHL "mirror test". If it looks too goofy, the pros wont wear it and it won't survive in the martketplace. Hope it passes.

The joy of hockey has sure been tempered in my world by the episode, as has the lack of supplemental discipline.

NYJHL Condoning head injuries?

The accompanying picture was taken of Thomas Rappleye from the ER last Friday night.

A formal complaint was filed with the NJYHL, youth hockey's governing body in the state of New Jersey. Essentially, Commissioner Robert Sullo allowed his referees to defend their 2:00 minor penalty call on the blow to Tom Rappleye's head, a blow that concussed him and has cost him 5 games and counting from his pee-wee season. That was the extent of the NJYL's action.

The point of the complaint was to try and motivate Sullo and the NJYHL to take action, not to defend their officials. So the perpetrator of the act, Mitch Romine of the Skyland Kings, continues to play after concussing another 11 year old, because he has served his 2:00 penalty. Meanwhile, the recipient of the hit is on the sidelines with post-concussion symptoms. Quick Review of USA Hockey Rule 616 (b): A MAJOR PLUS A GAME MISCONDUCT PENALTY SHALL BE IMPOSED ON ANY PLAYER WHO INJURES AN OPPONENT BY HEAD CONTACT. That penalty is supposed to be imposed regardless of the legality and recklessness of the hit. In this case, three eyewitnesses saw Romine cock his forearm before deovering the blow to the back of the head of a defenseless player kneeling down to retrieve his stick.

All readers familiar with sport are aware of how sensitive leagues are to head injuries; adult players in the NHL and the Ontario Hockey League have been sentenced to lengthy suspensions in recent weeks for CLEAN hits to the head of opponents. Sullo and the NJYHL seem to think that defending the referees suffices for sports justice.

So the question to all the readers is: What happens the next time Romine drills another player's head from behind? Who is responsible? Will a 2:00 penalty deter Romine from continuing his violent acts? I'm curious how the NJYHL will respond to the next head injury under their watch.

Obvious disclosure: Tom is my son. I watched the macabre scene play out before my eyes, listened in disbelief to the refs try to justify the call, and watched my Tom get taken to the hospital. The most distressing news to him was that Romine was given a mere 2:00 penalty.

Pee wee hockey is the first level that allows checking. I wonder how many parents want their children playing in the NJYHL with their concern (or lack thereof) for the players health?

Comments always appreciated.

Friday night-mare

Watching your son wobble to the bench and then puke his guts out from a blow to the head is an experience I wish on no one, even the perpetrator.

It was 90 feet across the rink from me, midway through the second period. Tom had dropped his stick in a tangle, leaned down to pick it up, puck came into his area, and he kicked it, returned to his task of pick up his stick, and got blasted in the back of his head with a forearm to the brain stem.

11 year olds playing roller ball. Disgusting.

I went out to tend to him, but was called in by coach Steve. We have three coaches, and one is a trained Emergency Medical Technician. He sent the right guy to deal with Tom. EMT/coach Kevin escorted Tom to the locker room, checked his eyes (not dilating to the light), his memory (returned quickly after first forgetting the day of the week and the opponent). He called for an ambulance and it was off to the emergency room.

So I'm staying in my spot as one of now two bench coaches, watching a pointless game deteriorate, listening to the ref justify a mere two minute penalty for a gratuitous, violent hit that hospitalized my son, and was by and large disgusted with youth sports.

After the game ended, the two teams shared a hallway returning to their locker rooms, an altercation ensued with the perpetrator, coaches were yelling at each other, all in the name of sport after a 9-1 drubbing. Sports, the driving force in my life for nearly 50 years, sucked. I couldn't believe I was going through the motions of coaching when my kid was in a hospital with a bruised brain. Intellectually, it was the right call--he was with his Mom, and EMT and a staff of hospital doctors. Emotionally, it was lunacy.

I arrived in time for the doctor's assessment: No loss of consciousness, no concussion. It seemed counter-intuitive, the kid was puking from a blow to the back of his head. But he remembered everything, his only lingering symptom was a mildly sore back.

Tom dutifully put on his official warmup outfit for the Saturday and Sunday games, and was quite distraught that he could not play Sunday because he felt perfect. The doctor advised no games or even gym class for a week, just to play it safe.

His Mom the lawyer is preparing to write up a complaint, I am digging up the details and some eyewitness accounts. 11 year olds shouldn't be cruising for big hits on unsuspecting opponents. The Ontario Hockey League, the final step before the NHL for most of Canadian junior players, suspended Michael Liambas of the Erie Otters for the year for a recent hit because the recipient did not have a chance to defend himself properly from a blow to the head. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fPj-kCp1rGI

He had a better chance than Tom. Youth, divine Providence, and the fact that he was biting down on his mouthguard allowed Tom to survive his. We'll keep on eye out for recurrences. In the meantime, he is eager to play.

halleluhah!

6 week losing skid comes to an end. Tom a net crashing fool, picked up 3 goals over the weekend, including GWinner in final 2 minutes tonight in 7-6 thriller. I wanted to pull our shaky goalie but big Steve said to keep him in for big picture reasons. Turned out to be good call.

Half our kids skipped Halloween Game and we were in it til the end on SAT until we completely ran out of gas. Tom nearly puking bile in third, but got a huge fitness boost for his efforts.

In a day where I traveled over 200 miles to get first level of USA Hockey certification (Philly for cryin out loud!), our meager season has been saved. Our enigmatic Polish superstarAlex has been so overdue for a positive contribution to our club finally got on track. He is now teemed with Tom and a brutal defenseman who is now a perfect third member of the line. We have two more stars to play on the first line, and a stud Jayden has moved back to D. The team is now in business. The season has been saved.

coach Steve had a huge decision to make as to how to deal with SAT no-shows who arrived for SUN's game. He benched most of the truants for most of the first, still got contributions, kept the mediocre goalie in the game, and still got the win. Hurrah for us, we are a tough team to play against now.

Even though it didn't show up in a scoresheet in which Tom got 2-1-3, Late in a 1-goal game Tom outraced and turned a defenseman while carrying the puck, got a quality chance and crashed into the goalie, setting up two unrealized grade "A" chances. A big time play, looked like college. Plus, it was late in the shift, but the stakes were high and he found an extra fuel tank to make the play. Kid is a bitch to play against.

the evening ended with Tom leaving his stall in the happy locker room, laughing and sharing hockey love with Alex...such a good sign. Maybe his Mom will pay the final fill for the Lake Placid road trip, something she was reluctant to do after the recent struggles on the ice. Tom said it was like playing for an investor. Results required. Kind of an appropriate life lesson, though Freud might have fun with it.

say it ain't so...

