Back in the Day

I hate roller hockey. I hate it with a passion. I still go when Stefan calls and tells me that he is heading out to the rink, however. I still lug my heavy gear to the cramped benches to strap on my ice hockey goalie equipment only to risk ripping something on the less than slick surface. Why? Because back in the day…

It’s that little phrase that causes a lot of us to do things that we would rather not do. It makes us do things that are only fun for nostalgic purposes. Back in the day we used to go to that bar. It was smoky, dark, loud, and the bartender had a severely short pour. Still, though, they never checked our IDs and, since we were eighteen, that was a good thing. Now, being of age, we are welcomed into the finest bars and clubs in the city. We can go to that place downtown where everyone knows us and we only pay for half of our strong drinks. Sometimes, though, we go back that bar and have a damn good time listening to the same songs on the same jukebox that we did ten years ago. Why? Because back in the day…

Thompson Elementary School was where it all really started. Don’t get me wrong. We were playing hockey long before. Most of us begged our parents for gear as soon as we watched Mike Modano and the Dallas Stars, back in 1993, play the first NHL game in Dallas. It was a win versus Detroit, by the way. We did not know good gear from bad gear or a hockey skate from a figure skate. Ice was too expensive so we adapted our play to the streets. We wore generic inline skates with bright blue plastic straps. You know the kind made for recreational skating as opposed to hockey. We wielded solid wood sticks with screwed on plastic blades that we got a Wal-Mart and smacked around tennis balls. However, Thompson is where we learned that everything we were doing was all wrong.

Our first day at Thompson, we witnessed real inline hockey skates and the difference between Mylec and CCM. We noticed the difference between Wal-Mart and The Hockey Shop. It wasn’t long before I traded in my flat bladed plastic goalie stick for a Curtis Curve and the paper-thin leg pads for some old Coopers. I painted a skull on my mask. Stefan, in his new skates, tore up and down the rink like the wind. He developed a slapshot that was not only accurate but hard and fast too. We named it “Boomer”. We turned ourselves in to a couple of good hockey players out there.

Sunday nights were the magic nights out there. Stefan and I would go almost every day after school and we would stay until the lights went off regardless if it was freezing cold or a hundred degrees. Normally we would be there with a handful of old guys, kids our age, or young kids. On Sunday night, however, that place was jumping. Benches would be so crowded that players would have to stand until a spot opened up for them. They played ten-minute shifts. Goalies would switch out every other shift change. At one point there were so many goalies that some would get frustrated enough to remove their gear and skate as a defenseman. Talent ranged from barely skating to highlight reel moves and we had a blast. Sunday night was our league in a sense. Monday through Saturday was our practice. The leagues were still a couple years away.

Well, we grew up. It sucks, doesn’t it? Growing up. It was a blast though, back in the day. We played in various leagues on the same team and against each other. We met some characters. One a goalie who had to take smoke breaks. Another guy who swore he played juniors up in Canada yet barely kept up with us beginners. There was Dallas who wore extensions in his hair but had a wicked wrist-shot. When the Stars lost in the playoffs we played until I split Stefan’s lip with a puck. He had to get eight stitches. When the Stars won the cup Stefan and I were in D.C. When they tried to defend it we watched Jason Arnott spoil it from a booth at Sports City in Mesquite. Over the year we went our separate ways. Stefan got married and had kids. I moved from Dallas to NYC to Vegas and back again. We still play hockey though our bodies and bones are older and sore, but we love the game. That’s why, when he says that he is headed to the roller hockey rink, I go.

Last night we skated around shooting the puck and talking about “back in the day”. Memories came forward like the time we were all suspended for an entire season for brawling. One of our players took a baseball style swing at the other teams goalie, which started a fight. Both teams cleared the benches and a brawl ensued. I recall the 1-0 shutout win that determined first place where, with second left in the game, I snagged a well placed shot with a desperation wave of my glove hand. That caused problems too when an opposing player slashed at my hand trying to jar the puck loose. He was quickly and forcibly placed on his backside behind the net. Last night we broke two of those plastic roller hockey pucks. I guarantee that none of us had a shot that hard “back in the day”.