The Saddest Drop-In

I didn't want to play hockey tonight. Not at all. See, I found out today that a dear friend, about whom I've used the words, "Sister from another mother," is facing the final days of her life.

She has cancer. It started as colon cancer, she had surgery and they tried to get it all and she was doing well for a while. But it was pretty advanced when they found it and, like cancer tends to do, it creeps around the body, hiding from the chemo, and flourishes.

At least, that's what it did to Leisa. And we hear tonight those words you dread: "If you want to see her, come seen her soon."
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Even though she's a Texas girl like me (more reason to love her), I met Leisa along with a bunch of girls online. We all had a mutual sensibility and formed our own little private community. We shared in each others pain and joy. We've had babies born, divorces, affairs, marriages. We've gone on trips together, we've been held each others hair while we puked from drinking too much, we've been lazy together and rowdy together, we've rallied around each other.

We lost another sister, Angie, to cancer several years ago and still talk of her often. We will lose Leisa soon, too, and while we have known it's inevitable for a while, it still feels sudden. Our hearts are collectively so heavy and we feel so helpless. I feel like gravity is heavier or pulling harder or whatever the fuck gravity does. I feel leaden. And just so, so sad.

So, playing hockey tonight, caring about that little black disc through my sad fog, just felt like the last thing I wanted to do. I really wanted to lie in bed and cry.

Leisa is special to me because not only is she one of the funniest people I know (we dubbed it The Funny Truck, because she'd just come out of nowhere with a one-liner that was so priceless and clever and off the wall, it would knock us over laughing), but we also share a lot of the same neuroses and I find that charming in a person. Let's be crazy together, and in a similar fashion, my love!

She never had nor wanted kids, which of course, is rare to find in an adult female, so I appreciated her voice when I was struggling with feeling like a complete weirdo for not wanting kids.

She's just in her 40s. A sincere and devoted Christian. An animal lover. A gentle soul with a biting wit and deep kindness.

Anyway, I went and played, heavy heart and all. I just hoped that endorphins would sit their fat ass on my fragility and hold me together. And indeed they did. In fact, I felt so focused and in the zone during the first 15 minutes, I thought I was destined to have one of my best games ever. The puck was in my end a lot, but I felt good. Bring it on.

And then the fact that I hadn't eaten for about 9 hours (I know, dumb, but I just had no appetite) hit me like a brick wall. It was like the life drained out of my toes, and I ended up spending most of the game in survival mode. I stayed on my feet as much as possible, or if I went down, I stayed down until I had to get up again.

Finally, a few skaters left and the game slowed to a crawl, so I bailed. The clock was off, and it turns out we'd been out for an hour and a half (we're usually only get a little over an hour). For feeling so shitty, it went fast.

I got to my car, read some more messages from the girls about how Leisa is doing, how sad we all are, and I just broke down. I sobbed there in the parking lot. Everything just feels wrong. And I guess that's how it's supposed to feel.

But I'm also grateful to Leisa, for showing so much grace during her illness; to her husband, who is doting on her mercilessly and in whom I have utter faith in this awful time for him; to my friends, for being stronger than me in the face of a crisis (I'm such an ostrich, but we have enough "go getter, ring-leader" types to keep our momentum going); to hockey for forcing me to be ALIVE and feel things and work up a sweat rather than sitting home crying.

I'm just raw and fragile and I hate that feeling. But that is life, I guess. I want a shirt that says, "My dear friend is dying and I'm really, really sad, so I'm sorry if I start crying for no apparent reason." And I hate saying, "I'm good. How are you?" when what I mean is, "I'm devastated and I need a hug."

At this point, our goal is just to make sure she's comfortable and knows she's loved beyond measure. And I think that mission is being accomplished, so I do find solace in that.

I dunno. Life is weird and terrifying and beautiful and simple and complicated, isn't it? Sorry for being a downer, and for rambling. My heart and mind are a rambling place right now, though. And this blog was always, at its roots, about getting stuff off my chest, processing my thoughts, and lightening my mental load.

