I play hockey...I've admitted this before...I'm of the opinion that, since hockey IS the single best sport in the world, everybody should try it, regardless of their age or ability. I KNOW that Once anyone plays it, they'll be "hooked." There'd be a wave of hockey that would SWEEP THE NATION, if not THE WORLD...This phenomenon would bode well for everybody. It would bode ESPECIALLY well for emergency rooms, hospitals and those select entities which engage in the manufacture of "cups," and I don't mean drink cups, either, sparky...

Now, brace yourself, 'cause I'm about set to "sell the sizzle" as to why EVERYONE in the free, or oppressed, world should be playin' themselves some hockey...

Sooner or later, you'll have the distinct pleasure of freaking someone out with some sort of bizzare injury and/or the opportunity regale said "people" with tales of your bravery (how you diligently fought through the pain). For starters, there's the random bruising that'll show up on your person after every hockey session, most of which you won't be able to explain or remember exactly how or when they would have appeared...Moving on, you'll have the fun of chatting about muscle strains (or rips and tears)...Personally, I usually get to explain THOSE after someone asks me the very pointed question "are you limping?" "why yes," I reply..."I play hockey." Frankly, it's simply a matter of time, no matter how many precautions you take or how quick you feel your reaction time is, it's inevitable that you're gonna get hit in the face. Whether it's via fist, stick or puck, you'll get popped in the "grill"...I've been hit in the face...lots...I'm a goalie...It happens...

One time, though, a puck got me good...

Let's rewind, say, 8 years into the past...When I first started playing hockey, I had procured myself a very basic helmet...The cage was a cross hatch kind of design that was great for not allowing things like pucks or sticks in, and, consequently, not terribly good for allowing vision out...I had long coveted the "cat's eye" pro style cages for some time and, eventually, I was able to "upgrade" to a Simmons 991 "pro" helmet with a "cat's eye" cage...I had heard all of the 'horror stories' about what could fit through the larger 'eye holes,' but I was unfazed. I wanted the damn thing and I got it...About a week after I purchased it, I attended an organized practice at the mall where we play our games...At one point during this practice, a player fired a slap shot in my direction...It came in high and I was already down in the 'butterfly' position. The shot struck me in the head and ricocheted away...Now, I've been hit in the head during hockey countless times. Generally, I'll experience a ringing in my ears and, maybe, a brief flash of pain...A quick shake of the noggin and it all goes blissfully away...This particular time, unfortunately, I felt a unique "shockwave of pain" that traveled through my whole head, front to back...I shook my head and this pain was still there...I shook again and realized very quickly why I was in so much pain...

When I shook my head that second time, I sent a spray of blood all over the ice in front of me...

I was cut, I knew that much...I tore my helmet off and tossed it to the corner of the rink...It was brand new, dammit, I didn't want to bleed inside of it! I then stood upright, my arms extended and my head pointed down, watching a fountain of my own blood pouring onto the ice in front of me...As it pooled, I heard someone yell that I needed a towel...Ultimately, one was produced. I held it against my head in an attempt to stop the torrent of crimson, still unsure as to how badly I was injured...All activity on the ice had ceased and I was now the center of attention. Frankly, I didn't like the looks I was getting, they're the kinds of looks that say "I'm damn glad I'm not him..." I shouted "ok, someone get me a bandaid and let's keep going..."

"Uh, no...You need to go to the hospital" I was told.

"Hospital!? I don't want to go to the stinking hospital...I haven't even had dinner yet! How the hell bad could this be?" I thought...Ultimately, I acquiesced to the demands that I leave the ice...I went to the locker room and proceeded to get dressed, all the while being told by teammates how awful bad I was cut...The magic phrase "you're gonna need stitches" kept being tossed my way...Bear in mind, to this point, I still hadn't checked a mirror to see what exactly had happened to me...It was kind of numb, in fact, It didn't feel bad at all...Either way, I needed to head to the emergency room...I called my wife and let her know that I was going to drive home so she could transport me to the hospital...As I ended the call and started my truck, the cut on my forehead suddenly seemed to take on a life of it's own, defiantly spitting a glob of blood onto my face..."Great," I thought..."This should be an awesome drive home..."

By the time I got home, I had been "spit" on three or four more times...I was also starting to feel a bit tired, seeing as I HAD experienced blood loss. I looked at my wife, she looked at my head and cringed. "I HAVE TO SEE WHAT EVERYONE IS LOOKING AT" I thought...I went to the bathroom, flipped on the light and looked at my reflection in the mirror for the first time since impact...Staring back at me was a 2-inch gash, just above my right eyebrow...The puck had, indeed, snuck through one of the enlarged eyeholes in my mask's cage and made contact with my forehead, splitting it open all the way to the skull...I raised my eyebrows in shock at the sight in front of me. When I did, the wound opened up and "spit" again.

"Ooh, that's a cool trick" I thought...

I immediately went back upstairs and showed the "spit-trick" to my wife...She was unamused and unappreciative, to say the least...I was summarily directed to get in the car. I obeyed and we were on our way to the emergency room, I checked in at the reception desk, took a seat in the waiting room and, well...waited...Every now and then, I'd make my gash perform it's little trick, to the utter dismay and horror of my wife...In Triage, I was asked a battery of questions, including my personal favorite "did you lose consciousness" about seven times. I was given a Tetanus shot and sent in to be sewn back together by a personable doctor who liked to chat about golf, a subject I know a little about, but not much...After the suturing, I was told that someone would stop by in a couple minutes to clean my bloody noggin right up...15 minutes passed with nobody visiting to mop up, so I thought "screw this, I'm leavin'.

It was nearly midnight...I was hungry...I hadn't eaten dinner yet...

On the way home, I convinced my wife to stop at Safeway so I could purchase myself something to eat...woozy, stitched up and with what felt like a half-gallon of my own blood matted in my hair, I bravely entered the store, mentally deflecting the employee's horrific gazes. I offered no explanation to the unfortunate checker who rang me out. By that time, I wasn't interested in anything more than eating my food and going to bed. Of course, the hospital instructed my wife to wake me up every three hours that night and "quiz me" to make sure I didn't have a concussion, despite the fact that I had assured them that I was "fine"...By the morning, I had a very unpleasant demeanor, mostly from being woken up and from the blinding, blinding pain that I felt after the numbing agent wore off...

So, to sum up, I was actually wearing the helmet TOO HIGH on my head, which allowed the puck to make contact with my face. I remedied that problem, simply, by wearing the helmet lower. After that, I haven't experienced any similar trauma since, despite countless hockey-related cranial impacts...I ended up with a nice scar for show-and-tell and, so far, I've resisted all of my wife's efforts to treat it with vitamin "A," a compound that, reportedly, reduces scarring...After it was all said and done, the lingering pain from the tetanus shot the emergency room staff administered was actually worse than the puck impact...The fact that I didn't have to have my eyebrow shaved off was a bonus. When I went in to have my stitches removed, unfortunately, the attending nurse seemed to be in a bit of a hurry, almost as if she were attempting to set a world speed record for suture removal...clip, yank, clip, yank, clip, yank, missed clip YANK! My whole head lurched forward, being that it was still attached to the unclipped suture...THAT hurt a bit..."Sorry 'bout that" she said calmly...clip, yank, clip, yank...

So, there you go...I can imagine that, if you're not playing already, you're simply clamoring to play yourself some hockey! Believe me, you'll thank me later...Like when you're answering all the repetitive questions in triage...

Labels: hockey stuff, indignities, me roots, sports