Snowman On Fire

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.

A night of Dragons.

In the northern part of our fair Garden State, the Hockey North America Ice Dragons played our final game of the season, tied for first in the division but lacking the tie-breaker with a game in hand. We needed a win or a tie to clinch our first-ever division title and a #1 seed going into the annual playoffs. This isn’t just about pride, or a feeling of accomplishment to put you on hockey cruise control through the summer; it’s about a trip to Toronto for the HNA Tournament.

With such dramatic backdrop, eight guys came to play last night, along with a goalie we borrowed from another team (thanks, Laurie!). It was a night of double shifts, of double shifts that may have turned into triple shifts because staying in one place at the blue line was easier than skating back to the bench for a change. My contributions for the night consisted of setting a screen for our second goal, and chasing after one of our opponent’s truly large defenseman, who has a slapshot that could crack concrete. I needed neither oxygen nor a stretcher, both big wins.

But not as big as coming up on the long side of a 3-2 score. Fortunately we had a 3-0 lead early in the first to work from, and then we basically held on for the next 30 minutes of hockey. The imperative to hang on, sloopy may not have worked for the Buckeyes (twice) this year, but it landed the Dragons the top spot in the slot.

Further south, in the city where the only thing taller than William Penn’s hat is the pile of complaints about the Flyers, the Devils clinched another Atlantic Division title, one game earlier and without any help (compared to last year’s dependence on Rangers misery). A big game for Brodeur, who set the single-season record for wins, breaking the mark held by Bernie Parent (who was in the building to see it happen!). And a big game for NJ native Jim Dowd, who scored the game-winner, short-handed, about halfway through the third.

Nhl.com had just run an article on short-handed goals, focusing on John Madden, but this year it’s been Dowd with the fast feet on the penalty kill. What’s the connection? Jim Dowd played his high school hockey in Brick, NJ, home of the Green Dragons.

Enter the dragons, professional and amateur, into the playoffs.

Hockey played by adults, that is. For some reason the Devils seem to play at an energy level somewhere between “lethargy” and “sloth” in the matinee slot. Maybe it was the big shutout over the Islanders, maybe it’s just a time when the Meadowlands is usually amping up for Disney on Ice. Either way, it was an ugly loss to Tampa Bay today.

Yes, the Devils had to lose at some point after reeling off four in a row, and there will be games that are just plain ugly to watch, but this was bad. Like lack of offense bad. Even Gomez’ goal was kind of a half-shot; it was more of a pass that bounced in.

Everything will be beautiful again on Valentine’s Day, because it’s supposed to be that way. And Les Habitants arrivees, and the only thing that looks more run-down than the Devils did today is Alexi Kovalev.

Hockey was ugly in the daylight today. But it was equally stunning tonight.

Ice Dragons 7, Americans 4. Yours truly notched his first-ever multi-point game, with a goal and an assist, although the assist deserves equal credit to the referee who was generous with the helpers tonight. It helps that the ref is a former teammate of mine, who was also a teammate of Zdeno Chara’s back in the Czech Republic, although more than 25 years and lots of hockey separate the worlds. It was a night of strange bounces, including one that our goalie tipped into our own net, and one that my line’s center clanged off the crossbar, hitting the Americans goalie in the back, and falling into the net. It was a thing of Rocket Power cartoon dynamics, and just as much fun.

With the Czech connection, a pair of snowmen on the scoresheet, and some good natured kidding all around, it was a beautiful night of hockey. Although my one attempt at a breakaway was so slow that even Kovalev could have caught me. While limping. From Russia.