A modern twist on a coaching/parenting impasse. Here are the facts sans sentiments: Tom was one of our top two forwards in an 10-2 loss in which we played well for half the game. something to build on actually because we were within a goal half way through the game. (that's where our team is now, moral victories in 10-2 losses).

Tom calls me Sunday morning (a non-visitation weekend for me) saying he doesn't want to play because the game conflicts with a family dinner (his Mom's new family). Without getting too deep into Tom's personal life, let's just say that the call came from his heart, not anyone else's prompting.

We, the Devils, really needed him. We lost 2-0 Sunday (the Rockets got an empty netter), and we actually scored in the final minute after pulling our goalie, a seemingly miraculous tying goal) but it was waived off after a referee conference, having been ruled that the puck crossed the goal line after the whistle.

An 11-yr-old kid with an over-crowded schedule pleas for a night off to have some quality family time. Stepping away from my coaching identity, it's a no-brainer.

It was surreal to show up all pumped to coach without my kid who was vital to our success. Two other players were out with th flu, so we really needed him.

I asked Tom what he wanted to say to the team ("tell them I have a family engagement") and had one of his teammates call him with the details while I drove him home.

A hockey-tinted microcosm of modern fractured-family life. Kid made his own choice, with a not-so-great consequence on one end. Probably good preparation for life choices down the road.

if you can't say something nice...

...don't say anything at all. Although the kids still practice fairly hard, they cant help but consider it a lost season. Bad News Bruins have been outscored about 20-3 since the last entry. Tom mentions, without complaining, that he doesn't believe the team has a chance to win. I pick up the cue and do my best to talk him out of it. I have a good feeling about this weekend.

Our most struggling defenseman, little Allen, is having a birthday party after the game. something sweet and innocent about both Allen and the idea of a travel team hanging out eating cake and playing silly party games. I can easily imagine a win to accentuate the festivities. AND, on Sunday coach Steve will be missing in action due to a conflict. In a pure coincidence, we are undefeated when Steve is absent. Can you smell a weekend sweep?

Tomorrow is a shmoozing fundraiser for the whole 23-team NJ junior Devils empire. I'll be taking Tom to a baseball game at Diamond Nation. Gotta have priorities.

going on separate paths

Tom went to a baseball doubleheader in a magnificent baseball facility 45 minutes away, and I went to coach the Bad News Bruins. I dont know who fared worse: Tom had 5 errors at short and a meltdown on the mound, I yelled my bloody head off at a bunch of pee wees who dont even remember what it's like to win a game. they are playing two excellent opponents this weeknd. I'll be splitting early from game one and will be AWOL with my brothers enjoying a reunion in central Maine while Tom soldiers on.

I called him on his ride back and he was having fun with his baseball buddies, so he apparently recovered.

Our D cant make a pass coming out from behind the net, uncontested, to the wing planted on the boards offering a target. Whoa. I guess the goal now is to try and make it fun before we lose them entirely. Maybe yelling isn't the way to go.

When a hockey team is going south, my response is to work hard, focus, get determined. Our kids start tuning out, and that's not good. They zone out, we explain way too long because of their tendency to zone out, and then they screw up the drill right from the get go. Emotional reactivity, something to be avoided.

I'll be getting my hockey results from the road this weekend, not in person. On a bright side, head man Steve seems pretty loyal and I sense I wont get screwed over on the "Stipend" this season, even though I'm missing the critical month of FEB. I'll let things play out, prepare for anything.

lines mixed, same results

We lost 5-1 to a bunch of stiffs. There was no shortening of the benches, everyone played, attitudes were OK. We're just not that good, but the kids seem to be having some fun; there's no misery. We're a fairly cohesive bunch, which in hindsight is a heck of a lot better than dividing the club into haves and have nots. To those readers who weighed in, thank you for your wisdom. I floated the idea of shortening the bench to the head honcho who was experienced enough to kill the idea in its tracks.

Judging from tom's reactions, there is a bit of resignation, however, of losing and the resulting expectations. Being resigned to losing, forsaking hope because of the talent reality, kills the soul a bit. Leaving the rink I mentioned to Tom that if there truly had been cuts during the spring tryouts, he might have been on the outside looking in, which he acknowledged as a legitimate possibility.

the words of Tom's rec-league coach echoed, "Don't overlook the confidence boost of playing house league hockey." although playing in both was unrealistic, I wondered of tom would lose his zeal for the game from being beaten so regularly.

This club needs a win. Good news is that there are no deserters at this time.

ice time for have nots...yea or nay

First league game and our club has hit rock bottom. Football score, 7-0. Tom commented that he could hardly wait til next season and hoped for a better team. Whoa...not a good sign.

This is travel hockey. there are supposed to be tryouts, standards of play you need to attain for the privilege of representing the club. This team, however, took everyone. And the consequences are a losing record and a dangerous trend.

I spoke to my favorite dad, my "deep throat" of the parents. He suggested shortening the bench, sports talk for letting the struggling kids ride the bench instead of getting abused on the ice.

Let them compete in practice, play hard enough in games to earn a spot, because they didn't earn it at tryouts. I'm tempted to propose it, which is easier to say with a son on the first two lines. It would be a 1-2, a 1-2-3 scenario with the forward lines. This would allow the third line one shift every five. Team manager Kevin's son would be on that third line. Might allow him to make that call.

I would play 5 Defensemen, and have three players compete for the 4th and 5th slots.

If we stay with the status quo, we could lose a bunch of games and subsequently the players and parents interest in our season. We our supposed to be competitive. I say we do it, but that might be a totally selfish position. Would I do it if Tom was on the outside looking in? What would you the reader do?

"Preposterous!"

Practice, 8:30 at night. I have finally taken the reins from coach Steve for this one drill. I extol the virtues, necessity and urgency for a swift and crisp break out. I take the marker board shaped like a rink and tip it to resemble the ice being "tilted." I use all my teacher training and energy and enthusiasm to keep their attention as I describe the drill in detail.

