This is an excerpt from a piece I wrote today for tmlfans.ca.
Hearing about Curtis Joseph’s impending official retirement was no surprise
seeing how he hasn’t played an NHL game since suiting up against the Buffalo
Sabres on April 08th, 2009. Most players would appreciate the honour of
tying a league record in their final career tilt, but odds are there were no
cupcakes in King City to celebrate defeat 452, an achievement shared with
Lorne “Gump” Worsley. Memo to those who think that dubious distinction alone
discounts Joseph from inclusion into the Hockey Hall of Fame: Worsley’s in
there, along with the tenth biggest loser in NHL goaltending history, some
guy with hearing problems by the name of Patrick Roy.
Other pundits, ones who remember every win, loss, tie and OTL, can fight
that debate. The waves of nostalgia flooding the ice in my snow bank of
Curtis Joseph memories – some while he was a Leaf and some while he
tormented them in playoffs – are more personal.
Showing posts with label minor hockey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label minor hockey. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
Minor Hockey Talkie
It seems like more and more people are finding my blog via searches for hockey parents, hockey horror stories, good hockey parent, kids hockey, etc.
With that in mind, that's the direction this blog will take and I hope you enjoy travelling along the path with me. I'm also looking for stories so if there is one that you'd like to tell but don't have anyone to tell it, please email me:
minorhockeytalkie@gmail.com
I'm looking forward to helping you tell your stories.
With that in mind, that's the direction this blog will take and I hope you enjoy travelling along the path with me. I'm also looking for stories so if there is one that you'd like to tell but don't have anyone to tell it, please email me:
minorhockeytalkie@gmail.com
I'm looking forward to helping you tell your stories.
Monday, December 14, 2009
I'm Back
I just can't keep my adoring throng of followers waiting a day longer. Yes, all two of you will be thrilled to know that regular hockeytalkie.blogspot.com postings will resume effective immediately.
My internship at The Hockey News wrapped up and instead of sitting shiva at not cracking their permanent roster, I'm following my friend Michelle's advice: "WRITE!"
Oddly enough, the fantastic time spent at THN fortified my gut feeling; I love everything around the game of hockey even more than the game itself. For all the hours spent in NHL dressing rooms and pressboxes, nothing gave me a bigger thrill (or a better story) than the people who are not superstars.
From the old guys operating arena elevators to finding a friend working as a suite hostess in Ottawa, from seeing the smile on a parent's face when her daughter scores her first goal to Atom kids planning plays with teammates, that's what gets this hockey heart thumping out of control.
I've officially graduated and have a diploma - it even came framed - in Radio and Television Sports Broadcasting. But don't be deceived, a good chunk of that was writing, and if you can write, it doesn't matter what the subject matter is, and I know I am a very good writer.
Hopefully the employment gods and goddesses agree and I find a paying gig soon. If you know of anything, please let me know. Radio, television, web, social networking, print media, I can do them all.
My internship at The Hockey News wrapped up and instead of sitting shiva at not cracking their permanent roster, I'm following my friend Michelle's advice: "WRITE!"
Oddly enough, the fantastic time spent at THN fortified my gut feeling; I love everything around the game of hockey even more than the game itself. For all the hours spent in NHL dressing rooms and pressboxes, nothing gave me a bigger thrill (or a better story) than the people who are not superstars.
From the old guys operating arena elevators to finding a friend working as a suite hostess in Ottawa, from seeing the smile on a parent's face when her daughter scores her first goal to Atom kids planning plays with teammates, that's what gets this hockey heart thumping out of control.
I've officially graduated and have a diploma - it even came framed - in Radio and Television Sports Broadcasting. But don't be deceived, a good chunk of that was writing, and if you can write, it doesn't matter what the subject matter is, and I know I am a very good writer.
Hopefully the employment gods and goddesses agree and I find a paying gig soon. If you know of anything, please let me know. Radio, television, web, social networking, print media, I can do them all.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Withdrawal Symptoms
The NHL playoffs start tonight but I'm going through post-season withdrawal symptoms.
There is no shortage of hockey in my life since I'm covering two teams from a purely professional viewpoint. It makes no difference to me whether the St. Louis Blues or the Vancouver Canucks win their first round series.
