Well, if one’s daughter, in her morning rush to get ready for school, takes her field hockey stick into the bathroom with all her other gear she was gathering for her day ahead, and if said daughter in her rush to leave the bathroom when she was done, grabs her field hockey stick and runs but doesn’t realize the stick is wedged under the towel bar (which was held to the tiled-wall with old-plaster-towel-bar-holder-end-pieces), the result is a broken towel bar and a bunch of work for me to do. That’s what a bathroom towel bar has to do with hockey.
Category Archives: blunders
This was the reaction my daughter got recently from a bunch of her girlfriends when she chipped in with her version of her most embarrassing moment ever. Not sure sure of the venue where this collective of young female wisdom dished up such stories but my daughter assured me her’s got as strong a reaction as any.
So…what does this have to do with the hockey you ask? Well, as it turns out, this most embarrassing movement took place when my daughter and a neigbourhood friend recently attended the hockey game of this friend’s mother.
For some reason I cannot remember, these two young ladies needed to visit the dressing room of the ladies team. As my daughter describes it, they went down the long hall containing all the dressing room doors to the one where the friend’s mother’s team was preparing for battle. My daughter was sure the correct dressing room was the one with the red key in the door and her compadre was sure it was a different one.
The latter door was the one they chose to open and things headed south quite quickly at that point. If you’ve ever been inside the dressing room at any hockey rink, and given that this particular blog is written by one who writes as an old-timer, my guess is that you’re already forming a visual of how this post-game interview went down. This was not the standard Daniel-Alfredson-on-the-bike-in-his-under-armour. Nope, this went down way less pretty than that.
Not sure if there is any clearer way to describe the scene than this: Old Ugly Naked Guys.
My daughter claims her and her buddy screeched and quickly tried to shield their eyes from damage, as one might in the event of a solar flare or thermo-nuclear detonation. And to be fair to the Old Ugly Naked Guys, they too reacted – one apparently yelled “Whoa!” in a half scared, half threatened, half violated, half surprised sort of tone.
The girls predictably ran like scared rabbits. Off to the other room. It was made more horrible by the fact that this happened before the friend’s mother’s game even began. The young ladies actually sat through that game on the bench of the mother’s team. There is security in closeness to loved ones to be sure and this situation called for all of that. They literally kept their heads down in the arena until they went home for fear of seeing one of the aforementioned Old Ugly Naked Guys.
I’m sure the old boys weren’t quite as scarred for life by the experience. There were likely one or two who got nailed with more ridicule than some of the others. No doubt the ones with the least equipment on, the ones with the longest history of female problems, etc. etc.
The old hockey adage “keep your stick on the ice” can be used to sum up the moral of most hockey stories. However, I’m not sure it applies here.
I really thought I had things covered off nice and complete when describing the worst hockey feelings in the world in Shinny Armageddon and Shinny Armageddon II. However, I now have a new one that ranks right up there. Last night, badly needing my hockey fix as the weekend began to appear on the horizon, I got to RIM Park for my 10:30 pickup, got all dressed, headed out the dressing room door but before I got to the ice, the runner on one of my skates broke and fell out of the holder. Argh. CAPITAL ARGH!
Too late to go see Harry Potter with the other half of the planet, but wishing I had one of those freakin’ wands that I could point at and heal my busted wheel, I headed home then tossed and turned all night worrying about whether I’ll be able to get it fixed by next Tuesday night….(my next game).
Alright, there really is one thing as bad a the one-goalie scenario I wrote about previously. It’s when you get to the rink for your 10:00 PM game on a Monday night around 9:40 only to find out your game was at 9:00 PM. This happened to one of the boys on the blue team this past Monday and I gotta tell you, when we got off the ice after the game, poor Graham really did look like his dog had been hit by a car (see link above for more on this comparison).
Like any self-respecting oldtimer, that night’s game was to be the high point of his Monday and he’d really been looking forward to it. To make matters worse, we lost and were hurting for goals so we took the opportunity to rub it in that the absence of this 50 goal guy from our lineup was part of the reason for the loss, thus adding friendly insult to self-inflicted injury.
In this hi tech, wired world of ours, missing a game because of a schedule misinterpretation ought to be an affliction we can banish from the game forever, like the measles, or TB. Perhaps there’s an app for that? Maybe a sensor that gets embedded in a hockey stick that can tell if it isn’t getting loaded into the car in some reasonable time prior to the game.
