90% Mental

They say goaltending is 90% mental. I contend that *I'm* 90% mental, goaltender or otherwise, and boy did I have a 2+ hour meltdown last night. If there's ever been a more apathetic, heartless, gutless, spineless goaltending performance, I sure as hell don't want to see it. I'm sorry and embarrassed my teammates had to see it.

I don't even want to go into the blow-by-blow, because there's nothing worth writing about*. My head just wasn't in it, and my body followed suit. I let in 12 goals in what amounted to 6 periods of play, most early on before my D figured out I was completely hopeless and clamped down. Granted, we won, but that's absolutely zero consolation to me when I know how utterly awful I was. I had absolutely no part in the win. None.

The one good thing was that I didn't actually just get in my car and cry my way home. I limped** to my team, drank my chocolate milk and water, and faced up to the people who just watched me implode. They're still speaking to me, God bless 'em. I mean, we won, so I guess they're happy, but Coach Dan can't have been and really, above all, I want him to be happy with me. Fuck.

What's more, our game next week has been called off, so I get to hang my head like a dejected Mii and feel like a heel for two weeks. At least I'll feel utterly deserving of whatever torture Scott TFCG lays on me when the new season starts. Though really, I hope we work on technique stuff and not so much conditioning, because I've GOT to get more comfortable with the idea that if I go down, I'm not stuck there. FUCK FUCK FUCK. FUCK.

I think the issue was that I was a good little goalie and did my workouts this week like I wanted to, I felt prepared, my mind was calm and empty. I thought that's how I needed to be. But apparently *I* need to be anxious, nervous, and unprepared. Great.

And then the warm-up was short and didn't really jar me enough... no hard slappers or mishaps, just sort of weak little shots that annoyed me but didn't get my blood pumping. And then the break between periods was infinitesimal. Just enough for me to skate to the other end, have a swig of Gatorade, and then puck drop. Normally I've got a good minute or two to drink, stretch, regroup, whatever. That pissed me off.

Anyway, I can't think about it any more. If my foot is feeling better, I may see about hitting a stick and puck this week or early next week. One of the guys on the team goes pretty often so I'm gonna see when he's going and maybe join him.

*Five different people said, "But you made that awesome glove save!" What glove save? I don't make glove saves. But apparently I made some sick glove save, and then dropped it and covered it. I remember the puck falling off of me (though I thought I'd gotten it in the top of my pads) and covering it but never the glove. Whatever. So, there's my one good save for the night.
Dan even came over and asked if I was okay because "that looked like it hurt," but I think he meant the awkward position in which I went down by the post to cover the puck. Sort of one leg out in front of me and one in a fly. This is why I stretch. :)

**Limped because 2+ hours on my skates just killed my foot. Sitting here with an cold pack strapped to it right now to get the swelling down. Oh, to be rich and able to afford well-fitting skates for my ridiculously wide forefoot.