What has altered things is being able to sleep in on Sunday mornings, not lugging hockey gear when I'm in heels, and no longer being a slave to last-minute game changes. I miss dragging me, my kid, and a giant, cumbersome bag out the door in the dark.
Most of all I miss spending time with people who don't care that my top is inside-out, that I'm not wearing makeup, or that I didn't brush my hair. Sleep deprivation fades quickly when you're greeted by smiling friends, especially when a nap is possible later on in the day.
Birds chirping as a new day dawns are a welcome sign of spring to those in northern climates. I don't begrudge the birdies but hearing them as I head out the door makes me melancholy.
Their spring song signals the end of house league hockey season.
Nothing though, can end the friendships found behind the boards.
There is no shortage of hockey in my life since I'm covering two teams from a purely professional viewpoint. It makes no difference to me whether the St. Louis Blues or the Vancouver Canucks win their first round series.
What has altered things is being able to sleep in on Sunday mornings, not lugging hockey gear when I'm in heels, and no longer being a slave to last-minute game changes. I miss dragging me, my kid, and a giant, cumbersome bag out the door in the dark.
Most of all I miss spending time with people who don't care that my top is inside-out, that I'm not wearing makeup, or that I didn't brush my hair. Sleep deprivation fades quickly when you're greeted by smiling friends, especially when a nap is possible later on in the day.
Birds chirping as a new day dawns are a welcome sign of spring to those in northern climates. I don't begrudge the birdies but hearing them as I head out the door makes me melancholy.
Their spring song signals the end of house league hockey season.
Nothing though, can end the friendships found behind the boards.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
A Boy at Ex-Leafs` Camp
A quick glance outside the Angus Glen Community Centre gives the impression of an ordinary hockey camp. The parking lot is full of mini-vans, SUVs, and one lonely, little Echo. Inside is a damp, sweaty arena with kids lined up behind the net, awaiting instructions, while parents sip lukewarm double doubles. Everything about this March Break 2009 camp is typical except for the coach.
Like most of his young charges, he too dreamed of playing hockey for a living. As a little boy in Scarborough he donned hockey gear to spend Saturday nights in front of the TV watching the Toronto Maple Leafs play in the boom of Foster Hewitt’s voice at Maple Leaf Gardens.
As a teen he was a high-scoring junior in that same arena, hanging his helmet a stone’s throw from his hockey heroes.
As a man, seven years into his pro career, his childhood dream finally came true. January 16, 1991 Peter Zezel became a Toronto Maple Leaf.
In the summer of 1998, anticipating a post-playing career, he became a camp director. 11 years and hundreds of clients later, he still operates Peter Zezel Hockey and Sports Camps. The one week summer camps run all day and include swimming, soccer, and golf in addition to hockey drills.
Christmas and March Break camps consist of 90 minute, on-ice sessions Monday through Friday.
At some celebrity camps the namesake shows up only in the brochure. That’s not the case here. “With my name attached it has to become a good camp,” said Zezel. “You know how word of mouth really travels? We have a lot of kids that come back.”
Zezel and his senior instructors, Jim Carey and Sam Katsuras are usually first to arrive at the rink and last to leave.
Carey was the Toronto Maple Leafs equipment manager during the Pat Burns glory days and has had a successful career. In addition to being a Level III coach, Carey has won awards as a trainer and equipment manager including a Canada Cup ring.
Katsuras is a full-time school teacher who has played in the OHL, CHL, and ECHL. He also plays for the Hellenic Lightning of the CMHL, where he tied for third in 2008 tournament scoring.
When the former faceoff phenom isn’t around, all is in good hands, but make no mistake - this is definitely Zezel`s baby. He is hands on, spending a good 20-30 minutes planning drills and assessing progress before heading onto the ice himself. He`s even been known to do the odd coffee run.
Back at the March Break house league camp, one young defenceman gets hands-on help with pivot techniques while another receives assistance with goaltending, including how to correctly put on the pads.
The youngest one, nicknamed Timbit by one of the rinkside parents, looks like a bobblehead on ice, warming the hearts, if not the quickly cooling coffees of all who watch. Occasionally he takes a break and lays down on the player bench, but not for long.
Within a few minutes, big, caring hands come along to prod Timbit back onto the ice.