I'm intentionally keeping the instruction as simple as possible because Tom has mentioned several times that it's tough to figure out what the coaches want with all their squiggles on the board. This would be different. "the wing's only job here is to dash down the boards to the hashmarks, plant their butt on the boards, receive a pass and then give up the puck to the center."

Before starting off, I needed a volunteer to demonstrate. "Tom, would you show us what a wing is supposed to do here?" Tom eagerly agreed, picked up a puck, skated down to the net and shot on goal. If I didn't have so much energy pumping through me I might have fainted. All I could do was sputter loudly. "that's, that's, that's PREPOSTEROUS!" (I suspect a lot of saliva was lost in spewing out the word).

meanwhile, some politcal/economic intrigue. Parents are upset with lower end skill players keeping our club from being competitive. A defenseman in particular looks like a lower-end rec player, a kid who might hurt himself on the ice led to a major collapse in our last game. Parents are serious about leaving Devils program because they have prostituted themselves by taking every paying customer. Why even have a tryout?

Should we keep playing this kid? We don't have that many D, and only three can really skate well enough. Hmmm....to be continued.

payback's a B****!

We held three different two-goal leads, but they were all in the first period. When we got the goal to go up 4-2 I remarked that we would need it against this club. Looking back on the scoresheet, the North Jersey Avalanche (from the industrial size 4-rink megaplex in in Hackensack) outscored us 8-2 from that point on, firing 36 shots in 15 minutes, buzzing like hornets around our net. They were experienced, determined, and could skate like crazy.

We are a half and half team. Half our kids can skate (three are supreme skaters) and half are extras from the Bad News Bears, or Mighty Ducks if you want a more precise parallel. So I found it inevitable that the Avalanche passed us like a motorcycle might pass a 10-speed bike. The fact that we found the net early only gave us a closer look as the juggernaut passed. The kids thought we were in a close game, and up until the 5 minute mark of the third, we were in it, but only technically. The ice was tilted steeply toward our net, and you cant win swatting pucks out of your own crease all night.

Personally, it was all I could do to keep the defense on at the right time. At one point we had three out for a shift (our man in the box came back to defend) and once we only had three (off-ice official chastised our bench). I had a half-gallon of tea in my system which required too much bladder management, so it was no picnic on the bench either.

Here's today's observation: when the outcome became obvious to our players (about a period after it became obvious to the bench) Tom pushed his workload. His energy was up, and it wasn't spent running around head hunting. He worked the puck off the boards like a true grinder, advancing, at times methodically, zone to zone. And once in the scoring zone he generated offense, taking shots and chasing them down. He didn't tally, but he made plays, and really helped the geography of the game, leveling out the imaginary tilt of the ice by playing in their end and attacking. Good lad.

At one point in the second period, it was either tied or a one-goal game, he was on his belly in our defensive zone against the wall with the puck under him, with two or three Avalanche stabbing for the puck. Tom chose to hand pass it forward rather than continue in his role as a pin cushion. It was essentially a perfect pass to the Avalanche defenseman on the point, who quickly converted it to a goal. I ripped into him a bit. "Never again...brutal" that kind of thing. It was the end of my hope of keeping the game tight.

I spoke to Tom after the game and he said the sticks were all around his neck and he had to get rid of the puck for his own safety. That softened my stance. I guess next time he should hand pass it down low into the safety of the corner. We came back to the condo and I surprised him by heating up some left over pumpkin pie and topped it with some vanilla ice cream. He had competed hard in four different games over the weekend, and deserved a rich repose.

when is OK to skip practice?

This one was my call. In the middle of FRI afternoon errands, AFTER I had agreed to take another skater home from practice for a conflicted dad, my gut strongly told me to opt out of practice. It was so counterintuitive that I started calling trusted friends and family to help me sound out the logic to either reinforce the decision or talk me out of it. Here were the options as of 3pm Friday:

1) Go to practice. Simplify a breakout drill. Get the defenseman to sprint down and retrieve a puck from the goalie, swerve behind the net and come out firing to a wing at the hashmarks who has just skated hard to put his butt on the boards, who in turn would pass to the center who had dashed down low and arced towards the puck. Etc, etc. I would then five a ride back to Brian, and then pick up my middle school son for a quick bite.

2) Make the calls necessary to head coach Steve, Brian's Dad, talk to the boys Mom, and take two bikes to my appartment. We would partake in the monthly city of Morristown bike tour and then go to a community gathering for a showing of the classic biking film "Breaking Away".

Going to practice would be the responsible thing to do; Doing the family bike tour would include two sones, not one on a visitation weekend. My Mom was the only one reachable, and she said there would be countless practices, and this bike tour sounded like a ton of fun for father and sons (say that with a little rhythm!) and boom! it was done.

Call to parent...it was OK. Call to coach...it was OK. Logistics were a bit challenging, but we somehow managed to squeeze 3 people and two bikes into the Prius for the 15 minute drive to my appartment. and the adventure was on.

The 5 mile ride to the Morristown starting line was the biggest hurdle; the boys were used to urban biking, figuring out when to ride in the street and when to ride the sidewalks, how to deal with pedestrians and cars etc. But by the time dusk arrived we were part of a group of at least 50 bikes cruising around the Morristown Green at least four times. I stopped for a menu from a pizza place, so we wouldn't starve. The three of us shared something new, and physical, and we were all part of a human group endeavor that was green and peaceful and all those good things. There were teenage tricksters, guys who liked to bounce and jump and spin and ride dangerously in traffic, you know, kids a little too cool and too dangerous who were part of the Friday night pedal parade. They were the foil to our playing it straight, but it gave us something to think about, and even though their behavior couldn't be condone, they sure were having FUN!

The final stage was at a delightful community garden, an urban dump site that had been reclaimed by some industrious citizens (until a developer comes along), cleaned up , and is now a source of pride and nourishment for the city. We learned all about it in a20 minute documentary that followed the live rock music (good guitars and harmonies) and the feature film projected onto a king size sheet hanging in the back of the garden.

I lay down in some wild grass, knowing the food was coming, the stars were blinking, the moon was smiling and my sons on either side of me were learning the joys of planting real food surrounded by a community of peace and love...not a typical Friday.

Completing the night safely required that I bike home in the dark, trade my bike for my car, return for the middle act of the film, lock up Tom's clunker and return Ted and his bike to Mountain Lakes, and then get back to the appartment with Tom for his early travel hockey. Ted would sleep at his home so he could get up for his early cross country.

