Slap Shod

The blond-haired guy with “Washburn” on his letter jacket slipped a pass to me and broke for the net. I sidestepped a 10-year-old, came face-to-face with “Red Jacket” and slid the puck toward a swath of blue going my way down center ice. It was a mistake. The pass went to “Blue Sweatshirt,” one of them, not “Blue Jacket,” one of us. Behind me, “Thin Guy, Black Sweater” had abandoned the goal. He was halfway to the warming house as “Blue Sweatshirt” bore down on the empty net. We lost the point.

It didn’t matter. No one had kept score since the game began nearly five hours earlier. By the time the game ends, five hours from now, none of the current players will be on the Lake of the Isles ice. This is park hockey, the pick-up game that goes on endlessly through winter weekends and evenings. It’s the red-headed stepchild of league hockey; there is no parent-led organization to plead its cause, and no coaches or referees to minister to its traditions. There are no rewards for participation, no tournaments, no winners or losers, no score, no team jerseys, no spectators.

Park hockey is an organized sport only at the most basic level. Checking and lifting the puck are forbidden, because protective gear is limited. Beyond that, the rules of play are hand-me-down traditions that vary from rink to rink. Players range in age from 10 to past 50, and include every ability level from wobbly beginner to the middle-aged ex-pro. During the last 10 years, an increasing number of women have joined the game.

Play begins when a critical mass of skaters assembles in the hockey rink. Critical mass has a sound to it, the “click-thud” sound of hockey sticks slapping pucks against the boards. By the time 10 skaters get on the ice, the thuds overlap each other, creating a steady drumbeat audible a block from the rink. That’s when one skater circles the rink asking, “Wanna get a game going?” He drops his stick at center-ice. A clatter of sticks follows, creating a loose pile. Another player scatters the sticks toward the blue lines, one to the left, one to the right, one left, one right—park hockey’s version of choosing sides.

We pick up our sticks, look over our teammates and make mental notes: “Red Nylon Jacket,” “Big Guy with Beard,” “Blue Sweatshirt.” There are no shirts and skins in hockey. Keeping track of teammates is an ongoing task. Soon after the game begins, a new player will skate onto the rink and ask to join. He enters the melee without introductions. If he gets the puck within the first couple of minutes of play, there’s a general hesitation because no one is sure which side he represents. Play resumes when he commits himself. A few minutes later “Washburn” starts to sweat. He peels off the letter jacket, becoming “Red poly pro top.” We make the mental adjustment and continue play.— Doug Shidell