My Favourite Curtis Joseph Memory

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.

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.

Ringing in the New Year, Writer's Style

Another New Year begins, and this one starts off in style, writer’s style. After dropping my Mum off at church - always good for godless heathens to have grey-haired grannies praying for us - I bundled up the laptop in his winter best and headed off to my beloved Timothy's cafe. They were closed but luckily the Second Cup across the road was open, smiling people purveying all manner of coffee and conversation.

Yes, I can write at home but there is something soothing and exhilarating about having "your spot" that makes heading out to do it so appealing. There is never the distraction of dishes from the New Year's party a few hours earlier, the child whining is not one I have to deal with, and sometimes a snippet of chat catches the ear, inspiring a few lines or paragraphs. It isn't eavesdropping if people are talking loud enough for others to hear.

A lot of the conversations today were, fittingly enough, about resolve and reflection, which got me in a pensive mood so here are some of my most memorable events from 2009.

Most surprising of all is that I have managed to come out of the year with both a husband and a diploma, a very nicely framed diploma at that. It looked bleak in early 2009 but I found a ray of sunshine amid the damp and dreary halls of Angus Glen arena. Most friends think the reason I loved taking my son to hockey camp was a daily dose of strong, dark and sweet. Well, mes amis, you're right but sometimes that was provided by Sandy, not Peter.

At a time when I needed to see women succeeding and thriving in male dominated professions, Sandy walked into my life. It's not as easy to get together anymore but I will always appreciate her important contribution in making me hold on tightly to the rope and get some calluses when letting go would have been an easier route.

Gratitude also goes out to my dear friends at tmlfans.ca because without their encouragement, I probably would have kept putting off my return to school. It was actually Rob DM who told me to get on facebook, and then sent me a link to this new school that was opening up, suggesting I should give it serious consideration.

I did exactly that and signed up for the inaugural class, a decision never to be regretted. Thank you Rob, I'll give you a plug wherever professionally acceptable!

Thanks also go out to Rick C. for suggesting I get in touch with Adam Proteau of The Hockey News. When I jokingly told Adam he could get me as a "free" intern for his birthday he advised sending my resume to his editor. I did and in September 2008 was able to strike "work at The Hockey News" off my bucket list. As a little girl I would read the magazine, dreaming about someday, somehow getting my name in the credits, back in the days when there were no female hockey writers that I knew of. What an absolute thrill the first time I saw my name in there, and even bigger when I got my first byline on Feb. 09, 2009 - fittingly enough my child's birthday.

My respect and admiration for media skyrocketed, and that's from someone who loved ink-stained (toner cartridge-stained?) wretches so much she dedicated her mid-life to becoming one. In August I started a full-time internship at THN and can attest that magazine publishing is an art form, from the actual art department to the sales staff to the marketing crew to the unsung heroics in accounting to the coffee shop workers to the lady in the little corner store who tells me when my favourite soft drink is sold out. Rest assured that even though your names might not be in the mag, your fingerprints are all over it.


There were some low-points, the biggest one being the loss of a dear friend, one whose role in my life I did not fully recognize until he was gone. His passing inspired me to write again, not just about hockey but about life so whatever happens with this career, part of it is for you Pete. You gave me a kick in the proverbial head when I needed it most.

As much as I love all the men in my life, special credit goes to my female friends for all their support, especially "the hockey mums" who are my refuge from the rink. For all the interviews for school projects, for rides to games, forever.

If not for them, I would not know about the great stories that come from when a girl from Southern Italy falls in love with a Punjabi Sikh in Germany. I wouldn't know about the Somali Muslim who hooked up with the Newfie. I wouldn't know what I'd missed, but luckily I need not miss any of those wonderful girls nights out.

There are friends who might not be mentioned by name but your contributions are held in my heart, never to worry about being lost in a computer crash.

Thanks for being in my life and may yours be filled with love, light and happiness in 2010.

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.

Ms. M's Take on Georges Laraque and the Booze Babes

Note: The fine folks at The Hockey News didn't really have a spot for this and posted a shorter version online but I still think the original deserves some blogspace.


