One Shot Wonder
I’ve been playing in Hockey North America for five seasons. More accurately, I’ve played four full seasons and one season that was reduced to a single game due to a broken leg. In each of my close-to-full seasons, I’ve been a one-shot wonder, scoring exactly one goal a season, much like Scott Stevens in his last full Devils season. I am the adult hockey equivalent to A Flock of Seagulls, but with stranger, more grey hair. This year I was worried that I might break with tradition and consistency, as we were 16 games into a 20-game schedule and I’d made only one scoresheet with a lucky pass that earned an assist.
Sunday night we were playing the team tied with us for first place in the division, and a solid opponent that we’ve played within a goal or two in previous games. It was a little chippier than usual, and I earned a trip to the sin bin for blatantly dumping a guy (the other #8, coincidentally, who also happened to have all of their goals) while playing the puck along the boards. Now at least I can say I know why NHL players take dumb penalties: sometimes you have such an urge to make contact that you forget your job is to play the puck, not the body. And this is a no checking (and minimal contact) league. So I got two minutes for roughing, the moral equivalent to dropping the gloves (actual fisticuffs earn you a suspension, and anything more than a bump in the night is usually a double minor — we all have real jobs to go to in the morning).
I was skating with Tommy (another youth hockey team manager) and Dog Food (what he does, not who he is). We had Hammer (who he is, not what he does), on right-side “D” while I took up the left wing. Hammer is a great skater, and he’ll rush the puck end to end, meaning that if he’s on your side you cover for him at the point or if you’re on the off wing side, you can look for garbage goals if you manage to get in the vicinity of the crease about the same time he does. Deep into the third period, Hammer popped in a goal on one of his crazy legs rushes, making it 3-2, and 30 seconds later, he rushed again in an attempt to tie the game.
Here’s what everyone saw: Hammer shot low, the goalie went down and blocked the shot, and I picked up the rebound and put it in the open weak side of the net, tying the game at 3-3. Stick and glove taps ensued. The scoresheet has the details.
Here’s what I remember: Hammer was flying, again, and I broke to the left side of the net to both clear a shooting lane and get out of his way. Nothing like imitating a skating drill pylon during a solid rush. He shot as I was stopping (I can only stop going left, fortunately leaving me turned in toward the play and not toward the boards). The goalie went down, made the save with the paddle part of his stick, and I saw the puck bounce toward my feet. I have near zero ability to see the puck once it goes under black line, namely the area shielded by my gut, hockey pants, and gloves that extends roughly six-twelve inches around my skates at any time. Don’t look for that definition in a hockey dictionary, as the NHL hasn’t made playing the puck over the black line a delay of game (yet). As a natural reaction, I got my stick down and attempted to direct the puck back toward the net, but I’m pretty sure my eyes were closed at the time, because I heard it hit the net’s footer before I saw it circle around under the twine.
Here’s the goofy thing: I scored the exact same way, against the same team, during my first HNA season with the Ice Dragons. I feel like the Canadiens versus Brodeur right now. Perhaps consistency isn’t over-rated. And my streak of one-shot luckiness continues.