Puckbite

Ice and kin

2012-02-11T05:00:00.000-08:00

Kids. The number one reason for a backyard rink. I get a blast seeing my sons and their friends and cousins have a ball out there. I love joining in and practicing my moves, too.

Early morning.

And there’s something else about a backyard rink. The intimacy with ice that comes with tending it. Feeling the texture against my palm. Removing the odd twig, leaf or pine needle. Checking the weather forecast to know when to hose down and when to let snow accumulate and protect it. Shaving the nubs and filling the chinks. Spraying under a full moon. Looking at it first thing in the morning and last thing before bed. Fighting off the timber wolves, black bears and moose for ice time, armed with only a shovel and polka music. (photos by J.-P. Plouffe)

Freshly sprayed. We have the lights to play at night, we're just too busy and pooped.

Unfinished

2012-01-23T18:40:00.000-08:00

In 1975, I was finishing high school and making landscapes in pastel and ink. I went on to study fine arts at the now defunct Montreal Museum of Fine Arts School (L’École du musée) for about a year. I learned to skate three years later and played ice hockey for the first time in 2007.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’m very keen on visually exploring the relationship between hockey and nature via the Ice and Stripes Series. This is a slow process, given my professional and family responsibilities, but I thought I’d offer a glimpse of what I was up to in 1975. I pulled this piece out of storage last weekend. In many ways, it feels like I’m picking up where I left off.

Frozen Lake, 1975, by J.-P. Plouffe.

Nature strikes us as effortless and simply occurring, whereas we see hockey as a willed and practiced endeavour, unless a player is playing ‘outside himself’, whereupon we often refer to her or him as a force of nature: storms up the ice, unleashes a shot, lightning reflexes, etc.

It’s a theme of particular relevance to playing hockey in an aging body. For prose pieces and short films on this theme and related ones, consult older posts.

Backyard hockey

2012-01-09T06:16:00.000-08:00

We spent last weekend playing hockey in our backyard. I'd only packed down a minimal amount of snow to get the ice started, but it worked. The city's outdoor rinks are also looking good. See my July 23, 2011 post for a backyard rink how-to.

27 by 20 feet of sheer delight.

On a frozen puddle in our backyard, Anaranjada de Santa-Maria, a local cat community organizer, has set up a hockey school for strays to keep them off the street. (photos by J.-P. Plouffe)

Ice and Stripes Series: Breakaway (study)

2011-12-31T16:55:00.000-08:00

It's been a great year. In 2012, Puckbite will focus on the visual via the Ice and Stripes Series. So let's get started...

Breakaway (a study by J.-P. Plouffe).

Ice and Stripes is a series of posts presenting studies and paintings that explore the harmony and tensions between nature, the human form and ice hockey. The pieces consider hockey as human expression within the context, possibilities and confines of nature. The body appears both triumphant and frail.

Nature strikes us as effortless and simply occurring, whereas we see hockey as a willed and practiced endeavour, unless a player is playing ‘outside himself’, whereupon we often refer to her or him as a force of nature: storms up the ice, unleashes a shot, lightning reflexes, etc.

It’s a theme of particular relevance to playing hockey in an aging body. For prose pieces and short films on this theme and related ones, consult older posts.

Puckbite Christmas Special

2011-12-30T11:03:00.000-08:00

Happy holidays, everyone!

Ice watch

2011-12-29T23:41:00.000-08:00

I've gained two pounds and counting since the beginning of the holidays even though I've been skating every day and played hockey twice. Maybe it's muscle, but it's probably my wife's excellent cooking.

Our Annual Family and Friends Skate and Hockey Game was a blast. And the pick-up game I took part in last Tuesday was thrilling and instructive. A fast-paced contest: one guy is in the East Coast League and the others are Midget AAA and old hands. I kept up, made some good plays and passes and learned a lot.

No outdoor hockey. The city has yet to spray the rinks and I'm debating whether I should hose down the one in our backyard, as the snow I packed isn't very deep. One should be blessed with such worries. (photo by J.-P. Plouffe)

Christmas logbook, 2011

2011-12-25T08:11:00.000-08:00

Dec. 3: First day of skating at the Old Port of Montreal. A monitor dressed as Snow White, big yellow skirt and all, comes up to my three-year-old and asks him if he's her prince. He doesn't know that fairy tale yet. It was amusing to see her explain who she is.

Dec. 6: Icethetics dismissively rejects a comment of mine because I said the design of the new Sherbrooke Phoenix logo unfortunately reminds me of a Nazi eagle (not an American eagle, not a Polish eagle: a Nazi eagle). I call them like I see them. They're concerned this element of my comment might incite other readers. They post my comment after I remove the allusion to Nazis. I'm disappointed nevertheless. I thought Icethetics was more sophisticated than that. They're still my go-to site for jersey news and analysis, but I'm not inviting them to any Puckbite parties. Maybe we can start by having a beer, Dutch treat. If I were more interested, I'd launch a rival jersey blog and call it The Jersey Blog That Doesn't Have Its Head In the Sand Or a Cork Up Its Ass.