Like his coaching mentor, Mike Keenan, Zezel expects a certain work ethic, “The parents want hard work, they want the kids to work hard and get something out of the camp.”
Don’t worry though – the kids don’t have to retrieve their hockey bags from the bowels of the arena the way some of Keenan’s players did. At this stage, it’s still about enjoyment. “We provide something that revolves around having fun for hockey again,” said the ex-Leaf. “I see over years and years of developing these kids now that the fun is really starting to get out of the game. We’re in this camp to provide fun for the kids and to develop the kids as best we can, and mostly to have fun doing it.”
Judging by kids who are reluctant to leave on the final day of camp, it looks like they’ve succeeded.
Being a former Toronto Maple Leaf has some perks. Immunity to the current economic downturn isn’t one of them. There were only nine participants in the house league group for the March Break camp. That said, the AA, AAA, and team sessions were full.
Parents don’t think sending their children to this camp, any camp, will magically give them a 15-year NHL career like Peter Zezel’s. They do believe, however, the skills and discipline they learn from participating will benefit their children off the ice as much if not more, than on it.
Like most of his young charges, he too dreamed of playing hockey for a living. As a little boy in Scarborough he donned hockey gear to spend Saturday nights in front of the TV watching the Toronto Maple Leafs play in the boom of Foster Hewitt’s voice at Maple Leaf Gardens.
As a teen he was a high-scoring junior in that same arena, hanging his helmet a stone’s throw from his hockey heroes.
As a man, seven years into his pro career, his childhood dream finally came true. January 16, 1991 Peter Zezel became a Toronto Maple Leaf.
In the summer of 1998, anticipating a post-playing career, he became a camp director. 11 years and hundreds of clients later, he still operates Peter Zezel Hockey and Sports Camps. The one week summer camps run all day and include swimming, soccer, and golf in addition to hockey drills.
Christmas and March Break camps consist of 90 minute, on-ice sessions Monday through Friday.
At some celebrity camps the namesake shows up only in the brochure. That’s not the case here. “With my name attached it has to become a good camp,” said Zezel. “You know how word of mouth really travels? We have a lot of kids that come back.”
Zezel and his senior instructors, Jim Carey and Sam Katsuras are usually first to arrive at the rink and last to leave.
Carey was the Toronto Maple Leafs equipment manager during the Pat Burns glory days and has had a successful career. In addition to being a Level III coach, Carey has won awards as a trainer and equipment manager including a Canada Cup ring.
Katsuras is a full-time school teacher who has played in the OHL, CHL, and ECHL. He also plays for the Hellenic Lightning of the CMHL, where he tied for third in 2008 tournament scoring.
When the former faceoff phenom isn’t around, all is in good hands, but make no mistake - this is definitely Zezel`s baby. He is hands on, spending a good 20-30 minutes planning drills and assessing progress before heading onto the ice himself. He`s even been known to do the odd coffee run.
Back at the March Break house league camp, one young defenceman gets hands-on help with pivot techniques while another receives assistance with goaltending, including how to correctly put on the pads.
The youngest one, nicknamed Timbit by one of the rinkside parents, looks like a bobblehead on ice, warming the hearts, if not the quickly cooling coffees of all who watch. Occasionally he takes a break and lays down on the player bench, but not for long.
Within a few minutes, big, caring hands come along to prod Timbit back onto the ice.
Like his coaching mentor, Mike Keenan, Zezel expects a certain work ethic, “The parents want hard work, they want the kids to work hard and get something out of the camp.”
Don’t worry though – the kids don’t have to retrieve their hockey bags from the bowels of the arena the way some of Keenan’s players did. At this stage, it’s still about enjoyment. “We provide something that revolves around having fun for hockey again,” said the ex-Leaf. “I see over years and years of developing these kids now that the fun is really starting to get out of the game. We’re in this camp to provide fun for the kids and to develop the kids as best we can, and mostly to have fun doing it.”
Judging by kids who are reluctant to leave on the final day of camp, it looks like they’ve succeeded.
Being a former Toronto Maple Leaf has some perks. Immunity to the current economic downturn isn’t one of them. There were only nine participants in the house league group for the March Break camp. That said, the AA, AAA, and team sessions were full.
