Mystery, Alaska
I thoroughly enjoyed watching Mystery, Alaska on tonight’s plane ride west. Not only was it hockey-focused and appropriately funny but it had a viable enough plot to prevent me from checking the time remaining counter (unlike some of the other Netflix-supplied DVDs I’ve watched lately, including Babel and Children of Men). It’s a hockey movie and a small-town movie and a little bit of sports fantasy rolled into two hours. What’s not to like?
It’s as good as Bill Gaston’s “Midnight Hockey;” not quite as funny or personal, but as an adult player, it stuck with me. And that, perhaps, is the theme wrapped in the Mystery: What makes hockey stick with us, and what happens when it gets unstuck? For the past seven years, I’ve been playing somewhat regularly with guys whose company I truly enjoy, at a competitive level that is comfortable, having survived a groin tear, a broken ankle and a slap shot to the back of the calf. I fear what my wife’s grandfather used to call the “take-away club:” the point at which the things you enjoy, like driving, sports, and TV with a normal volume setting, get taken away from you by failures in your own body. I’ve never considered what will happen when I decide to hang up the skates for good. It’s clearly not as hockey world-moving as a professional player choosing retirement or coaching, but there are far more adult players than professionals making this choice each season.
Sunday night, the Ice Dragons start another season; another year of left wing, a few shifts at right wing where I can practice stopping without the boards; beer, the boys, and midnight trips down the Garden State Parkway, and at some point, my requisite goal of the year. Whatever comes next, it’s not coming this season.
Tags: ice+dragons