What this does, however, is guarantee that I'll not wait so long between posts, as knowing this one is at the top is just too sad.

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Calamity in the crease and other catch-up crap

Wow, was last night's hockey ever craptacular. But I'm oddly okay with it. It was clearly one of those just "not meant to be" kinda nights, and the other goalie struggled in weird ways, too, so it wasn't even just me.

Starts off, I'm getting dressed and I tie my toe ties on and get my pads halfway strapped up before I realize I haven't put my jock or pants on. I was thinking I seemed pleasantly mobile and cool for a change (goalie pants are hot and bulky in terms of needing to dicker around with your skates/toes/etc).

Okay, take the pads off, put pants on, it's all good. Then I hit the ice and think, "Man, it feels so good to have this cool breeze in my hair! Why don't I appreciate this every time I hit the ice?"

BECAUSE I FORGOT TO PUT MY MASK ON.

Ugh. So I trudge off, feeling stupid (but delightfully cool... amazing how much heat those lids hold in) and put my mask on. I think it's so tidy in its new padded, ventilated mask bag (in anticipation of my beautiful new paint job, if the guy will ever finish the renderings so it can be painted), I just failed to notice it in my bag.

So finally, I get out there. Have a good warm-up. Happy with my first period, though the teams are unbalanced as usual when Big Bird is there, so I'm not seeing a ton of shots.

Then I switch ends and it all goes to shit immediately.

First, I don't know if the zamboni fucked it up or some brat kid did, but the ice in the crease at the end (B rink at SLICE by the zam door) had huge ruts in it and was sloping downhill towards the net. I guess that's one way to learn to play at the top of your crease is to basically make the bottom of your crease unskateable.

THEN, as if I needed more skating issues, my toe tie laces came untied and I kept slipping on those. Half the time, I couldn't tell whether it was the ice or the skate laces screwing me up, and sometimes it was actually both! I just couldn't keep them tucked up out of the way for more than a couple of minutes.

Needless to say, I was a wreck that half of the game. Let a ton of stuff in because I was so distracted by the mess at my feet, I was just a pylon out there. Bleh.

On one goal, one of my defensemen slammed his stick against the boards. Dude. It's drop-in. Anybody keeping score at this thing is just setting themselves up for disappointment. And the other goalie and I both struggled at that end, so if they were keeping score, it had to have been ugly.

I've already tweeted SLICE to please get that fixed before tonight, because I'm back on that rink again at 8 p.m. tonight.

Playing Memorial City Wednesday, too. I figure I need to get some more ice time in to get ready for the heavy load I'll be facing in the Memorial Day weekend women's hockey tourney in Dallas in a couple of months. 4 games in 2 days. Assuming they're full 60 minute games, and I haven't played even one of those in ages.

This will be my first real tournament and I adore all the girls going (at least the ones I know), so I know it's going to be a lot of fun. The other thing is that the Jays are in Dallas that weekend, so I know I can catch Friday's game, but Saturday and Sunday will be difficult, I suspect. Still, very excited to kill two birds with one stone there. Even if Snidey did get demoted (lousy bastards).
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Anyway, if you missed it (but I don't know how you could, the way I pimped it), I've literally spent years contemplating hockey as a religion, at least for me, but there seems to be some consensus among my readers, too.

I've wanted to write about it for a long time and I still don't feel like I did it the justice it deserves. I think part of the problem is that I'm half kidding, but also half serious. Would have been better if I were earnestly committed to one direction or the other.

But anyway, here's that post on Backhand Shelf from Sunday.

Amazing how I seem to get the haterade in the comments on the posts that, generally, most other readers seem to connect pretty well with. Working on my thicker skin in earnest so it doesn't discourage me, and honestly I don't know a single writer, even some I consider the very best at it, who doesn't get some prick strolling by occasionally telling them how lousy they are.

Part of the game, I guess, but certainly doesn't leave me awash in enthusiasm for it. Still, I do it to players all the time, critiquing and/or criticizing their play and I know they don't always like it or take it well. Ah well. Have Ambien, will still sleep at night. Thank you very much.