But we had shared a special night, an evening that required blowing off an important practice. OK readers, time to weigh in with your opinion...please comment!

the unshared joy

Although I positioned it skillfully, I could not get Tom to the rink THU night. I put the invite to the entire team for Public Skating, but it stalled through the "proper" channels, and I ended up alone with just my client for a half hour power skating lesson. Midway through the lesson Michael and I stopped to talk to a real power skater, a speed skater who looked like he popped onto Earth after skating the canals of Mars in some Isaac Asimov novel. He was wearing shades and the latest speed skates complete with shiny black molded boots. A real "back to the future" character, and when he hit full stride, his form was impeccable. He stopped to chat with both of us and shared that in order to keep from blowing out of his flimsy boots (he claimed they had the support of a pair of flip-flops) he needed to really flex his knees to keep his ankles from wobbling. "If you flex enough, your ankle can't move anywhere, even when turning." This line came just after I was trying to reinforce the flex mentality. A bit of serendipity.

Michael and I communicated much better than last week, and he made some good progress. But his real benefit cam after I got off the ice. He had two teammate buddies also out for the public skate, and they were laughing and playing tag and not giving a hoot about form, just chasing and smiling. It was ice love. three 13 year olds, who could have been doing a million (literally, a million options for that genre) other things for fun, had chosen the ice, and were becoming more natural, instinctive skaters by tooling around and being goofballs on the frosty white.

I commented to Michael senior that I had a small case of "son (or parent) jealously," seeing exactly what I was hoping for for Tom being played out by others. Kind of like a weird dream. Two hours earlier I approached Tom after his trip to the batting cage at ball practice. He said he had only a little more homework, but that he really needed to practice the flute so he could be prepared for his lesson the next day. I told him to make the most of his practicing, because he was sacrificing something special. I will continue to try to get him out skating for the sake of skating. the bug hasn't hit him this season yet, and the calendar still says September, but it is autumn now.

I long to get him up to the magic of Lake Placid, where he kept me out on the oval on a late February night a full half hour longer than I would have turned in. I told him to tone down his pace so he could last longer and perfect his form, but he kept pushing it, without recovery time, his body responding to some kind of primal urge. I watched him become a skater that frigid night in the Adirondacks, and his hockey results flourished immediately after we returned. It's all about the skating.

I daydreamed a career/parenting path yesterday, a dream that would have me teach history at the Northwood prep school in Lake Placid. A former teammate from Sun Valley is a major adminstrater there, and the dream would include Tom playing and attending for free while I coached and taught in winter paradise. I shared the dream outside the cage, and he initially glowed, saying how awesome it would be. then his left brain kicked in, and he frowned about the prospects of Northwood probably not having a decent baseball team. Then he said he wouldn't sign up for that right now, but he's got nearly 3 years to make those kinds of decisions. A mature, reasoned response. Sadly, hockey and skating love are not mature and reasoned passions.

the debate on sports violence

In Game 3, Sunday's loss, I got a close up look at Tom throwing a pretty violent body check directly in front of the bench. Head coach Steve approved, the bench liked it, and on the way home Tom mentioned that once the game was lost, he spent his shifts cruising around for big hits. Hmmm...now that's worth reflecting on, especially since I made a college career out of cruising around for big hits. Big, crushing hits kept nagging doubts about skill defficiencies at bay, my teammates liked them and it got me plenty of attentiton from the fans. It was a super frustration release as well. Like my football playing buddy Kevin once shared with me, "It's always better to be the hammer than the nail."

There you have it, then. Is there any room for debate? You play in a contact sport, and push it to the max. Except today, I don't buy the hammer-nail solution anymore. If I've got an 11 year old son launching his body at opponents evrey time he's frustrated, where will it end? In a year or two he's going to have the fun little hormone testosterone added to his chemical mix, and the impacts will have even "greater" consequences. Then what?

In high school and college and a time or two after college, I had some knockouts on the ice, including a whopper in an NCAA semifinal. You know the genre--the guy goes to sleep for a while lying on the ice; Everyone gets kind of quiet; You hope it was a shoulder, not a stick or an elbow that did the damage so that yourreputation comes out OK in the post-mortem. I did that to a lacrosse teammate the same afternoon I got turned down for college admission from a safety school. Two years later I saw him at a keg party visting my brother at the Univ. of Wisconsin. He was all smiles as we lined up at the tap, and with no hard feelings. He mentioned that his head still wasn't quite right since that hit, like his circuitry was still altered and the synapses were still trying to find new routes. Wow, that's kind of freaky, I thought, and went on to other subjects and other people. I had made a college varsity team playing the violence card, I wasn't going to start any serious reflecting just then.

Well, now is the time. Here's the lesson for Tom. Big hits don't require that much skill. There's a little timing involved, and you have to have a fairly sturdy body and the proper mindset, and that's about it. Tom has a gift for goal scoring, which requires much more skill (hands for one) and a similar amount of toughness, though it's more of the "nail" toughness than the "hammer," but it's toughness nevertheless. And the pain you put on opponents after scoring is actually more enduring; they never get the goal off the scoresheet. And as a player with severe offensive limitations, I know how belittling getting scored on can be. It's the ultimate insult, and it goes up electronically for everyone to see.

So I'm going to try and curb Tom's enthusiasm for the big blow. Get him to push himself physically when he's frustrated (and tired) to do all the things necessary to generate offense, which is the tougher task. My new prescribed mentality for checking is to do anything you can to separate the opponent from the puck, but still allow you to escape with it. If you use your body as a torpedo, you're probably not going to be able to recover in time to corral the puck and get it going in a positive direction. Think of the European stars in the NHL, the ones with superior offensive skills. They don't mind checking, but it's to get the puck and get the offense going, not to separate a player from his senses.

My only reservation is a love for an engaging forecheck. Wearing down defensemen by hitting them over and over, maybe a second after they've passed it, so they know a hit is coming can be quite effective over the course of a game. I used to love Mike Keenan's comments about seeing how well a defenseman can make breakout passes with his face pressed against the glass. I'm going to need some time to wrestle with my next rationalization for this scenario. In the meantime, let's hear it for Nails that can snipe over Hammers that re-route one's circuitry.

