Hockey Narrative

It was a very cold winter day in December. I was heading off to a hockey game just like any other day. My dad screamed down the steps, "Ryan, did you pack your bag? We got to go!" My dad never wants to be late for hockey or feel rushed to get there. I woke up earlier than normal on this day in December. My inline hockey games were not typically early, but this day in particular, it was at 8 am. I skipped breakfast at home, but my dad asked, "Do you want something small from McDonald's?" I said, "Sure!" I enjoyed the hashbrown from McDonald's as I knew I would eat a bigger meal after the game.

Second year as an Under-10 Squirt level hockey player for the New Jersey Colonials ice hockey team proved to be a challenging and harrowing experience that shaped the course of my future hockey career. I was a determined, naïve child with fantasies of playing in the NHL when I grew older. The source of my troubles began with Coach Ruben, a relentless, unforgiving hockey coach. Coach Ruben was in charge of determining the AAA hockey team that I desperately wanted to make. Unfortunately, I would not have that opportunity. My mom, compassionate and sympathetic, guided me through the confusing maze of anger and depression. My dad, a coach and former hockey player, gave me valuable, supportive advice that would change my hockey expectations and

Today it was any ordinary day for me but I remembered that I had a hockey game today. I knew that this game was to determine if my team made it to the championship game or if the other team did, the other team was a bunch of goons their idea was to hit us and hit us hard along the boards. I knew how they played and I thought we could just beat them with speed but, no the opposite happened my team played slow that night and played to their level of play. My friend on the team said, “They’re playing so well tonight.” I thought that too because our team was down by one goal the entire game till the third period. I notice that on the other team they had two guys that would hit you no matter where you were. They would hit you here and there and

My palms were sweaty, knees weak, arms were heavy, as my dad tried to make awkward conversation with me as he drove. We were on our way to the Kettler Capitals Iceplex, the very new looking arena where the Washington Capitals practiced. The rink is far to begin with, down in Arlington Virginia, and the fact it was a dark and rainy Tuesday night did us no favors. The grueling stop and go traffic extended our ride to over an hour, good thing we left much earlier than we had to. The ice slot was set for 7:30, so I wanted to be there a little before 7 in order to have plenty of time to get dressed and get through my pre-game/practice rituals with ease. At 7:30 I would be on the ice trying out for my first AAA hockey team, The Washington Little Caps, the best team in the DMV.

Tryouts ended the day before and now we were waiting in line for cuts to see if we made the field hockey team.We were waiting in the halls of the school as each person went into a classroom one by one to see if we made it.

Last year I played on the best hockey team that I have ever played on. I played for the Waukesha warhawks. Our team wasn’t just good on the ice, but off the ice as well. Every single person on the team got along with each other. Since we all were good friends, that built a connection for our team while we were on the ice. Everyone knew how everyone played and everyone had eachothers back.

I sat in the corner of the locker room, just looking, waiting, and most of all there was a lump in my stomach I couldn't seem to get rid of. This was the region 5 WAHA Kohlman Cup tryout room and there had to have been 30 others looking for my spot that I wanted on the team glaring at each other. There was a coach in the room that went by the name coach Buster and by the looks of it he was just as uncomfortable as all of us, sitting there and staring into the sea of players just waiting for the ice to be done resurfacing. The buzzer went off.

As we all headed outside to the football stadium, tension started to come through my whole body. My legs felt stiff and my hands felt as if water was running through my fingers. I was not prepared to walk across the stage. We practiced hundreds of times that morning but, it was just too hot to concentrate on what we were told to be doing. So much was going through my mind like, “What if I trip as I walk across the stage?” “Who all from my family is here?” “What am I going to eat afterwards?” I was starving because I had not eaten since 8:00 that morning. I stepped a foot onto the track circle and images went through my mind. Drops of sweat ran down my face and I tried not to look at the audience to keep myself from getting more nervous. As we stepped

It was a cold, rainy Saturday. I woke up, nervous as could be, slipped on my sandals, and headed to team breakfast. We all needed to be energized and for the big game that afternoon. Everyone chatted quietly as we devoured our hearty breakfast of eggs and pancakes. Though we were all hopeful and wanted more than anything to be victorious.. It always came back to Monadnock. Year after year, it seemed as though Monadnock would be the team to wreck our season. But if there was any day for us to beat Monadnock, today would be the day. We always played stronger in the rain, and if we lost, the seniors would be done with high school field hockey. We were more hungry than ever for this win.

Friday night rolled around, it was the game we had all been working so hard for. Knowing we were seniors, we knew it would be the end of the journey.

One day, I was walking to the New Jersey middle school with my best friend Alex Collins. We were super excited for baseball to start. It was coming up in a couple of days. “I can't wait for tryouts Alex” I said. “Yea, but I hope John Gordon doesn't tryout. He is so annoying.” When they got to school they saw the poster for baseball tryouts.

Today, I’m not going to miss the game. I instinctively ran through the hallways as I 've done throughout every Friday. My hockey game is always on Friday we have a match against another AA team, sometimes we lose and sometimes we win but today’s the big game, I can’t be late. While running I took two immense steps one at a time down and out the stairwell. “ Not going to be late, Not going to be late.” I just repeated this phrase in my head over and over again as I dashed out the main entrance, nudged someone and squeezed my way through the automatic door.

Me and my dad have never really seen eye to eye. He sees homework as a study tool, and I see it as a teacher trying to torture me by bringing work to home. But the one thing we have in common is we both like baseball so he decided to take me to a baseball game to teach some of the stuff he knew about baseball. But that’s not all we were going to do that Sunday.

As the whistle blew and we started the game, I sat on the sideline in the freezing cold, tiny snowflakes falling from the gray sky. We scored a touchdown, then another, we traded scores for the whole first half. At one point in the game our running back fumbled the ball

It was a cool September morning in the 19th century, the brisk, dry breeze of Kentucky's Autumn winds struck my face. It woke me from my slumber within the dark, forlorning cave. The dim glow of dawn's sunrise was refreshing, it gave me a sense of hope that... maybe I could survive running away from my master and live in freedom. Maybe I truly could make it to Canada, it may be getting cold, but temperature could only douse my hope for so long. Standing and brushing the leaves off from my dress, I gathered myself and headed out onto the Underground Railroad; my path to liberty. The leaves crunched and tattered beneath my feet, and the comfort of the cave walls were left behind me. I couldn't hide forever, I had to face the harsh reality that there was going home now.