Here I shall be forced to brush upon a subject that is currently a bit of a sore spot for me. The memory of yesterday afternoon is not pleasant to dredge up. It conjures heartache and disappointment leaving me dry mouthed, a lump in my throat and an intolerable need to fidget. However, as it was the last occasion for the year upon which I will find myself playing hockey, a game that gives me great pleasure, I shall soldier on, brave soul, so that you may know of it's joys.
The frightful occasion I speak of was the playoff between my lovely, player-depleted little team, the GNS Strikers, and the droves of frightful, giggling, inane girlies who form the GNS Raiders, our in-club rivals and till this point, our whipping boys for the 2004 season. Whatever we faced, from whom ever we received floggings, we could always rest assured that the Raiders would crumble under our devastated numbers whenever we met out on the windy battlefield.
We encountered a new reality yesterday, as we took the field with only nine players, (two less than a full team) ran like rabid dogs around the field after a swarm of white socked blowflies and saw two searing shots whistle past us and thud deafeningly into the back of the goal. Bang bang. You're dead.
Good thing hockey is such an exhilarating, satisfying game! Regardless of jubilant victory or devastating defeat, a game is never regretted. I love the thud of the ball as it glides into your stick, the feeling of wind in your face as you charge up the field, the shocked look of an enemy soldier as you tackle the ball out from under them and leave them for dead. Even a blow to the shins from an enemy stick, an accidental crack in the toe from the ball, or a sandpaper dive across the turf on your tummy is gilt with glory. There is nothing that gives me the same thrill, the same vitality, the same satisfied glow as I drive home, flushed, sweaty and drop dead exhausted.
The frightful occasion I speak of was the playoff between my lovely, player-depleted little team, the GNS Strikers, and the droves of frightful, giggling, inane girlies who form the GNS Raiders, our in-club rivals and till this point, our whipping boys for the 2004 season. Whatever we faced, from whom ever we received floggings, we could always rest assured that the Raiders would crumble under our devastated numbers whenever we met out on the windy battlefield.
We encountered a new reality yesterday, as we took the field with only nine players, (two less than a full team) ran like rabid dogs around the field after a swarm of white socked blowflies and saw two searing shots whistle past us and thud deafeningly into the back of the goal. Bang bang. You're dead.
Good thing hockey is such an exhilarating, satisfying game! Regardless of jubilant victory or devastating defeat, a game is never regretted. I love the thud of the ball as it glides into your stick, the feeling of wind in your face as you charge up the field, the shocked look of an enemy soldier as you tackle the ball out from under them and leave them for dead. Even a blow to the shins from an enemy stick, an accidental crack in the toe from the ball, or a sandpaper dive across the turf on your tummy is gilt with glory. There is nothing that gives me the same thrill, the same vitality, the same satisfied glow as I drive home, flushed, sweaty and drop dead exhausted.
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