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Goalie brain in overdrive

I just have to say, after how stressful the home buying/selling stuff was all last year, I feel such warm fuzzies when I pull into my driveway now. After 8 years in a 3 story house, my little 60 year old rancher just feels like home. Totally worth all the grey hair.

Just had to get that gratitude out there into the universe.

So, check this one out: Tonight I had my usual Monday drop-in. Wasn't feeling super awesome after a physically taxing day, so I was kinda in, "Whatever" mode.

I'm awfully tired early in the game and one of me D is pulling a Scott and telling me to "GET UP! GET UP!" while the puck is still in our zone, but... like I said: Whatever mode. And now you've bossed me around, so now I'm really not getting up. Punk. No problem though. My d clears it out.

Then there's a scramble in front and the puck is sorta laying in front of me but between my d-man's legs and he's saying "Cover! Cover!" and again, I'm thinking, "Shut up. I know to cover, dummy."

And then someone shoots from the neutral zone, kind of an easy dump-in but it goes on net and I butterfly and corral it. Guy on my team says, "Good job." Yeah, because that was hard. *grumble*

So by this point, all this bossing and (perceived) condescension, I'm feeling like the worst goalie ever.

Game carries on, I switch ends with Neil midway, let a few goals in but nothing horrible and it's drop-in so whatever. I'm used to getting lit up, but I'm feeling like this has been a pretty decent game for me, actually.

We finish up and head off the ice and Neil goes, "Wow! How about that shutout you had going?!"

"What shutout?"

"The whole first half!"

"Really?"

"Yeah! You were a wall!"

Uh. Okay.

Drove home thinking, "How on earth did I not notice that I was pitching a shutout?" And then I realized, it was those comments from my team that kinda made me feel sour that kinda tricked my mind into thinking I wasn't playing well.

I was so distracted by this perceived disappointment from my team (presumably from my historically mediocre to bad play against this group) that I just sort of assumed I wasn't playing well at that end and not playing well = goals against, right?

Anyway, I kinda laughed at myself because my pathetic goalie self-esteem basically pulled the bad-goalie-wool over my eyes! How goofy is that?!

Of course, I have awesome goalie brain when it comes to goals against, but not so much for relatively harmless comments from my team. Tonight it actually paid off.

So, if you've been wondering, in spite of my not posting here, "Is she still a fucking headcase?" The answer is obviously, Yes.

BTW, if you haven't been keeping up with the writing that's causing me to neglect this blog, you can go catch up here: http://blogs.thescore.com/nhl/author/msconduct/

I'm not totally unproud of it. Response has been good. This week's was about beer league goaltending, so it's kinda fun and "on topic."

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Up for air, finally

I drive home from hockey each night I play, thinking, "Oooh! I should write about this (or that) (or the other thing) in my blog!"

And then I realize, no, I don't have time. I have to get my Wednesday story at Hockey Wilderness done. I have to get my Sunday story at Backhand Shelf started. I have to get interview notes ready for my InGoal magazine pieces on Matt Hackett and Bob Mason.

And by the end of even thinking about all that, I'm too tired to consider writing for "fun" (though, I'm not gonna lie, they're all pretty fun... just less self-indulgent).

But the InGoal stories have been turned in (2 days early, which is more scary than a relief... what have I missed?) and I'm allowing myself a day to catch my breath from having finished that before I start the other two.

Considering it was, like, November when I last posted, I should probably be ashamed, but in that time, I've had a huge work deadline, accepted an offer on our house that was then reneged on at the last second by the buyer, done all the repairs from their inspection anyway, found another buyer, dealt with her insane agent for a couple of weeks, made the repairs THEY wanted, and finally closed on that house.

Oh yeah, and did that Christmas thing. I've never been more grateful that my family does just little stocking stuffer type gifts. I got my shopping done in about 3 hours at Target and Walgreens, or online.

So really, today is the first day I'm coming up for air and don't have anything but the usual suspects weighing on me. Naturally, the dog picks today to need to go out at 4:30 in the morning, but that gives me a spot of time to write here, so it's okay.