Dec. 8: I'm thinking about the Dove commercial which goes something like this, “ A real man plays hockey with the boys at 7 AM. ” It then goes on to correct that, “ A real man plays hockey with his boys at 7 AM. ” The statement must ring true for a lot of hockey latebloomers who take to the ice with sticks to accompany their kids. Of course, there's an infinite variety of ways to be a 'real' man.

Dec. 10: Ice stays frozen all day in the puddles for the first time this fall. An auspicious sign.

Dec. 12: I stumble upon an interesting hockey (among other things) blog called Magpie Days.

Dec. 15: Rain all day. No ice. Damn El Niño.

Dec. 18: This year's outdoor hockey schedule will see me at the rink with my children at 8:30 AM to play before anyone else gets there. 9:30, my wife shows up to take the kids for a snack while I stay behind and hook up with a game as the adult players arrive. 11:00, I walk home, lay my gear out to dry and spend the rest of the weekend in a semicoma.

Dec. 19: I announce my retirement from social work. Last day on the job: May 3, 2013.

Dec. 22: Last day at work before the holidays. I walk past one of our town's outdoor rinks on the way home. No ice, but it's snowing...

Dec. 25: Merry Christmas, everyone! Our Annual Family and Friends Skate and Hockey Game is on tomorrow at the local arena. Yeah! And I'm gonna take part in an indoor pick-up game on Tuesday. (photo by J.-P. Plouffe)

Smile as game face

2011-12-08T17:37:00.000-08:00

When people bothered me as a kid, my mother used to say, “ Just ignore them. ” She was right and still is. Sometimes a smile goes a long way too.

When a player gives me the angry look before, during or after a game it’s rarely because my skills intimidate him. He’s usually trying to tell me I don’t belong on the same ice as him. Now that’s not very nice, considering it’s an informal pick-up game.

Mean gaze: subtle version.

Every sport has these elitist, condescending characters. Fortunately, they’ve been the minority in my experience. If I get that mean gaze, though, I’ve found the best way to counter is to smile benignly at the guy, thinking about how much I enjoy hockey and how his attitude hasn’t even made a dent in my pleasure. His meanness soon has nowhere to go and falls off his face.

Benign smile: subtle version.

It also helps to perform as well as you can on the ice and try to prove him wrong.

(photos by George Tabah, Jr., taken in the Old Port of Montreal)

Damage control

2011-12-01T14:52:00.000-08:00

I’m not one to give advice. But I figure I’ve dealt enough with my aches and pains to impart a few suggestions to fellow hockey players who are getting long in the tooth like me. Maybe check with your doctor first:

Yeah, there’s always the anti-inflammatory drug, ibuprofen (Advil) or the pain-reducing drug, acetaminophen (Tylenol), but…
Stretch and lift. Do yoga and weights to limber up and strengthen your muscles, thus avoiding injury to muscles, bones, ligaments and joints.
You sweat, so hydrate. Drink before, during and after playing. Lots of water, with something extra. My restoration recipe: 3 ounces of fruit punch, a pinch of salt, 5 drops of Angostura bitters and the rest is water. A sachet of Gastrolyte in a glass of water and fruit juice is also good.
Protein to feed your muscles. Eat a can of sardines before hitting the ice. Nuts are good, too.
Ginseng, for general vitality, and glucosamine, for joint and bone health. Take daily.
Rub-A535 (Antiphlogistine) with arnica is a rubefacient available only in Canada, perhaps. Applied to the skin, it causes dilation of the capillaries and an increase in blood circulation. Rub this on sore muscles after a game. Mmmm. The arnica montana ingredient is a homeopathic remedy that’s said to reduce inflammation and bruising, again by dilating subcutaneous blood capillaries. If you’re allergic to salicylates (ASA based drugs, such as Aspirin ) or if you take anticoagulant medications, you should avoid using Rub-A535.
Want more heat? Find a cheap extra-strength heat balm and plug in a heat pad. Zowie!
Naps.
Cold symptoms? Nuke ’em with zinc/vitamin C/echinacea lozenges, manganese and copper oligosol spray (a kind of homeopathic remedy), lactobacillus acidophilus gelcaps (turns milk into yogourt – in humans, fights infection; blue cheese also does the job), and a generous shot of gin.
More echinacea.
More gin or switch to whiskey.
More naps.
Have sex. Pleasure’s good for mind and body.
Eat more sardines, have sex again.

