Played my first game with the Galaxy on Wednesday night in Warminster (damn, that rink is far away!) and got to meet a few new teammates. I also got to re-meet a few whose names hadn't stuck in my mind from Monday. First was Mattias, our captain, whom I knew by sight and voice because I watched him run Al's first Galaxy practice last fall, and because I'd heard him on our answering machine. He seems like the ideal team captain-type: serious about hockey, and organized. He was introducing himself to those he didn't know, donning hockey gear, and handing out jerseys all at the same time when I walked in.
As was the case on Monday, nobody seemed to want to sit next to me (dudes, I'm not going to be trying to sneak a peek, I promise) until Eric came in. He took the spot next to me cheerfully enough, and greeted me with "how's your baby?" I was a little surprised, but I recovered quickly and responded that he was great. It turns out that Eric has a 10 1/2 month-old daughter, so we spent our locker room time comparing notes on napping and pumping and our first Mother's Day and Father's Day. Meanwhile, after a few false starts on the jersey front (we'd been given numbers 1-18 and 22, so my usual #19 wasn't an option, and the 22 I settled for ended up being an XXL that was way too big for me), I ended up with #8, which seems fitting.
I was fully dressed and starting to wonder what position I'd be playing when Mattias finally read off the lines... after first making an appeal for two people to play D. We had 15 skaters but only 4 confirmed D, and nobody seemed eager to move back, so Mattias had to "volunteer" a couple people. Luckily, I wasn't one of those volunteered, and the guys who were didn't protest. I was put on the third forward line with Doug (the "old guy", as some of the players refer to him, though I swear when he puts on his gear you'd never guess him to be anything over 45) and Lee, whom I hadn't met. When we got out on the ice Doug and I tracked down Lee; it was Doug's plan that Lee should play Center, since that position involves more skating than Doug felt equal to. I had no objections; although I enjoy Center, I prefer Left Wing, and I figured I probably wouldn't be strong enough to be a Center in this league anyway if the other team was anything to go by. Doug also preferred Left Wing, it turned out, but though he was willing to play Right, I volunteered to move mainly because Al also usually plays Right, and I figured it would be convenient if we ever wanted to split a roster spot.
It was clear from the warmup that (a) the other team was packed with Monday/Tuesday-level players (on the Ice Oasis scale), and (b) Lee was Tuesday all the way. This was confirmed our first time out on the ice together, and every time subsequently as well. Though I formulated a plan at every faceoff for what I would do with the puck if it came to me (pass back to the D, pass up to Lee, shoot on goal, whatever), I never had to implement any of them. Every faceoff Lee won (and he won most of them), he managed to win by keeping the puck himself and blowing by the other Center—and sometimes both Defensemen. More often both Defensemen would converge on him, and he'd be fighting them both off all the way into the zone, with me streaking in on the right side a few strides behind. One time, I think on a breakout rather than a faceoff, I apparently came in so fast it actually looked like a 2-on-1, and I paid for my speedy skating with a shoulder check to the chest from the even-speedier trailing Defenseman.
The funny thing about that is that although I was surprised (and a bit sore—when you're breastfeeding, the last place you want to take a hit is in the chest), I wasn't really mad. This was a theme throughout the game, actually. I barely noticed when I was tripped without getting a whistle (the lack of whistle was probably due to the lack of dive on my part), and I don't think I yelled once (except to say, "yay, Gerry!", "nice shot, Adam!", or "good job, Gavin!"). I couldn't even work up any animosity in what would otherwise have been called an argument with Matt over what he thought was a bad play, and I thought was a good mistake. During a breakout Bill was skating toward the bench side of the ice when he spotted another Galaxy player ahead of him, and I saw him try to line up a pass to the other player's stick. In the process, two opponents converged on him, and he lost the puck. Matt started screaming at him from the bench. I said, rather easily, "oh, c'mon. He was trying to make a nice pass." Matt responded somewhat vehemently that he'd rather have him dump the puck than lose it at the blueline. I shrugged, smiled, and said, "me, I'd rather have the nice pass."
I can't remember if it was at this point that Derek remarked to me, "that's because you have a kid"—again to my complete surprise—or whether it was when I expressed some confusion that Matt would want to go straight from the penalty box to the ice when (a) he'd already skated a full shift when he'd gotten the penalty, and (b) his line wasn't out. It might have been when I wondered aloud about the seriousness of Mattias' between-period pep talks. In any case, Derek's point was that with a child comes perspective. "You know what's important," he said, "and what isn't worth wasting energy on." I was surprised because I was just exploring this idea internally (and in my last post here) and thought it was a novel concept; I didn't realize it was a well-known and universally-accepted maxim.
Anyway, back to my line... It didn't take long to realize that Lee was really too good for me; I probably would have been more useful to someone less skilled. I don't think I touched the puck more than once in the game, so I never got a chance to pass to someone in the slot at all, much less to get an assist. The one time I did touch it was after Lee crashed into the boards behind the goal line, the victim of a "fucking tackle," as the ref called it. I tried to do *something* with the puck, but with Lee still down, Doug on the other side of the ice, and the Defensemen waiting for possession to change so we'd get a whistle, I didn't have anyone to pass to, and I didn't have enough skill or strength to turn and shoot from the board-side hashmarks. With gray jerseys swarming around me, my stint with the puck was short-lived.
As the score ran up (it was 5-0 when Bill lost the puck at the blueline—and I ask you, what better time to try to make a nice pass than when it's unlikely that dumping the puck will get us a goal or prevent the other team from scoring one?), things got a little chippy in front of our net. Still I couldn't engage the part of my brain that would have joined in the screaming at the refs and the dorks from the other team in seasons past. I watched the scuffles with interest, but that's about it. (I happened to be watching one in front of our opponents' net when Adam scored our one and only goal, so I missed the shot. He said afterwards that it was a slow rebound that came right onto his forehand side, which gave me hope that all my net-crashing—which was about the only useful thing I could do on my line—might result in a goal someday.)
As the game went on and I had a chance to talk to more players on the bench, I realized that most of us were on the same page about skating well, playing as well as we could, and if possible, winning. Or not—whatever, as long as we had fun. However, I couldn't help murmuring to a teammate, somewhat tentatively, that our team seemed to be one of... individual efforts. (Actually, this was somewhat true of the opposing team as well, though since their skill level seemed to be higher than ours, individual efforts still amounted to team play sometimes.) He concurred, and said out loud what was on my mind: that while there's plenty of team spirit, there doesn't seem to be much understanding of what it is to play a "team game." I bet if we had a practice with a real coach, like the first one I had with the Spitfire, people would be just as puzzled as I had been about what we were doing with each drill and why. (I wonder if they'd find Hoche's incredibly-detailed e-mails about Gang Green strategy interesting?)
In any case, we lost our first game 7-1 or 8-1 (I can't remember, and couldn't care less). I discovered in the locker room after the game that the team we'd played was in an upper division, which makes sense; apparently there are only three teams in our division, so there's some cross-division play. Next week's game (at the same night and time, and at the same rink) is against a team from our division. (Mattias cautioned us not to be overconfident; apparently the team we're playing isn't very good, but overconfidence bit the Galaxy last season when they lost to this team by three goals.)
I was unusually quick getting out of the locker room, perhaps because Al was waiting for me at home rather than sitting on the bench next to me. I called him from the parking lot to tell him that I'd had fun playing hockey and that I was on my way home, and in return, he gave me the news that Austen had gone to bed without a struggle at 8:45. If we can say the same next week, it'll be a victory no matter what the score.
Posted by Lori in Galaxy ~ Summer 2005 | June 17, 2005·11:03 PM