Your Childhood Hockey Story Here

[moob]

I grew up in a small town/rural area. All my friends played hockey but we played on frozen ponds and creeks (pronounced "cricks"). Most times I would hike to a local pond (about 1 to 2 miles but sometimes my old man would give me a ride and I had to walk back) and put on my skates and play. One year a kid's dad made an ice rink in their yard and that was perhaps the very best year for hockey inmy village (I had my only hat trick that year).
We had no pads, although one kid had gloves and was the envy of us all. You always had to drag a shovel along with your skates and stick to clear the ice. Sometimes the ice was perfect (glare ice) and other times it was crap. We basically did not play with the icing rule. It was football on skates as checking was rampant and getting thrown or throwing someone into a snow bank was fun. Very few fights broke out if any. We played goalie with a baseball glove for a mit (first basemen). The skates never fit right, my feet were always cold and I never broke my northland stick. In fact, I still have my vintage 1973 northland (orininal tape and all). Spending hours taping up your stick was the most important ritual of all.

What's your story?

[neophyte]

My first hockey is not really a childhood memory, but it was a long time ago. I was 22. I was going to college in Nova Scotia. I had never been on skates in my life. A couple of guys in the dorm got after me that I should learn to skate since it was the Canadian sport.

I did not want to insult them, but I didn't want to spend any money. I told them if they could find some skates to fit my large feet I would give it a go. They did and they told me we had the ice at 11 pm.

Walking over they were carrying a hockey stick that they said was for balance. Since I am good at math I could understand that three legs are better than two on a slippery surface.

What they didn't tell me was that the ice time was not just an open skate, but a full contact intramural game. Since I was on the varsity soccer team, I was expected to understand and pick it up instantly and play.

I took the ice with no pads, no helmut, and no cup.

At one point I had fallen on the ice, the puck went under my legs. I could see it. I could see the sticks trying to pulll it out. They were dangerously close to sensitive and unprotected parts. I reached inbetween my legs, grabbed the puck and hurled it down the ice. The referee blew the whistle and told me if I did that again he would give me a penalty. I told him if it happened again I would welcome the penalty.

I could not keep up with the play so I would paddle out between the red line and the blue line on my ankles. At one point my team, which had talent to spare, was putting it to the other team. The defenders iced the puck. I lined up with the puck to stop it. I leaned on the stick. The puck hit my stick hard enough to move it a couple of inches. With my weight on the stick now at a less than 90 degree angle, the stick slid further on the ice and I fell over. So the puck knocked me over.

I provided a great deal of amusement.

Thanks for bringing back a fun memory

[emind56]

I started playing hockey when I was 3 years old. At first I played because my older friend was playing and I thought he was pretty cool. During my childhood I played pretty much all year. I played in the local house leauges as well as being on the local traveling team. All winter long we played on the ponds on the weekends. I played pretty much every chance I got. As I got older I got more and more competitive, and my absolute love (obsesion) for the game grew. By H.S. I was on the ice 5-7 days a week, and was training on the other days. I played for my HS team, we took state once and came in 2nd once while I was there. Several of us on the team were "followed" by Juinor leauge scouts.
During my Junior year I was forced to quit due to personal problems. I've had my fair share of unfortunate things in my life, but through it all making the decision to stop playing was/is my biggest regret. Not a day (literaly) goes by where I don't think about playing, and wish that I could go back and change my decision. I guess that is what they mean by live and learn.
I still love the sport and can't wait for my kids to pick it up. For me at least Hockey is one of the purest joys in life.

Of course JMHO, I could be wrong

[Cheakamus]

Probably my strongest hockey memory is of being 5 years old and starting hockey in the Kerrisdale arena in Vancouver. It was a Saturday morning and the rink seemed sooooo huuuuge. I had been there many times to watch my brother play, but the perspective from the ice was mind blowing. I distinctly remember the beams of sunlight streaming through the windows, the smell of the ice and the sound of 50 or so 5 and 6 year olds skating and slapping their sticks on the ice while the coaches whistled and called out instructions. It is a very fond memory...

I also remember well playing at the Burnaby Winter Club on their tiny little ice rink. They didn't have room for a Zamboni! Between periods the home team would come out with snow shovels and scrape the ice, then every few times the rink rat would come out with a hose and refresh the surface. It was bizzare.

Anyway, I continued playing organized hockey until I was 16, then I played some pick up hockey until I moved to Reno when I was 22. Neophyte is still trying to get me out to play... one of these days...

[Smokestack Jack]

I have quite a few memories from playing hockey as a kid. But I think the one that stands out for me was when I had earned enough money to buy my very first pair of new CCM Mustangs. I can't remember the name of the sporting goods store, but I think it was at the Garden State Plaza in Paramus, N.J. I walked in and went straight to the skates. Tried on a pair in my size (I was in hockey heaven), went up to the checkout counter and plopped down my money. I even had enough money to buy a Northland stick! That night I spitshined those skates so shiny that I could see my reflection in them!
I still have those skates today, hanging on the wall in the shed. My number, 21, can barely be seen on the sides.