My hockey playing was pretty light in December, not only because my Monday group only played the first two weeks, but because I threw my back out the first weekend of the month and it was so bad, I missed two weeks of women's league because of it.

But I played well in my return to my full-time playing schedule (Monday and Tuesday nights) last week. So well, in fact, that I'm still a little annoyed that one of my defensemen who isn't used to playing with goalies of my "caliber" (aka make so few awesome glove saves that I stop and cele all of them) and he didn't properly acknowledge how cool my saves were.

The image of his "yeah yeah, just give me the puck, numbnuts" demeanor when I... get this... stopped a shot off my blocker and caught it in my glove (!!!!) is burned in my brain. How dare you be so blase? This might have been a one in a lifetime save!

I really think if I only played a couple of times a month, I'd be a much better goalie. I'm just too mellow to work up the "GRR" I need on a twice weekly basis consistently. And I refuse to play angry any more. It's just hockey.

I have a women's league teammate who really cares about the result, and kinda unloads on our team or gets her panties in a bunch if the skaters aren't playing their positions up to her standards. And we all just sit there, kinda stunned at her attitude.

Sure, it's awesome to win, but women's league is such a social affair. I think 99% of the girls feel like, if you had fun, burned calories, and did your best, then it was a great night at women's league. Pretty much in that order, too. As I say, if you're not smiling your way through women's league, you're doing it wrong.

Hell, if you're not smiling your way through any kind of rec hockey, you (or someone around you being a douchebag) is doing it wrong. So much other shit in our lives is serious and responsible and "required" and if hockey isn't an outlet to just ride a wave of pure fun and adrenaline for an hour of your week, then I don't know what the point is.

Oh well. There's one in every crowd, I guess.

This week, I'm off Monday because I have no skates. Tomorrow I'll get them back at women's league for our last regular season game. I have no idea where we are in the standings but it can't be all that great. Apart from the 4-shot shutout, I'd done nothing but lose (though I've missed 3 games) until last week when I had a really legit win. Lots of shots and pulling saves out of my ass. First game I really enjoyed this season, honestly.

But I went ahead and signed up for Harpies Wednesday night since Mr. C is out of town. Now that I have actual TIME in my life again and am not running ragged, I'm excited to get to skate that again.

So, I'm not sure of the deets yet but it sounds like my payment for writing the InGoal magazine piece is a mask paint job from one of our advertisers. I'm pretty settled on some kind of blind squirrel theme.

Like this but with a goalie stick instead of a cane and an outstretched glove with a puck in it instead of a nut. Of course, how to execute that on a 3 dimensional mask is a whole other ball of wax.

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Here's a funny nugget: My BS pieces are pretty much just me being me on whatever hockey topic tickles my fancy, and generally I get good feedback.

But I got my first hater yesterday. And on a piece that was about as serious as I ever plan to get. Everything about the comment is so, like, "I'm doing you a favor by telling you what a fucking idiot you are."

Every Sunday I try to read the articles you post, and every Sunday I never get through it. Most times I would rather scoop my eyes out with a spoon than finish reading the drivel and diatribe you write. Although your heart may be in the right place and the topics you choose may be worthy of being written about, your style is revolting. Good on ya for getting an audience, but I want you to know, I am not part of it.

It's just so earnest! It's not like, "Eh, this is shit. Fuck off with your puck bunny garbage." It's like, "I want to like you because I like the rest of the site, but oh my god, I just DON'T SO SO SO MUCH! PLEASE STOP BEING... YOU.. or I'll be forced to ... NOT READ YOU!"

Your heart's in the right place? Is that supposed to make the whole "revolting" and "rather scoop my eyes out with a spoon" thing better?

Just hilariously out of whack.

There are writers (even Backhand Shelfers!) whose writing I just don't get or get into at all, but obviously someone does or they wouldn't keep getting hired. So I just don't read them. In fact, the act of NOT reading someone is infinitely easier than reading them, so it's actually kind of a relief when I can just say, "Nah, never read that guy" and move on happily with my life to writers I DO like. There are already more of those than I can keep up with.