Parents don’t think sending their children to this camp, any camp, will magically give them a 15-year NHL career like Peter Zezel’s. They do believe, however, the skills and discipline they learn from participating will benefit their children off the ice as much if not more, than on it.
Friday, April 3, 2009
More Proof Hockey Rules My Life
My son's hockey team will experience their first tournament this weekend. Parents, kids, and coaches are excited, especially since it's a chance to face some rival teams from our league.
One of the players, our captain, moved last weekend. His mother has been so busy working nights, unpacking, and doing "mum stuff" that - gasp - she hasn't checked her email for a week. I laughed because I've gone longer without brushing my teeth than without reading my email.
This however, was no time for chuckles. She asked what the schedule was so I filled her in - season end breakfast at 9AM, then game 1 at 1PM, game 2 at 5PM.
She: "Game 2? Both games on Saturday? Oh no, then we can't do it. Saturday's my only free day."
Now it was my turn to panic.
Me: "He has to be there! He's our top scorer!"
She: "I can't give up the whole day!"
Apologies to Blackadder fans, I have a cunning plan.
Me: "If you can get him to the breakfast, he can stay with us for the weekend."
She: "Really?"
Me: "You have to ask? Consider it done."
She: "Well, your boy will come out here one weekend."
Whew. Another minor hockey crisis averted.
This defies logic. In between spending two full days at the rink, I have to cover another tournament and still find time to write four articles by Monday. There's also the matter of tracking down a few people to get quotes.
Why am I bringing another person into my home to look after in the middle of all this?
Why not? Hockey players, teammates, know all about looking after each other.
In hockey, friendships don't end when the arena doors close behind us.
One of the players, our captain, moved last weekend. His mother has been so busy working nights, unpacking, and doing "mum stuff" that - gasp - she hasn't checked her email for a week. I laughed because I've gone longer without brushing my teeth than without reading my email.
This however, was no time for chuckles. She asked what the schedule was so I filled her in - season end breakfast at 9AM, then game 1 at 1PM, game 2 at 5PM.
She: "Game 2? Both games on Saturday? Oh no, then we can't do it. Saturday's my only free day."
Now it was my turn to panic.
Me: "He has to be there! He's our top scorer!"
She: "I can't give up the whole day!"
Apologies to Blackadder fans, I have a cunning plan.
Me: "If you can get him to the breakfast, he can stay with us for the weekend."
She: "Really?"
Me: "You have to ask? Consider it done."
She: "Well, your boy will come out here one weekend."
Whew. Another minor hockey crisis averted.
This defies logic. In between spending two full days at the rink, I have to cover another tournament and still find time to write four articles by Monday. There's also the matter of tracking down a few people to get quotes.
Why am I bringing another person into my home to look after in the middle of all this?
Why not? Hockey players, teammates, know all about looking after each other.
In hockey, friendships don't end when the arena doors close behind us.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
GOLD!
There is something about minor league hockey that brings smiles to faces. The parents on my son's Minor Atom team were the loudest in the loop and we managed to crank up our vocal volume for the gold medal series.
We're noisy but never rude or foul-mouthed. Still, some folks used to timid, suburban support found us a novelty. Odd how people complain that Air Canada Centre is too quiet for Toronto Maple Leafs games, then think a dozen or so parents are too loquacious?
Happily our competition got into it - finally - for the final game, bringing in banners, signs, even a real trumpet.
Not all was picture perfect. In the first gold series game, we were all cheering after a goal. Nothing wrong with that, until we realised the other team's goalie was sprawled on the ice, injured. We felt awful - none of us noticed but the damage had been done. Parents on the other team thought we were cheering because their goalie was injured.
NEVER.
All the woo-hoos and yee-haws halted at the sight of a 10 year-old on ice. He was okay and finished the game, coming back stronger and better in game two of the series.
Some players go through years of hockey without winning a medal. My son picked up his second gold medal in two years. He has won top prize in the two seasons he has played.
But I'm the real winner. Seeing the person I love the most, fall in love with my favourite game, surrounded by fantastic people game-in, game-out beats any medal.
We're noisy but never rude or foul-mouthed. Still, some folks used to timid, suburban support found us a novelty. Odd how people complain that Air Canada Centre is too quiet for Toronto Maple Leafs games, then think a dozen or so parents are too loquacious?
