Breaking Out

(I wrote this piece a year ago and was reminded of it as my daughter’s hockey team split two games with St. Catherine this last weekend)

(Jan. 2011)  My daughter Alana’s St. Olaf College hockey team played my Alma Mater, St. Catherine University, at Ridder Arena on the campus of the University of Minnesota. It brought back the memory of when, in the fall of 2004, I played the same opponent at the same venue…And that’s where any similarities end.

There was to be a St. Catherine hockey scrimmage and any alumnae, no matter what their skating ability, were invited to participate. I like to skate--how hard could this be? I had heard through the grapevine that some women who graduated with me had played in the event the year before, and they had no more training than I—it would be fun to see them again. The sum total of my experience was having played about twenty pickup games with a bunch of middle aged moms.  Why not give it a go?

First of all, none of the women I know showed up, and I soon found out why.  While standing on the blue line at Ridder Arena, our names and years of graduation were announced over the loudspeaker.  “Jana Patrick, 1979.” The player next to me observed, “I wasn't even born yet.” (Thanks)  The next closest alumnae had just graduated!!  We were playing against the current St. Catherine’s varsity team for crying out loud!!!  The arena darkened as The Star Spangled Banner melodiously described the ‘perilous fight’ and ‘the home of the brave’, and I was imaging myself anywhere but on that sheet of ice.  We had just finished warm-ups where I wasn’t sure what end of the rink to be on as everyone was wearing purple. Players had been accelerating around the zones, pucks careening hard off the boards and ice shavings flying off their speeding blades which all added to my increasing confusion.  Backwards Russian Circles?  Me? Really???

On my first shift the referee had to bodily re-position me on the correct side of the face-off circle.  The players smiled encouragingly and were so nice to this bumbling mom who really had no clue. I soon flew back to the bench and said I would like to be a spectator. My team told me I was doing just fine and coaxed me out for another shift. Being the good sports that they were, they quickly passed me the puck.   ...And I shot on the wrong net. But it didn’t matter.  My shot was so wide it missed by a mile. “Good pass,” they cheered as I returned to and remained firmly on the bench…and when no one was looking I slunk out the back of the players’ box and bolted for the locker room.

Thanks, girls—it was…fun? Albeit briefly, you helped me give it the old college try.
 ©1/2011  Jana B Patrick