Two Games with One Puck

When I step onto the outdoor ice I can feel the snow beneath my skates, the cold breeze on my face and the stick in my hands.

The feeling of excitement comes over me the second my skates touch the snow covered ice. I smell the moisture in the air, I hear the skates digging into the ice. All I can see are the snow banks, the houses and the sky surrounding the rink.

There is no zamboni. Little sticks, pebbles and grass peak occasionally trough the ice. Only to be scraped under by the snow from my snow shovel. Skating back and forth across the ice with my snow shovel becomes tedious but is necessary for the puck to slide on the ice.

When I play outdoor hockey I play for myself. My stick does not get taped and my skates do not get sharpened.  All I want to do is play the game.

Nets are obsolete. Nets can be anything from a trashcan to a size ten shoe. We are not playing to keep score. We are playing because we love the game.

The jersey does not mater, just if there are enough layers for me to stay warm. Gloves, skates and a stick are the only pieces of equipment needed.

An outdoor hockey game is friendly but can turn competitive.  There are no penalties and only the basic rules are followed. The game lasts as long as the players want to play. 

Teams are never the same; people come and go, only to be missed if there are not enough players for even teams.

Outdoor hockey is the therapeutic.  It is good to play without pressure.  There is no one telling me how to play, I am just playing. It reminds me of being a kid again.

There is only one reason I play, for the love of the game.

When I step onto indoor ice it fells smooth and majestic. The warm radiation of the crowd makes me sweat almost instantly.

The feeling of nervousness comes over me the second my coach comes into the locker room after team warm ups. I smell my lucky unwashed t- shirt underneath my jersey. I can hear the crowd cheering as my team comes on the ice. All I can see are the fans, the boards and the roof surrounding the rink.

There is a zamboni. Hockey sticks and skates tare up and snow coat the ice. Only to be flooded under by the water pumping through the back end of the zamboni. Having the zamboni after every period is tedious but is necessary for the puck to slide on the ice.

When I play indoor hockey I play for the team. My stick is taped up before every game and my skates are sharpened every week. All I want to do is play good for my team.

Nets are six feet by four feet. Nets can be nothing but steel and mesh. It is the final score that complements the essence of the game.

The jersey does matter; it is the logo on the front not the name on the back. Gloves, skates and a stick are only the beginning of all the equipment needed.

An indoor hockey game is competitive and mostly never turns friendly. The game lasts for three twenty-minute periods and that does not count the possibility of over time.

Teams try and stay the same: people come and go, only to be missed if the team does not do as good without them.

Indoor hockey hurts. It is good to play with intensity. The crowd, the other team, and my coach’s instructions fill up my thoughts. Coinciding with these influences makes me fell grown up. 

There is only one reason I play, for the love of the game.