Happily our competition got into it - finally - for the final game, bringing in banners, signs, even a real trumpet.
Not all was picture perfect. In the first gold series game, we were all cheering after a goal. Nothing wrong with that, until we realised the other team's goalie was sprawled on the ice, injured. We felt awful - none of us noticed but the damage had been done. Parents on the other team thought we were cheering because their goalie was injured.
NEVER.
All the woo-hoos and yee-haws halted at the sight of a 10 year-old on ice. He was okay and finished the game, coming back stronger and better in game two of the series.
Some players go through years of hockey without winning a medal. My son picked up his second gold medal in two years. He has won top prize in the two seasons he has played.
But I'm the real winner. Seeing the person I love the most, fall in love with my favourite game, surrounded by fantastic people game-in, game-out beats any medal.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Hockey Is Not Life & Death
Finding out your teammates' brother had a brain tumour removed is life and death.
My son’s team is in the semi-finals so we headed to the arena full of excitement. The usual clichés were bandied about, ‘I’ll die if we don’t win’ and ‘Playoffs are do or die’ being some of them. We got a reality check in the pre-game coach’s chat.
I could tell by the look on the his face that he was in a very serious frame of mind, and thought nothing of it, because, this after all, is Minor Atom semi-finals – first team to reach four points advances to the gold medal match. What could possibly matter more than playoff hockey?
“Riley’s brother is in hospital following brain tumour surgery,” was not what anyone in that room expected to hear from our coach. We were all frozen. A week ago this boy was watching his brother play, now he was recovering from a major operation.
When the words first bounced from my eardrums into my conscience, there was nothing – nothing to think, to do, to say. I’m a writer – surely there must be words for this? No. This time, silence spoke and I did not dare to interrupt.
The game was dedicated to a little boy in hospital, the family by his side, and his brother on blades.
Riley got to wear the special jersey – number 99 – for this game. I’ve watched him play since October but today was his career game. It was a slow start for our kids, understandably so. If I couldn’t get the news out of my head, how could I expect it of them?
Something clicked and when they finally scored, the pressure was off. Those kids had put it on themselves to win, trying so hard, that for a short while, the fun was gone.
Sometimes scoring a goal goes beyond the physical sphere; sometimes it’s more than a little chunk of rubber landing it the net. Today was one of those times.
When the puck slid past the goalie, it didn’t cure a sick little boy. It didn’t magically make everything better. It did however, make 13 kids forget, for a few seconds, that maybe playing the game isn’t the most important thing.
Who you play it for, that counts for more than any names and numbers on a score sheet.
My son’s team is in the semi-finals so we headed to the arena full of excitement. The usual clichés were bandied about, ‘I’ll die if we don’t win’ and ‘Playoffs are do or die’ being some of them. We got a reality check in the pre-game coach’s chat.
I could tell by the look on the his face that he was in a very serious frame of mind, and thought nothing of it, because, this after all, is Minor Atom semi-finals – first team to reach four points advances to the gold medal match. What could possibly matter more than playoff hockey?
“Riley’s brother is in hospital following brain tumour surgery,” was not what anyone in that room expected to hear from our coach. We were all frozen. A week ago this boy was watching his brother play, now he was recovering from a major operation.
When the words first bounced from my eardrums into my conscience, there was nothing – nothing to think, to do, to say. I’m a writer – surely there must be words for this? No. This time, silence spoke and I did not dare to interrupt.
The game was dedicated to a little boy in hospital, the family by his side, and his brother on blades.
Riley got to wear the special jersey – number 99 – for this game. I’ve watched him play since October but today was his career game. It was a slow start for our kids, understandably so. If I couldn’t get the news out of my head, how could I expect it of them?
Something clicked and when they finally scored, the pressure was off. Those kids had put it on themselves to win, trying so hard, that for a short while, the fun was gone.
Sometimes scoring a goal goes beyond the physical sphere; sometimes it’s more than a little chunk of rubber landing it the net. Today was one of those times.
When the puck slid past the goalie, it didn’t cure a sick little boy. It didn’t magically make everything better. It did however, make 13 kids forget, for a few seconds, that maybe playing the game isn’t the most important thing.
Who you play it for, that counts for more than any names and numbers on a score sheet.
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