Friday night was a milestone of sorts: it marked the tenth time that I’ve skated on ice in the past decade. By my recollection, it is the twelfth time that I have skated on ice in my life. The night also marked the third time that I’ve played goalie in a pick-up hockey game of any sort, ice or roller.

With the plethora of rinks in the Twin Cities, there are a multitude of opportunities to play pick-up hockey during the week. Lunch hour, late night, even prime time — if you want a game, you can find one. Assuming you’re good enough.



Pick-up hockey in Minnesota is rather competitive. Most of the participants played in high school, many played in college, and a significant minority played professionally. A little while ago, a perceptive woman named Barbara realized that it could be difficult for a beginner-level adult hockey player to compete in normal Minnesota pick-up. She took the initiative to set up weekly beginner-level pick-up hockey games. They have proved quite popular and are perfectly suited to players like myself. Even better, I don’t have to pay to play in them because goalies play free 🙂

So it came to pass that I found myself at Tartan High School’s rink late on Friday night playing hockey. Several of my teammates from my league team (the Spiders) were also present. I played net at one end of the ice while the net at the other end was guarded by my arch-nemesis: Plywood Goalie.

Plywood Goalie is a stalwart fellow. He has good coverage of the net but resolutely refuses to ever play or cover up the puck. It’s nearly impossible to get a puck by him unless you shoot for one of the four corners or the five-hole. My opinion is that Plywood Goalie would be much better if he would learn to loosen up. Of course, being made of 3/4-inch plywood means he’s not likely to break under pressure.

In other words, despite a deep roster of skaters, I was the only human goalie present. To even things out, we decided to switch sides after every three unanswered goals.

The first hour of the 90-minute run-time session saw the two teams (light and dark) switch sides several times. Plywood Goalie was getting lit up, whereas I had a shutout going. Of course, within a minute of my realization that I hadn’t been scored on, a puck got by me.

I find that it’s helpful to tune out my inner monologue while playing. If I pay attention to the monologue, my concentration drifts from the task at hand: stopping the puck. For that reason, I’ve taken to playing songs in my head during the game. I can’t continue my inner monologue while replaying the music in my head, ergo I stay focused on the game. Friday night’s song of choice was Breaking Benjamin’s “So Cold.” It worked quite well.

I stood on my head throughout the game, much to my own surprise. My performance was well-received by the players, but, as always, a goalie’s success is largely governed by the quality of his defense. With the exception of one person who always seemed to be screening me, I was quite happy with my defense.

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Speaking of hockey, I had a bit of a scare at practice on Wednesday. I was practicing the two-pad save — “stacking the pads,” in the parlance of hockey. Everything was going well until I went down on my stick side. As I hit the ice, I realized that something wasn’t right. My shoulder hurt badly, similar to the feeling of a pulled muscle. I was pissed that I hurt my shoulder doing a move that almost certainly should not have hurt my shoulder. I stood back up and tried moving my arm around. It hurt, but everything seemed to work fine. “Maybe it’s not really injured.”

At that point, I started to feel nauseous. I felt ill but without the need to throw up. I tried drinking some water. “Maybe I’m dehydrated,” I reasoned, even though I had been on the ice for only 20 minutes and had been drinking plenty of fluids. Another moment passed. I continued to feel worse. The goalie coach was working with the other goalie, and the skaters were all on the other end of the arena, so nobody was cognizant of my plight. It felt like my world was caving in on me. My vision started to narrow, and I crumpled to my knees. I remember staring blankly ahead, continuously repeating, “I don’t feel good.” At this point, the goalie coach noticed something was amiss and came over to me. “What’s the problem?” he asked. “I… I don’t feel good.” My tongue didn’t feel completely under my control. “Where are you?” he asked. “I’m… at…” Shit. Where was I? Think, think… “Breck,” I finally managed to slur out. “What day is today?” Man, all of those tough questions! Let’s see… “today” must be… “Wednesday,” I eventually managed. The ringing in my ears was making it difficult to concentrate.

Now, I wasn’t completely oblivious to what was going on. The symptoms pointed towards a mild concussion, and I knew it. However, I wasn’t sure what to do about it, and my stalwart nature made me try to avoid medical care if possible. Besides, I didn’t think that I hit my head. I decided to wait and see what would happen. I remember my only concern being that I might not be able to drive home.



“Why don’t you lie down for a few minutes and see if you feel better,” somebody proffered.

I did. My thoughts wandered. In retrospect, it was similar to being drunk but without the blissful buzz. I seemed to be reacting very slowly to everything around me. The thought crossed my mind, “Maybe this is what it’s like to be really old or have a cognitive disease.” It scared me. I wondered if I would remember the event. I’ve read stories about hockey players getting concussions then finishing games, driving home, going to bed, and the next day remembering nothing of the previous night’s accident or subsequent activities.

Fortunately, a few minutes of rest brought back my field of vision, banished the ringing from my ears, and restored my ability to form sentences and speak without slurring. I was asymptomatic for the remainder of the evening, and I remembered it all the next day (obviously, otherwise you wouldn’t be reading this).

Research on the web indicates that probably suffered a mild Grade-1 concussion. Since symptoms rapidly abated, there was probably no long-term damage. Still, in retrospect, it was a scary experience: I temporarily lost my mental prowess, my acuity — my perspicacity, if you will. I do not envy those people who have been constrained to a lifetime of such condition by the depredation of nature.

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On a cheerier note, I read an article last week about some of the worst beats in sports. The two that stuck out were the defeat of the Thai national hockey team and the victory by a high-school boy’s basketball team.

The Thai team played South Korea’s national team in the recent past. However, just because they are both national teams does not mean that they posses similar ability. The Thai team’s skill level has been compared to that of peewees, and Korea’s skill level to that of good juniors. In other words, they are nowhere close to being equal. The score of their match was a mind-boggling 92-0 in favor of Korea. With 60 minutes of game time, that means Korea averaged one goal every 39 seconds. Wow. It’s almost as if Korea was playing basketball, but Thailand was playing soccer.

At the other extreme, a high-school boy’s basketball team recently defeated its opponent with a score of 5-2. In fact, no baskets were scored in the second half. What could allow such an egregious occurrence? Three words: no shot clock.

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With that, we come to the end of another post. In fact, this is the longest entry ever added to this journal: almost 1400 words. If you read it in its entirety, kudos!