Booze, babes, beefcake and ball hockey is a recipe that tends to cook up a frat boy’s fantasy weekend, not a kettle full of controversy. That’s exactly what Montreal Canadiens enforcer Georges Laraque brought to the front burner of Gary Bettman’s already over-heated stove thanks to the forward flashing his smile in an online ad for an alcohol-laced energy drink.

Seeing how I was the lone female at THN’s morning meeting – the other women were busy running the joint – the boss asked me to weigh in on the situation.

Watching youtube and well-built men in shorts as part of my living is a tough job, but it’s one in a long line of sacrifices THN readers deserve, so I hunkered down into my cubicle to do some serious research.

Serious? Who am I kidding? From the opening shot of a McMansion, followed by women jiggling down the road this was so cheesy I was wiping Velveeta (processed cheese food spread?) off my monitor, along with some drool courtesy of the boys in the intern pit. The whole production screamed ‘parody’ and while I didn’t delight in the display of nubile vixens, found this an entertaining way to waste a minute of my life for the sake of my employer.

I’ve spent most of my adult life working with men, and spent my childhood more apt to trading hockey cards and playing Lego with the boys on the block than picking out Barbie’s next outfit. No doubt that has skewed my sexism meter a bit differently than some of my female friends.

Women needing a husband’s signature to open bank accounts. Single women making more than men with families but unable to get mortgages. Women being paid less for the same job because ‘he has a family to support.’ Those situations were not uncommon during my childhood..

This tempest in an NHL teapot isn’t worth burning any bras, unlike the situations listed above, especially not when good ones are so expensive.

Even through the visual assault of boobs and booty, I could clearly see this is a parody, sort of like what the NHL will be if it hands out much, if any punishment for Laraque’s involvement in the commercial.

Despite the gratuitous display of mammaries, it kept crossing my mind that the biggest boobs were those gullible Guses who would buy into the hoopla hook, line and snap shot. For those thinking ‘Me want booze, me want caffeine, me buy, bring on chicks’ I hate to break it to you, but it aint’ gonna’ happen.

The issue that demands a second look here, unlike the video, is the hypocrisy of the NHL banning players from appearing in alcohol ads while gleefully raking in the coin from concession stand bars.

Ms. M Is On Sabbatical

Hello and thnak you to my blog followers! I'm finished with school and headed for my internship in a few weeks. For the first time in a decade I have the summer off - no work, no school - so I'm taking a break from blogging and keeping non-stop tabs on NHL transactions.

Enjoy the rest of your summer!

First Day Of Camp

I've been doing a lot of writing, most of it too personal to post online. My last post was over a month ago - I will never forget that day.

This morning I dropped my son off at camp, as I had planned to do months ago but there was a hitch in our plans. Today would have been the first day of hockey and sports camp. If all had gone as it was supposed to, my son would have woken me up, yelling, "Let's go!" If all had gone as planned, I would have rung a doorbell, waited a few minutes for someone to answer and been greeted by a smile brighter than a summer afternoon. If all had gone as planned, I would have dropped off my son and his hockey gear in my friend's truck, knowing both would be taken care of. If all had gone as planned, I would not have to worry about the clock, zooming to pick my boy up by 4PM or risk late fees. If all had gone as planned, my son's favourite part of camp would happen after camp - hanging out in the swimming pool, playing with kids and dogs, being doted on by a woman who treated all kids as if the they were her grandbabies.

If all had gone to plan, my son would have spent the next two weeks at Peter Zezel Hockey and Sports Camps.

All has gone as planned but by forces I cannot comprehend. Peter passed away a few weeks ago and didn't want the camps to go on without him, so they won't. I had hoped they would, even though they would never, could never be the same without his direct involvement. Even without Peter, there were the other instructors and counsellors who made it a fantastic experience, but Pete was Pete - if his name was on it, he had to be part of it.

In a few hours I will pick up my son from his first day of camp and he'll be chattering away non-stop telling me all about his adventures. He'll go on about who did this, who did that, what So-and-So said and why he didn't get a super-mega-pack-o-sugarettos for lunch.

Today I will pick up my son from camp and realise life really does go on, no matter what we planned.