A few weeks back, I had a chance to score where I was wide open at the right edge of the crease with the puck and the goalie was down on his back. His glove was on the short side but all I had to do was shoot it over him. So that’s what I did. Only it didn’t go over his glove – he reached up while lying on his back and surprise, surprise, the puck went in his glove because I didn’t shoot it high enough. I probably panicked a bit, didn’t take enough time, didn’t rip it hard enough, yada yada yada.
Guffaws all around and back to the bench for this chump. It really was a great save but I had the clear advantage and should have scored. But hey, who among us hasn’t missed the odd tap-in? This just makes the post game banter funnier, right? Next time. Nexxxtttt time.
Funny thing was, next time came about two shifts later. Almost identical situation. The only difference was this time, I had the added advantage of having been robbed (and embarrassed) by the tender just minutes before. I had all freakin’ day this second time around and I used every moment of it. I hung on to the puck just a second longer, I waited until I knew the goalie was so down and out he’d bee too tired to raise his arm. I even faded back a step or so to give myself a better angle. It was surreal. I can even remember thinking – what are the odds I’d get a chance such a mirror of the one from a couple of shifts ago? Then I ripped it top shelf. Sweet!
And it went in his glove again.
As 2009 comes to a close, most Canadian sports fans would tell you that the biggest tactical sporting blunder of the year, and perhaps of all time, was made during this year’s Grey Cup game where the Saskatchewan Rough Riders’ vaunted 13th man actually turned out to be the grim reaper. However, only a few know, and even few of those are willing to speak of, an even bigger blunder that occurred in a pivotal moment of an equally important game.
That game was the Blue team’s second game of the WOHL’s annual Christmas round robin tournament where each of the four league teams plays three fifteen minute games in a two hour span. After breaking oddsmakers hearts across the land with a 2-0 loss in game one, the blue team needed to win game two in order to stay alive. Or did they? Ah….as the saying goes, that is the question.
With less than a minute to go and tied with the red team 0-0, (yes, the offense was feeling the pressure), the troops prepared to waive Fulch the goalie to the bench. However, the infamous red team then committed what appeared to be a most critical blunder when they iced the puck with 36 seconds to go. For why this was a bad move, please see an explanation of the WOHL’s last minute ice rule in this post.
With a penalty shot coming the blue team’s way at the end of regulation, there was no need to go with the extra man since the odds of scoring on the penalty shot were probably 50-50, better than the chance the extra attacker would provide the winning goal and, more importantly, not giving the red team the chance to snatch a limp victory by virtue of an empty net goal in the final seconds.
36 seconds to go and the clock ticking. Rich the ref scoops the puck up and takes it to the red team’s end for a face-off. Out comes Fulch. But wait….some on the Blue bench are screaming to put him back in. 30 seconds. Fulch arrives at the bench. “PUT HIM BACK IN – WE’VE GOT A PENALTY SHOT COMING!”. Others on the blue bench, particulary Rajna, want Fulch squarely on the bench so we can go for the victory in regulation. 25 seconds. Trimble and Warmington and Crowley are screaming at Rajna and Erb that we need to put him back in the cage but to no avail. 16 seconds. The extra attacker heads for the red team’s end. The puck drops, there’s 10 seconds of scramble and then the red team clears it out of their end , crosses centre and scores into the empty net with 1 second to go. Argh……
But wait, there’s more. Warmington then took the penalty shot, which the blue team was still awarded, knowing it’s meaningless since we needed a win to stay alive. Or did we? (Wasn’t there one year where the four game round robin had all four teams tied with 1-1-1 records and some complex tie breaker rule was needed? ) He missed after getting poke checked out near the blue line somewhere (he didn’t read my earlier blog post, see link above, on how not to take a penalty shot) and the final score is 1-0 red team.
After the game, it’s a bitterly divided bleu dressing room. The mitts were dropped, as well as some pretty good one-liners, and then cooler heads prevailed. After all, win or lose, there were still wings and bevies to be had at the Central after game three.
The red team went on to win the tournament but it was a tainted victory. Kinda like the Stanley Cup game where Brett Hull scored with one foot in the crease to win it for Dallas.