I’ve never been much of a sportsman. My soccer career ended when I was six after I walked off the field at half time and told my mom, in no uncertain terms, that I was done with this.
I didn’t even finish the game.
After that I tried a few other sports with limited success. I can’t really say I ever played baseball, although I did finish an entire T-ball season. Taekwondo lasted two classes, basketball maybe three or four. I had a brief stint with tennis, but I was almost an adult before I started doing anything athletic.
My parents didn’t even bother trying to get me interested in hockey as a child. The equipment is a bit of an investment and they knew how long it was likely to hold my attention.
My problem is that I hate team sports because I don’t trust the other players to be subordinate. That and I was always the last kid to get picked in gym class. Not that it made a difference what team I was on.
Last Saturday I covered three minor league hockey games in one day — at the Sunshine Coast Minor Hockey Association Winter Classic tournament held in Sechelt and Gibsons.
Now, it’s not like I don’t know anything about hockey. After four years in Montreal, I’ve watched enough Habs games to at least follow what’s going on, but watching professional hockey isn’t the same as watching minor hockey.
For one thing, NHL games don’t come with flashbacks of coaches shouting encouragement.
When I talked to the coaches after the games last weekend, they were quite friendly. Even, ironically, more afraid of the media than I was of my childhood boogeymen, which, I will admit, felt awesome.
Later I concluded that coaches aren’t really that different from anyone else. They like sports in a way I doubt I’ll ever understand — and my first coach ever (soccer) probably shouldn’t be allowed to speak as long as there are any children within ear shot — but last weekend I saw a lot of kids having fun and working together inside a group dynamic. And that was good to see.
I wonder if there’s an age limit for peewee hockey?