I like to be liked so I won't lie that it doesn't annoy me, but blessedly, I have a lot of people who seem to genuinely like what I do, so I have to trust that they're not just humoring me. If they are, then I hope Bourney will sack my ass and put everyone out of their misery.

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And on that delightful note, welcome to Monday, suckah!



I've had this song in my head for a week. It makes me want to scoop my ears out with a spoon!!!! Just kidding. I actually like it. But talk about earnest. Gosh. Emo much?

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Oh hey there...

Played against Scott TFCG Monday night and he said he still reads the blog. If you're in his boat, sorry I've been so absentee. (Again.)

Things look to settle down pretty soon, so hopefully I'll be back here more.

Monday's game was kinda messed up though. My ankle has been hurting when I play, so that's been bugging me pretty much since I got back from vacation. It's making some of my movements a little tentative, but bothers me less each week. Fortunately it's been a VERY light month for ice time.

Then I got beamed in the head twice. Once with a point blank wrister. It startled me and kinda pissed me off that he put it on my melon from so close in (I forget these guys don't necessarily have control of their shots). So I shrieked "BITCH!" and then we all started laughing.

It's horrible the stuff that just flies out of my mouth sometimes when I'm playing. Jesus. No filter.

Then I took a snap shot from the circle in the head. That one I felt, in that sort of vague way that a really good helmet still lets you feel a shot to the noggin. Just a dull pressure in the forehead and my jaw hurt, probably from the way the mask distributes the force throughout the whole mask.

It was weird.

Anyway, didn't play great, but salvaged my fragile ego with a couple of sexy glove saves right as they opened the zam door. I made the first one and was thinking, "Dammit, open the zam door so I can finish on a high note!" and then here they came again, with numbers, and I snag it again. Boom. THEN they open the zam door. Sometimes the goalie gods throw me a bone.

Goaltending just hasn't been a high priority lately and I'm probably not preparing or playing with the gusto that I probably should. The writing side of my hockey life is taking a lot of energy. As is work and selling our house and so forth.

I'm also reading this really great hockey porn novella that has me a little distracted. I'm sure you understand, right?

Speaking of hockey porn, I did a little thanksgiving for goalie thighs and other delicious things over at Backhand Shelf today. Check it out.

In other news: I'm developing a soft spot for Tyler Cuma. He's lovely on Twitter. Amazing how 140 characters here and there can really make me like or dislike someone.

Also, had a shutout week before last at women's league. Saw 4 shots, per the score keeper, but I think that was high. Happy for finally getting a win but weird to get one where I feel like we totally could have won if I hadn't even been there.

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Check yourself, Ryan Miller

So I've watched Lucic's hit on Miller a few times now and, while I may be angering the goalie gods to say it, I think Miller has as much responsibility here as Lucic. Maybe more. 

Looch has said he was barreling in, looked down at the puck, then looked up and Miller was just RIGHT THERE all of a sudden. His instinct was to put an arm up and protect himself. Watching the video, I sorta believe that.

But for Miller, he saw the whole thing unfold. He saw Lucic on a breakaway, saw him with his head down controlling the puck, saw they were going to collide, and did nothing about it.

Now, I know if I'm aggressively challenging a player who may not see me coming, my instinct is to get low and try to poke check the puck away from them. This generally just sends the other player flying while you, the goalie, are just a ball of well-protected hate there on the ice. Unless they kick you in the head or cut you with a skate blade, you're pretty safe.

But at the very least, you have to brace yourself for impact and Miller had plenty of time to do that, unlike Lucic who had the puck to worry about.

Instead, Miller just stood there like he was in some kind of protective bubble, and then got thrown like a rag doll when the freight train hit. Like Lucic, of all people, was going to say, "Oh, I'm sorry sir, I'm not the type to knock guys ass over tea kettle, so I'll just go around you."

Even if Looch had time to change course, that's not his game. But I don't think he did, so it's a mostly moot point. (And just to be clear, I'm not pro-Lucic here. I don't 100% believe he couldn't have let up and avoided or minimized the collision, but I think as Miller was the one who unequivocally saw this hit coming, he had a responsibility to react intelligently.)

