Continuity

If you don't enjoy reading about someone waxing philosophical in a memoir-like way about sports, turn back now. While at the Bruins vs. Hawks game the other night, I got to thinking about how there are very few things in life that are constant. I could only come up with one in my own life... hockey.

As a young child in Massachusetts, we skated almost as soon as we could walk. Dad and Grampy enjoyed ice fishing; my sister Dawn and I often accompanied them and spent time whizzing around one frozen pond or another. We had our own rink, too. Dad rigged up two by fours and plastic sheeting to magically convert the summer garden to an ice rink, complete with a spotlight for night skating. We'd come in only when we could no longer feel our extremities.

Two important people outside of the family shared my love of hockey... childhood friend Suzanne and our babysitter Mary. My very first love interest wasn't the boy next door, a kid on the bus or a member of the Partridge Family. It was Gilles Gilbert, goalie for the Boston Bruins. Sometimes I'd watch the games with my grandfather from the foot of his recliner, but more often I'd drag my 13" black and white tv from my bedroom to the kitchen table. I needed the flat surface for my writing. Every game, I meticulously kept a score sheet-- goals and assists, penalties and various notes. Every single game. I stored them in a three-ring binder. Then I'd draw pictures. Goalies mostly (Gilles Gilbert, surrounded by red and pink hearts).

As adolescence loomed, we had a very unsettling move from Massachusetts to Pennsylvania and suddenly my life was in turmoil. I missed my friends. I missed the Bruins. A book called "The Picture History of the Boston Bruins: From Shore to Orr and the Years Between" went with me everywhere and became a source of comfort for me. I still have it today.

After recovering from injuries sustained in a serious auto accident, I decided I wanted to play organized hockey. Even though my mom was a divorced parent trying to raise three young girls on not a lot of money, she drove me in all kinds of weather to Johnstown so I could play bantam hockey at the War Memorial. I was the first girl to ever play in what was (up until then) an all-boys league. Quite frankly, they didn't know what to do with me, but they knew they couldn't refuse my participation, so play I did (but they graciously waived the jock strap requirement). I changed clothes in the ladies bathroom since I couldn't go into the locker room. At first, my teammates resented all of the attention I got, but then Coach Barry appealed to their burgeoning chivalry and soon enough they saw me as a little sister in need of protection. Suddenly I had a team of big brothers and I gloried in it. I really was little-- just over 5 feet and barely 100 pounds. I was a good skater-- better than many of the boys-- but if the opponents caught me, I didn't fare so well. I had waist-length hair then, which I braided and tucked into my helmet to discourage hair pulling.

Around this time, I met a lifelong friend through hockey. Michaela. She lives in New York and I answered her ad for a hockey pen pal in some hockey magazine or newspaper. In the days before the internet and 24-hour sports channels, she became a news lifeline about my team. My grandparents did the same. Every week my grandmother would send me a letter with two dollars and clippings about the Bruins from the newspaper. Sometimes she'd write editorial comments in the margins in her flowery penmanship-- "Oh my!" beside a picture of a fight. I still have some of these.

During my high school years (junior year, I believe), I took a significant interest in rookie Al Secord, who was destined to become my second great hockey love. Although I'm not a fan letter sort of person, I wrote to him and much to my surprise and delight (remember, those were more innocent and simpler times) I got a handwritten letter from him in addition to an autographed picture. In the letter, he told me that I was the first fan to ever write to him. I was convinced that I would marry him.

Back in the late 70's and early 80's, we went to Pittsburgh when the Bruins played the Penguins. Pre-Mario Lemieux, it was possible to walk right up to the players after the game if you knew which gate to wait at. That way, I was able to meet and get autographs and pictures of some of the big names of the day-- Gerry Cheevers, Terry O'Reilly, Wayne Cashman, Jean Ratelle, Brad Park... and Al Secord. I introduced myself and he knew right away who I was. More on him later.

Freshman year of college I was seriously messed up from a non-hockey related broken heart (long story...), then I was committed to my studies and friendships, so hockey took a back burner for a few years. Then it was graduate school, marriage and a move to Chicago. At the time, the Blackhawks were in the cellar and tickets were fairly easy to come by, so once again it was full immersion.

Roller hockey evolved and along with it came a team called the Chicago Cheetahs. I hadn't heard much about it, but a friend of mine (who knew my hockey history) urged me to attend the first game at UIC because there would be a "big surprise." So I did. You probably guessed the surprise. One of the Cheetahs was Al Secord. One again, he remembered me, as he did a few years later when he played on the Chicago Wolves.

In the 90's, John and I made a yearly tradition out of attending the Blackhawks Winter Ball, which benefitted Maryville Academy. It's like going to the prom with the entire Blackhawks team and their wives/girlfriends. Again, much excitement and picture taking-- Denis Savard, Bob Probert, Ed Belfour, Chris Chelios. Another brush with hockey celebrity came when John became Jeremy Roenick's podiatrist during the year that the NHL went on strike. Roenick actually conducted negotiations on their office phone while he was waiting for treatment. And at John's request, he left me a surprise voicemail on my work phone saying "your husband is causing me tremendous pain."

Chicago Stadium morphed into the United Center and the Hawks tanked, then rose again, which brings us to the present. A busy work schedule, a household to maintain, keeping up with friends, family and Facebook fill my days. Although the faces of the players (aside from Chelios's) are now older than mine, my interest has not become stale. I still thrill at the speed of the puck flying down the rink. The majesty of an untouched sheet of ice. The colors and sounds of a fast-paced game. Throughout my lifetime... past, present and future... the humble game of hockey-- lesser-appreciated cousin of football and baseball-- has made my good times better and my bad times lighter.