P.S. you might have already guessed that my circuitry has been re-routed as well.

the blame game

A 3-3 game in the third period pretty much got determined by some poor officiating (terrible penalty call on clean check in front of our bench; blown offsides call), though a breakdown by Tom led to a NJ Freeze goal. Tried to BH puck out of zone in scrum near blue line, failed (should not have been big surprise there) and puck returned to scrum zone, but not Tom. He wandered off, uncontested, the Freeze fired it down low, and goals was scored.

I'm on the bench, trying to make the most of a "teachable moment" with Tom, but he's not listening because he's focusing on the poor officiating.

On the ride home, I asked him how he enjoyed the game, and he said "Fine until the refs ruined the game." Clearly not taking much personal responsiblility. Something we need to work on.

Head coach Steve, first time behind the bench this year, ended up getting a bench penalty for needling the refs. He made it clear that he was the only one allowed to rip refs, but actions speak louder than words. It is such an egocentric generation, it's tough to teach accountability. Hockey is a good forum for that.

Together we worked out a strategy to clear parents out of the locker room. Players have two weeks to learn to tie their own skates, and then the parents are out of the locker room. I spoke to each of the parents to give them the word to be followed up with an email. Probably a good team building move.

The Freeze was by far our toughest opponent, and we gave them all they wanted. So many members of this team need to drastically improve their skating, including Tom to a lesser extent. We'll see if Tom chooses to public skate on Wednesday. Got to be his own choice. We'll see if baseball and homework conflicts allow it.

No practice until Friday.

Growth of two buds

With the decision made to play hockey over baseball, Tom and I departed at 7 AM for the OTHER Aspen Ice armed with a homemade egg and cheese sandwich, apple and sweet tea. Along the 40 minute drive we noticed a big ol pickup truck next to us at an intersection. Looking down on us was a boy presenting a face splitting grin from the passenger side. Tom and I saw him simultaneously...JADEN! This was Tom's hero/teammate from the house league last year, the guy who inspired Tom to try out for the Devils, and somehow didn't survive the politics to make the 'A' travel team. I am quite fond of his father Dave who e-mailed all the critical information for house league parents. We followed that big red Tundra all the way to the rink...it was a good beginning. Tom and I laughed as I pretended to read our Google Map directions..."Follow big red pickup to Rink!"

when we arrived it was a very light turnout, and I was the only coach. The kids asked about dryland. Huh? You know, pre-game exercises, running-hopping-stretching through the stands and around the rink to get the body ready. Uh, OK, sure. I'd seen national teams do this at rinks around the world, who was I to object? So I led a half dozen sleepy but happy young pucksters the length of the rink, doing deep bended long steps with our hands behind our heads. We got to the far end of the rink and I found something I'd never seen before, a hockey equivalent to a batting cage. A linoleum-type shooting surface, a hafe sized net, all totally enclosed by firm netting. It was a "shooting cage"! Tom was off like a shot, running back for the sticks of his two favorite teammates (and himself, of course). I notcied a sign, "$10 for 20 Minutes, Cheaper Than a Batting Cage." Hmmm...good idea, overpriced, kind of a rip-off, but kind of a good idea. Tom arrived with the sticks and a ton of enthusiasm, even after digesting the sign's information. "No one's here, let's just shoot until they kick us off!" This was exactly what I would have done at his age, in fact, this is what I would have done if I was on my own right now, today. But as a coach, or teacher, or parent or any role with similar responsibility for establishing some kind of moral code, I nixed it. Kids survived, and the coach had reinforced a boundary that might have made them feel more secure somehow, maybe, maybe not. That's waht some experts say.

Back to the dressing room. A now growing number of players, but still no coaches. I was girding my loins for going it alone, with no whiteboard, hell, not even a working roster. I did know most of the names, slightly more than half, but it was a start. I wanted to get the kids broken up into lines, and truthfully, get Tom and Jaden together. Jaden's buddy from last year's travel hockey, James, was there, so I quickly established them as a line. Jaden had his smile beaming again, surrounded by pals he knew. I was hoping this would stick, keep Tom from being odd man out again.

A few minutes later, in the midst of 11 year old potty humor stemming from a plumbing leak (fresh water) in the bathroom, Team manager Kevin arrived with his son and his briefcase. He's awesome with details: getting scoresheets to officials, posting parents on travel logistics, collecting birth certficactes, the whole thing. He has also gravitated to the coaching void, filling the verbal holes and doing a lot of drawing on his mini white board. Seems to know what he's talking about, but might drone on a tad longer than I would prefer if I was a player, but he's pretty useful in the current coaching configuration. Boss coach Steve would miss our 2nd of two games to date. Kevin and I were becoming the fixtures.

I mentioned to Kevin that I had set up a particular line, and he politely shifted them up, sliding Tom to the first line, with James, because we weren't sure of the status of Alex, the Polish speedster with NHL aspirations. Cool for Tom I thought, though Alex is pretty important offensive contributor to this club. I would be in charge of defense, and we had an odd number (5) which presents a little required calculus that I could handle if I got every D on board. It would require some time with them together, so I stopped worrying about Tom.

Alex arrived on cue, and I feared Tom would be odd man out, but I had my own chore setting up the D. Kevin was busy with laces and scoresheets when warmups began, so I got the club skating and then drilling, and warming up the goalie. I wasn't prepared for it (not a great sign) but it wasn't terribly challenging, and the kids were in a routine, getting blood to their muscles, getting puck touches. It was a handsome rink, the ice was hard, you could hear the fans, we had a ref, timekeeper, visible elctronic scoreboard and brightly colored uniforms, the smashing blood-red Jr. Devils away uniforms. This was a nice hockey life. As long as the kids were into it and the parents thought the children were benfitting from these games, this coaching life didn't suck.

Down the bench, working with the D, I realized Tom was out for the second shift, a fixture with Jaden on the second line. Super! He was moving well, and making a useful play. That would be the theme of this morning's game. About 80% of the time he was in proper position, and he was making plays. Very cool.

We dominated the scoring chances, but not the scoreboard. Alex had glorius chances generated from his flashy skating and drive, he reminds me a bit of a European young Jeremy Roenick. Tom got a breakway, which a year ago was money in the bank for a goal. But his high shots dont freak out the larger pee-wee goalies, and he got stoned again. But he had his wheels going and was into the battle. Very entertaining for pops, who was very involved with juggling 5 d, and exchanging feedback after every shift.

