I belong to a hockey family, which is code for my house and car smell funny.
Last year marked the beginning of a new era in Podunk hockey — the formation of a hockey league designed for the women who had previously been relegated to washing hockey underthings and working the concession stand.
We are called the Cold Muthas, and we had our first practice of the season this morning.
The primary purpose of our practices is to assemble and then put on our gear. This consumes the first half of our practice, and I’m not surprised to say that we had at least one team member tap out during this part of warm ups. Putting on hockey gear is hard because there is so much of it and it requires such a specific order. My longtime sidekick, Lucy, for instance, finally got her helmet fastened only to discover she’d forgotten to put her jersey on. By the time we got her jersey on over her shoulder and elbow pads, she forgot to put her helmet on and had to return to our locker room.
We are coached by middle schoolers Keyra, Conrad and the Odd Number. When Odd and I were driving home after practice, I talked openly to him about my piss poor hockey stop.
“You’ll get better when you quit worrying about falling,” Odd told me, matter of factly.
I did not tell Odd about the video that his father, Iron Chef, shared with me prior to practice, but I’ll show you: