I like to think of myself as above-average intelligence. However true that may or may not be is up for debate, but yesterday would have given a lot of fuel to the Mike's An Idiot camp.
Maybe it was the fatigue of running down baseballs hit by distant, young family members in the summer heat while wearing jeans the day before. Maybe it was watching the glee of a cousin who was on the hunt for a pet box turtle and found one within two minutes of his attempt. Maybe it was the delicious home cooked meal my mother made. Maybe (probably) it was my stupidity.
Whatever it was that distracted me from common sense and reality, I ultimately came to the misguided conclusion that leaving from Athens, Ohio to the Lewis Center, north of Columbus at 7:00 PM would give me enough time to traverse the 105 miles with enough time to change into my hockey gear and hit the ice by 8:20 PM.
Oh how wrong I was.
When all the neurons and synapses came back online and the reality of my error dawned on me, I had to make embarrassing phone calls to some of my teammates to tell them their team's founder, captain and pseudo coach would be late -- very late -- for his own teams game, likely not dressed and on the ice until the third period.
"Wow ... okay. Just don't get yourself killed trying to get up here in time."
Wise words, but clearly, on this day, I was not wise. On the same stretch of road I had been pulled over for speeding twice, I slammed the accelerator and sped northward through a few brief rain storms.
I got to the rink, signed in and sprinted towards our ice sheet, the game already in the waning minutes of the first period. No more than 15 seconds after I stepped in, our third-line center was parked near the crease and potted his first ever goal, putting us Crew Jackets up 1-0. I was pumped for him, and so was the strangely, relatively large audience in the stands for this game. Usually four-to-six people watch E-League games, but there were 20 or so on this night and, for whatever reason, they were supporting us Crew Jackets.
My team had the locker room key secured on the team bench. I waved, jumped up and down trying to get their attention so I could change into my gear, but they didn't notice me. The people in the stands were naturally befuddled and amused by some random guy at a dozen plus people who he might as well have been invisible to. Once my threshold for embarrassment had been reached, I opted to take the unorthodox route of changing in the commons restroom's handicap stall.
Imagine the look of bewilderment of the rink's staff to see a fully-geared hockey player come flying out of a generic public restroom and not a locker room.
With a few minutes left to go in the second period, I was finally on the ice.
Apparently the hockey gods would exact a price for my tardiness. My first shift on the ice had the dubious distinction of giving our line a deduction in the plus/minus column. Our opponents, the Chiefs, got the pick near the crease and took a shot that deflected off our defender's stick and rainbowed over our stud goalie's shoulder, fluttering into the net to tie the game 1-1.
When I went to take the ensuing face off, the referee, Danny, a friend of my dad's for decades, said, "Better get to work, Mike."
My following shift, I received a near-perfect pass from my right winger that sprung me for a semi-breakaway. The lone defender played the pass and not the shot, which given my angle was an understandable move, but from near the right face-off dot I let loose a wrister. I didn't aim. Just put as much heat behind it as I could. I saw it go over the goalies shoulder, just past hist mask and top shelving it into the upper left corner of the net. It is -- by far -- the best goal I've ever scored. Crew Jackets up 2-1.
It was more luck than sense, but that doesn't change the fact that shot is a goal in a lot of leagues around the world. Last week, our goalie, who had scholarship offers from quality collegiate hockey programs advised, "Your wrist shot is legit; use it more." I still see that as an exaggeration but a little less so now.
It was such a pure snipe, my goal celebration was to cover my mouth with my glove because my jaw nearly hit the ice.
We had 2:30 to defend the lead. The Chiefs pulled their goalie, giving us an empty net to fire at. One of our defenseman did just that, putting us up 3-1 to seal the win and give us our first goal from a blueliner.
If anyone had misgivings about their captain being late, no one showed in the locker room in lieu of the quality game-winning goal.
About ten of us went out for post-game libations and watched Game 3 of the Stanley Cup Final. We all got to know each other better and all agreed we're starting to jell on the ice. After our humbling 8-2 loss last week, this was a nice morale booster. It was a good night.
I was greeted this morning with a text from my high school buddy and teammate, Ryan, exclaiming, "The team is really starting to work better together!" This is his first time playing hockey and has only ice skated a handful of times. It made my day to see him text, "What a perfect group to learn around." I replied, "I think it's a good team to play, win, hand and learn with." "Exactly."
When I took a long shot at starting this team at the last minute, I had a pretty detailed wishlist in mind for what the team could become. And it's panning out "Exactly" how I had hoped.
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