Personally, I'm a micro, not a macro guy. I struggle at times with the big picture in various walks of life, I prefer digging deep into simple chores, like running 5 defensemen on a more personal level. We'll see if that does or doesn't serve the needs of the NJ Jr Devils organization. On this day, it was working. The individual relationships with my guys were growing. Kevin was ripping Lane, more of a football type of player who got burned one-on-one for a goal. I reminded him that it had been a successful shift prior to the breakdown, and that we work on his checking as the season moved on. the goal allowed the Aspenites to tie up the game, which was now the trend. Twice we had leads, twice they came back to tie it.

Midway through the third period, Tom collects the puck in the offensive zone above the circle on his off wing. "I like to do my taps (stickhandling), get some speed with my head up," said Tom later, recalling the play. I watched it unfold, thinking he was probably tough to play against. Because of his stickhandling, speed and having his head up, the D had to back in. Rather than shoot, Tom fed his bro Jaden. Jaden got the puck behind him, which was perfect shooting position bdecause he was on his off wing. Tom's hero burried it, and we had the lead once again.

Jaden came to the bench in euphoria, high-fiving anything and everything in black and red. When he got to me I just had to remind him to thank the guy who set him up. Tom was in his wake and Jaden turned to find him. A super hockey hug between feeder and finisher. Good stuff.

Aspen killed the buzz with ANOTHER tying goal :30 seconds later, and the drama would play out the end. Devils sniped late, Tom and Jaden's third linemate, a lesser skating but hilariously goofy winger Brian got the empty netter, and our guys won 5-3. Coach Kevin gave a lengthy speech about periods of sloppy play, but in my micro world of parenting and coaching my D, life was pretty good. I spoke to all the players individually, shmoozed parents, and headed out into the glorious sunshine. Before leaving, I saw Jaden's dad, who truth be told had reservations about committing to the Junior Devils because of uncertainty at coach and whether Jaden would have decent linemates. He was unquestionable pleased leaving the rink, describing the assist in glowing terms, loving the fact that that the pass was slightly behind him for the one-timer. Smiles all around; you gotta love helpers.

Tom had skated hard, gotten several chances, been responsible defensively including some rink-length backchecking to break up good chances. He needs to refine his breakaway repertoire, and adjust his positioning in front of the net, and he might just become a force out there. He has some linemate-love blooming, the season prognosis is quite promising right now. The stress of his baseball dilemma was long-forgotten. He called his Mom with the result and she was delighted. We called later about the baseball result, and they were victims of the slaughter rule, 15-0. We went to the baseball coach's home later and hung out talking sports, watching FB and sharing dinner. No relationship suffered there.

Another hockey game in 24 hours. The season is starting to role on. Calendar still says summer.

First time in charge

Whoa...arrived at the rink early with Tom...a gorgeous Indian summer Friday, and marched into the Freon. Tom and I discovered that the Bubble hockey game was playing for free so we got in a little action before lacing up. I went to the official coaches chambers, leaving Tom on his own, hopefully to tie his skates. That's becoming an anticipated rite of passage yet to be crossed...it might require new skates at Christmas becasue of the lacing design of his CCM's.

Found the oh-so-competent coach Steve, the man with the encycolpedic memory of USA Hockey drills coded in his brain, and he drew up the failed drill from last practice on the big coaching board until I was comfortable with it. He had his adorable 6 month old daughter with him, he's a bit of a stay at home dad when he's not at the rink, and was waiting for his wife to make the handoff. Friday rush hour...hmmm...it turned out that he never got out of his shorts and sandals.

Returned to the kids locker room and took care of Tom's skates--how will he ever master that chore with a parent to do it for him? I gues that's the parenting question of our generation. Easier to preach tough love than apply.

As the clock rolled past practice start time, there were just two coaches and two teams. I came up with a couple of items, got some pucks out and waited for the guru who never appeared. Then it became scramble time. I kept chcecking with the othedr coach, "hey, these guys need a passing drill, got anything?" and together we gave the kids something to do throughout. Some of the drills were familiar to the players, some were not. But there was pace and no lack of direction. The problem was execution. The kids were still in summer hockey goof-around mode. It was like being a substitute teacher and not knowing the extension for the principal. They didn't listen, that didn't complete passes, they had their backs turned dangling during down time. Kinda brutal, though no tempers were lost, just a little disconcerning. So we skated them in the middle of pratice, kind of hard. Then it was time for small games in each half of the ice. LEft entirel on my own I didn't get much out of it. Had only one goalie and an odd amount of players. I was relieved when the clock struck 6:45. I had the location off talking to the players, now I know that there are TWO different Aspen Ice facilities within an hour's dirve. Hopefully they will show up to the correct one. I saw coach Steve wandering around still in his shorts, and the ultimate boss John who I still haven't spoken to directly.

In reflection, my USA Hockey training can't come soon enough. Time to hang out on the USA Hockey website and memorize a bunch of drills. 2 games this weekend, this will be interesting.

Tom was one of the few players who followed the direction to skate a couple of laps at the end of practice, and he was the first one out. Even though he said he felt sluggish, he put in the work, chipping away another hour and change toward the magic # 10,000 (if you believe Malcolm Gladwell, and he's a bright fellow). The drama about where he plays and what he sport he plays this Saturday took a couple of twists in 24 hours. Thanks to an exchange of e-mails with the ex, (including the written promise of my covering the second $1750. installment), Tom was allowed to make his own choice, hockey or baseball. It went down to the wire, including a flip-flop. Two factors ultimately decided it 1) Paul the man-child slugger was opting out for another league's baseball game, which was pointing toward a slaughter by the 11 yr old vets lined up to play us; and 2) the hockey game was an away game, which meant that the junior Devils would be wearing their brilliant red jerseys. The laundry won. Tom's playing hockey for Dad on Saturday, and picking off more hours for Malcolm G.

frustation

Got to practice in plenty of time, nothing missing. Had to pluck Tom out of fall Little League practice, a sport he is beginning to master. That's making baseball more fun than hockey, at least until the weather turns.

The hockey locker room is an incredible source of unscripted dialogue. As a guy who likes language, there are times I wish I had a microphone to document the rediculous banter. Tom and I exchanged several knowing smiles when the veterans kept reminiscing about their horseplay at hotels from last year's road trips. "Remember Delaware and the Coke machine?...playing tag in the Lake Placid stairwells?" This got both of us thinking about upcomiong road trips.