Now, here's the part where I disclaim some bias: I've been pretty irritated with Crunchy lately and feel like he's been acting like a bit of a baby. He seems sorta sour and crankier than usual. Maybe marriage doesn't suit him.

The bottom line is that I think some of the onus is on the goalies to protect themselves. The scenario as I saw it seemed pretty logical and predictable, other than the part where Miller just stood there like a sacred cow and got slaughtered.

Anyway, I hope the goalie gods don't smite me tonight in my women's league game. Also, apologies for not writing here in a long while. My weekly posts at TheScore and SBNation pretty much drain all the writing I have time for right out of me.

If you haven't been keeping up with my Backhand Shelf stuff, here's an archive of all of them so far: http://blogs.thescore.com/nhl/author/msconduct/ Thanks for reading!

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750 words on why I'm speechless

I have lots of words in me, but sometimes I just don't feel like I can adequately express how grateful I am to get to play hockey. Or to just have hockey in my life at all, but playing it seems to create my most heartfelt moments.

But I can try...

I don't know anything in life that would make my heart feel as full as hockey does. There was a time, early in my goaltending career, where I went to the rink nearly in a panic, worried about being judged, misunderstood, talked about behind my back if I didn't play well.

And it wasn't paranoia. It actually went on. I heard I was called lazy, I thought I was better than I was, I was cocky, I wasn't trying.

When really, I was new, never been any kind of athlete ever (learning to play one of the hardest, most unnatural positions in sports), scared, intimidated, while still trying to have some light-hearted fun. I wasn't learning the right things for them at the pace they wanted me to learn them, but as I've come to understand, you just can't push learning curves. It takes the time it takes.

But I spent a lot of time and energy feeling the angst of being misunderstood in the beginning. Maybe it's something I had to go through to get to the happy place I'm at now, but it still eats at me sometimes. I look back with a degree of bitterness that it had to be that way for so long.

Now, however, I may not make everybody happy, but I'm happy. My heart is FULL when I drive home from Sugar Land each week. And my game is better for it. I'm loose, I'm glad to be there (generally), it's a pleasure to go to the rink.

Granted, I've had a lot to learn from a mental perspective since I started playing, and that's part of it, but whatever the case, it's an incredible relief to feel like I belong somewhere. The crush of teammates at my net after wins is, quite possibly, the most rewarding thing ever.

I mean, I play for me. I love to play and I think goalies are super important and I'm pretty cocky out there, feeling like the world revolves around me if the puck is on my half of the ice.  But at the end of the day, all I really want is my team to be happy with me. If I feel like I've got that, then I can sleep at night. The rest of it is just me psyching myself up and doing what I need to do to get in the right state of mind.

Anyway, all this is just to say that our team (which was, I believe, 0-5 or 1-5 to start the season) won the championship last night. I honestly thought we might never win a game at one point, and that was okay, because I liked my teammates, but it's a lot more fun to win. :)

It wasn't my best game, or even close to it, really, but they had a couple of neutral observers there to watch the game and choose an MVP (since our commish was playing in the game)... and well, they chose me. Which is silly. My girls scored 6 goals and we needed all of them. But I saw a few shots, made a few saves, nothing spectacular, and 2 of my goals were a bit crummy.

But still, the recognition was a total shock and much appreciated. I did the whole pageant winner thing of, "Wha? Me? *tear* Really? *skating over* Seriously? Thank you! Am I dreaming?" with hugs from my teammates along the way. Surreal.

I wish I were cool enough to act like I've been there, but I really haven't and I'm not cool, so I'm just going to geek over it for a while longer.

But what really felt the best about it was just being on a team that likes me beyond what I can do for them in the crease. We have fun together and make each other laugh and when it comes down to it, isn't that what rec hockey is about?

There's a lot of people I wish I could just take them by the shoulders and look them in the eyes and say, "Stop judging people and just enjoy playing the game." But it wouldn't be any of my girls. They already get that and that's why I love 'em.

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