"C is for Conifer"

So it's Sunday night, sometime after 9:00, and this kid (early twenty's) is flying down the ice; freezes a defense men in his tracks, blows by him and raises his stick to shoot. I'm loose at this point, I had a good practice earlier, so I'm well stretched and warm. I am beyond out of shape. I my be the unhealthiest Goalie in the history of the sport at this point. Anyway, I slide out to the top of the crease to cut the angle. I came out the second this kid picked up the puck. There are certain players on the ice that you are always plugged into, such that when they move you move. Other players you see as less dangerous, but if this guy blinks; I blink.

So he raises his stick to shoot, and in a second drops the stick like a hammer, and the puck whistles at me like a bullet out of gun. Its that fast. I hear the pop of the shot, and then the pop in my glove. My pointer finger is numb. The sting of the shot caught my finger just well enough, to remove any thoughts sensation for the next several hours.

That's not interesting though. What is interesting, is that as all of this drama is unfolding around me like a scene in a great Western; I am playing the soundtrack from my children's favorite CD. I have children's music in my head. Shout out to my boys, "They Might be Giants" and their wicked cool, ABC'S CD. Righteous stuff. Honestly, I feel like Barney at the "Head-Bangers Ball". Sadly, it is probably how I appear to the other players.

I like Pick-Up games, cause you have such a range of talent, going anywhere from retired semi-pro's, former college players, all the way down to..... me. Their were other Goalies there with snarling animals painted on their helmets, gliding from side to side making every save look effortless and easy. Then, by point of contrast, I find myself out of breath just watching the puck as close as I can stabbing and swatting, just trying to get by. I would imagine that players watching me get a real "shark infested bloody water/ lion thins the herd" kind of feel. You can always tell which side I'm on because of the unmistakable frozen puddles of drool around the crease.

In closing, for those of you who are my friends and are forever chiding me about my self deprecation; I have but one thing to share with you. Yes, I really do suck that bad. Really.