On the drive over I steered the conversation to what a luxury this organized hockey is: all that equipment and coaches and ice time in September. Like a Disney all-everything pass. I also mentioned the value of skating (nothing new there), how it often determines ice time, and the Malcom Gladwell 10,000 hour formula. None of it too overbearing, at least from my point of view.

So we stepped onto the ice and followed coach Steve's plans from his little rink-shaped white board along with our mirrow team, the black jersey'd Devils B travel. Lots of kids, lots of revenue, lots of coaches. Still fun, for now.

First official drill I swooped down toward one of the lines in a corner, and there was Tom, wearing a white #22 (just like all-time sniper Mike Bossy, or Tiger Williams if you're into grit) standing in line. The very end of the line. I hate that. For all the obvious reasons. and I chided him, not hiding any of my disdain. I'm convinced that hockey success is all about skating your bloddy head off. Getting used to executing at full speed, it forces you to get in shape and process faster and put all sorts of pressure on your opponent. Don't get me started.

I had no real role in the planning or executing of this mixed team practice, so I followed Coach Steve's instructions and spent time exhorting the kids with indidual instructions layered in intensity. some responded, though a couple of freckle-faced redheads shared secret smiles together under their helmets. Do I detect a hint of DEFIANCE? I mellowed out a touch after a while, but still told them how vital it is to proactice hard. They were from the mirrow team and knew I had little of no impact on their lives, so didn't mind ignoring me. I'd laugh at myself later, but not on the ice.

I noticed Tom and his buddy not responding to a whistle to gather everyone at center ice, the only two, with their heads down dangling in a corner when 40 fellow-players had gathered for a meeting. So I yelled. Knowing them both made me yell a little louder and point out that they were holding up everyone. As my brother has pointed out, sometimes being right makes people think you're more of a jerk.

A little more than halfway through the practice were were doing full length 3 on 1's and 3 on 2's, a chance to really fly out there. Tom was having a mediocre practice from what I could tell at a distance; I was not monitoring his drills closely as I spent most of my time with the defensemen. Hey, it's better for him to have some independence. On this drill his group of three was repeatedly sluggish, this time losing a puck at neutral ice because they were bunched together, and weren't hustling to retrieve it. I implored Tom to go get the lost puck, it remained lost, and I felt the body-poison of frustration. It's kind of a mini-implosion, wishing you could use your energy to solve someone else's problem, which you know you can't (Dad, you're a coach not a player). Tom could obviously sense my vibe because I was urged him loudly. Rather than lose my lungs, I skated over to the boards and threw a butt end, releasing some energy. "Dad!" Tom got the point and pushed back. Nothing else was exchanged, but I had become an adult-sized dose of negative enrgy.

With a little over 15 minutes left of practice, Coach Steve thought he would finish with a "really fun" mini game. something from USA Hockey's list of latest/greatest drills designed to enlist independent thinking and creativity. It was a disaster from several vantage points. First, it took a long time to explain to kids that there would be four vertical zones and two nets within the attack zone. How you could share a puck with teammates shooting at one goal even though you were playing a small game in front of another. Also there were four colored jerseys and one was your team and the other two were opponents. Tom, like me, is a slow processer of hockey drills. I was still trying to figure it out when it commenced. My first objection was that tom, late to the drill, was stuck on defense, a disturbing trend for a guy who lives to snipe. Most people violated their boundaries, and I felt for all the kids who were lost, because I was lost too.

Tom was rotated to the waiting area in neutral ice, and partnered up with him, and said "Let's do our best to figure this out." Tom convinced me that he knew the territorial restrictions, that he knew that he could pass and interact with the other mini game going on next to him. I praised him for learning it faster than me. So he steps out for his next shift and immediately crosses way over in the next zone and the whole drill shuts down to reposition him and then practice was over. Man, this team could have done SO MUCH SKATING in those last 15 minutes, and it was essentially an exercies in standing around in confusion. Bad ratios of standing to skating drives me a little mad (a lot mad?)

We got off the ice, and I found a parent/former house league organizer to talk to and vented. I realize that I'm supposed to be taking a greater and greater role in running this team, so Ispoke to Coach Steve and asked him if it was OK that I call him prior to next practice and get my two cents in and he was all for it, saying that it should be collective. I mellowed out in the locker room. I might let Tom get dressed by himself and hang with the official coaches in their room. I'll let Tom battle his own skates so he doesn't have my frustration vibe in the room, criticizing his inability to properly yank his laces into their supporting position.

We drove home with his hilarious buddy, who is still in elementary school, while Tom is grinding through the much tougher academic rigors of middle school. As we passed the old elementary school on the final pass for his home, he wistfully commented. "If only I were still at Wildwood". It was all about the homework regimine of Middle School cutting into his time, building pressure, stealing his childhood. I tried to offer tips about organizing more efficiently, but it didn't help much. I offered my genuine sympathies and then he unloaded two sports worth of gear out of the car as 10 pm came and went. He still had two more HW problems left to do, and a shower to take. There was a trace of melancholy in this Indian summer night. Sports is supposed to be an antidote to the grind, not a contributor. Ah...life on the affluent suburbs is not about liesure after all.

Tonight I am giving a private skating lesson at 8pm, a chance for Tom to free skate and progress to that critical next level. More work now will make hockey so much more fun. But it's a rare night with no baseball, no hockey, no flute lesson, no mandatory Dad visitation. It will be entirely his call. I suspect he'll opt out, but we'll see, my client is aspring league teammate that's his age. How hard should I push? Proabably shouldn't push at all.

To be continued...

season begins!

first time blogging...some fun. (not!) just deleted a half hour entry! ugh. I'll cut, paste and post last Friday's word document and you readers will get the unabridged version. may be that's meant to be, just like finding myself coaching travel hockey for the first time,mostly through serendipity, or Karma if you prefer. stand by for the entry (I'm warning you, it's kinda lengthy!) Hockey Tom’s…Day 1

Sometimes you just have to realize that you aren’t in control, and to just try your best and see how it all turns out. This is a hockey story of two Tom’s, my son and me. I played at a high level in the 70’s, got to an NCAA title game before getting pasted, and Tom is less a pee-wee player who is much more interested in dangling than mashing people, the opposite of his dad.

Tom’s dream is to wear the official logo of a club, spend a night in a hotel with a bunch of buddies and get warned for making too much noise too late at night while ordering room service and playing video games on the in-room console the night of a big game.

Personally, I side philosophically with Cup Winning coach Dan Bylsma, who wrote a book specifically opposing travel hockey, but Tom really wanted travel as opposed to house league, and that will was no small factor. Despite being the least-experienced skater at the massive NJ Junior Devils tryout, he ended up on a travel B team, which would play a travel A schedule, once they found a coach. It just so happened that one of the decision-makers remembered playing with me two decades earlier on the St. Nick’s senior team, a couple of words were exchanged, and I was their solution. It was kind of a magic night for the two Tom’s in northern New Jersey, we both made the cut. The inside story is that there was so much turnout that the Junior Devils created a B Team so everyone made the travel team probably because they didn’t want to pass up the revenue, which created the need for a coach, even if he didn’t have any of the USA Hockey coaching certification. Hey, like I said, some things are beyond your control and you deal. I suspect the hockey gods were looking to have some fun this season, and I might as well document it.

There was a major obstacle in addition to the void in my coaching certification: I have to miss most of the month of February in Vancouver covering hockey at the Winter Olympics on a free-lance TV gig, but nothing seemed to bother the powers that be of the Junior Devils organization. It was kind of like a hockey black hole, I was being sucked in by young Tom and the Devils, and it was no use fighting it.

Prior to this, I’ve been a bit of a hockey valet, carrying Tom’s stuff a little too often, building up my calluses wrenching his skate laces tight, and driving him door-to-door for his one season of house-league squirt hockey. I helped picking up cones, and coaching roller hockey in the spring, but no formal training. I know how to play, and have taught public schools for a couple of years, so logic says the ingredients are probably in there.

But there’s a huge red flag sitting there, that will probably come out sooner rather than later--A father is coaching a son. This a relationship that is fraught with peril. I had just been chastised by my immediate family for yelling my bloody head off at a Little League championship game in which Tom and I both melted down. He came into pitch with the bases loaded and couldn’t execute, and wasn’t getting warmed up, it’s a long story, the good news was they eventually won and I did not have to get physically removed from the field.

So, that’s the setting for day one, a rainy September Friday after Labor Day, we navigate the reverse rush hour traffic with extra time to get settled. I’ve got a cheat sheet of 4 drills gleaned from USA Hockey’s web site in my pocket, a rink-shaped white board and marker, and hint of trepidation. I’m hoping the players won’t smell a fraud in the first practice. After looking in the hatchback trunk, all of it was irrelevant. Freaking Tom remembered his stick, but forgot his hockey bag. Decision time, do I coach and let him rot in the stands, help him learn a much-needed lesson about remembering his stuff? Or do I hustle back and get his bag, guaranteeing we will both be late on the ice. Barnacles! He needed that skating too much to justify the tough-love lesson. So I sent big brother in with instructions to find an assistant coach to tell that we were late and dashed back into rainy Friday commuter hell with bummed out progeny in the back seat. A good challenge for the anger management techniques I’ve learned over the years.

Fortunately, Newark and NYC have two splendid jazz stations on the bottom of the FM dial, and I kept a soothing flow going the entire 20-minute trip back to the house. Rather than yelling at Tom, I was going to torture him with silence, and keep my mood from imploding. When we got to the driveway and I waited for him to dash out in the rain to fetch the forgotten bag. Not a twitch. I turned around and found him snoozing peacefully. ARGHH! “Dude!” I yelled, get your stinking bag. (Yes, I lost my moral authority by raising my voice).

He changed into all his gear on the way back and walked into the rink on his skates (blades covered with guards) while I parked. I still had to finish his lacing, muttering and sputtering in front of the parents before we stepped on the ice 20 minutes late. There were lots of coaches in the official red and black Devils colors, so the kids didn’t miss a thing. Season was underway. We ended the night playing bubble hockey, and tom beat me in a spirited game for the first time in recent memory. I shook his hand and we all went back out into the dreary northeaster looking for pizza. We had survived day one.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Saturday, Little League game is rained out. Though it’s not my visitation weekend, I asked Tom if he wanted to public skate. Not interested. Not at all. There is no hockey without skating. Game isn’t fun without skating. Tom probably is aware of that, but it doesn’t appeal to him. It’s a sad future. Oh well, see how it plays out. The more pressure I apply, the less likely he is to opt in. It’s still September. But oh…there’s no substitute for ice time. Opting out is dead end. Game tomorrow, not sure what to think. See how it unfolds.

See, I told you it was lengthy. Well, if you've read this far, you've gotten most of the necessary story lines. One other item, young Tom is a bit of a Manchurian Candidate. While married to his Mom living in Fairfield County, I got Tom on the ice as a two year old and in a kids program at age 3. He retired as a burned out 5 year old, and then moved to Jersey with his Mom. Today he recalls nothing about his days as the best 4 and 5 year old in Beverly Hills of the East coast. I nearly wept when I dropped off his equipment at the Stamford recylcling center.

But the PArsippany New Jersey twin roller rinks recusitated his career, and that hockey imprint remains, and it shows itself with big performances in big games. The four years of missed skating needs to be compensated for. that will have to come from him, though I'm ready to facilitate. This season is a second chance for me, too. A chance not to get too pumped up for his development. dont want him to retire twice before reaching puberty.

So we had our first game. tom forgot his mouthguard, but fortunately the pro shop was open, and he got his 5th mouthguard in the last half year. That's $100. Criminy!

He had a great first half, got a breakaway on his first or second shift, and was awarded a penalty shot in the second period. As coach I had the option to take a penalty or give the kid a free shot. It was a no-brainer, the kid loves to snipe. New Stick
($150 smackers!) was too long, and he couldn't finish. He played like a maniac the rest of the shift and comes back to the bench all sore at Dad, "Why did you let me take a penalty shot?" Are you kidding me I thought? "what self-respecting goal loving kid doesn't want a penalty shot," I answered rhetorically. I mean I've been around rinks for 47 years and I've never seen that one.

Tom tuckered out in the third period, his buddy helped erase a two-goal deficit, and we left the rink with a 3-3 tie. The undefeated season is underway! Some very special kids out there, including a Polish swerving dervish that questions coaches tactics, takes way too many chances and thinks he'll play in the NHL (this is "B" travel dont forget). Hey, it's good to have dreams.

Practice on tuesday. What will Tom forget this time?