(photo by J.-P. Plouffe)

NYC’s NHL Store needs more punch

2011-11-26T04:23:00.000-08:00

November is a nowhere month in Montreal. Rink boards stand stark white and puck-marked against stubbornly green grass. Little snow, no ice, no leaves in the trees. Nothing but a few panicked squirrels and birds. A perfect time to head for New York City.

Last weekend, my wife and I enjoyed visiting the MoMA and the Met. Mutton chops, churrasco, cheesecake and the usual pilgrimage to the NHL Store.

There’s always a find: an obscure toque, a retro t-shirt. The staff is hockey-wise and pleasant. But the place strikes me as somewhat of a missed opportunity. The two store-window mannequins that ‘greet’ you as you enter must be taken out and shot. Put in their place a full-scale, official goal so that when you enter, the goal has its back to you and is facing a wall of TV screens that show a video of a real hockey match, as seen from behind the goal.

The giant posters depicting NHL players should be replaced by several banners equal in dimensions but depicting a hockey match across the panels, like in a triptych. The store’s square footage is modest, so both the TV screens’ and the banners’ hockey matches would provide a welcome illusion of depth.

And where are the red and blue lines? Surely the floor and walls could pick up on that motif. NYC is the media capital of the world, so the NHL Store must meet that bar and pack more visual punch.

I kvetch but I still enjoyed myself and bought a nice Habs toque for a dollar less than the website price. A riot ensued when I took out my puckbite.com business card (Puckbite is insanely popular in NYC). The swell of the crowd carried me across two streets to the NBA Store, where I bought a Carmelo Anthony t-shirt. (photo by J.-P. Plouffe)

Old-time Montreal hockey

2011-11-22T17:49:00.000-08:00

Here's a lovable video that will take you back to all aspects of hockey in Montreal in the late forties, outdoors and indoors. Cryptically identified as VTS 01 1 on YouTube, Iced Lightning is a 1947 documentary short produced by Paramount Pictures' Jack Eaton for a series called Grantland Rice Sportlight. Grantland Rice is considered one of the great American sports writers of the early 20th century. Enjoy.

The crib

2011-11-16T17:37:00.000-08:00

At our local arena, behind a row of traffic cones strung together with yellow polypropylene rope at one end of the rink, the kids learn to skate. I call it the crib.

Ice and Stripes Series: The Wait (study 1) by J.-P. Plouffe.

Apart from having fun with my youngest and practicing my moves, the crib affords me the following pleasures:

I cut a circle out of black Bristol board about 18” in diameter, lay it on the ice and watch the kids avoid it for fear of disappearing in the hole. This works with adult hockey games, too, but some players are more prone to suggestion and actually do fall in like a patsy in a Bugs Bunny cartoon.
I watch the fathers – probably separated guys with weekend visitation rights – who insist on letting the world know what a great time they’re having with their son. They tirelessly flash a mammoth grin like a banner and keep raising their eyebrows at the kid to underscore their rollicking complicity. The child occasionally interrupts his deadpan to condescend with a wan smile.
I also watch the fathers who are more proficient on their skates and probably still play hockey. They discreetly pivot and backpedal in the style of a NHL ref or they lope elegantly alongside their youngster with their hands in their pockets. They give off an aura of casually restrained ability.
It’s fun to see a mom push a stroller on the ice, with the baby wondering why everybody’s sliding and moving this way. They make nice obstacles to maneuver around, as do the turbo-tykes jacked up on Swedish Berries, bombing about with their heads down.
One and all healthy and safe.

When the free skate is over and we leave the arena, maybe a straggling gaggle of geese will cross the sky and reassure us that temperatures are getting colder and colder. Aaaah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Puckbite’s first film

2011-11-06T02:41:00.000-08:00

Winner of the Brooklyn Bones Hockey Club’s 2011 Moishe Pipik Award, Puckbite’s Tape’s Tips: The Spinorama is released worldwide today. Follow Coach Reuben Tape’s advice: “ You can be the best in your class, if you’re in a class of your own. ”

Oneiric hockey

2011-11-05T02:10:00.000-07:00

I came across this photograph recently from the National Archives of the Netherlands. Strangely, it corresponds almost exactly to a dream I had the other night. In my dream, I wear a red Speedo and play hockey with these four ladies in their bathing suits under the discerning eye of Coach Grubchik Brizhnigoo.

Minneapolis, 1925

Afterwards, we pour tall glasses of Vomit of Elk and drink a toast to our game. Then a Zamboni in the shape of a cheese blintz chases us across the lake until we jump through a hole in the ice, hop the Subway and come out in the middle of Times Square. We run into Champs and buy NHL t-shirts before heading for a deli. We order eggs. I wake up in a cold sweat, smelling of pastrami.

Snow Village in Montreal

2011-11-04T17:04:00.000-07:00

After a hockey game in Montreal this winter, why not retire to the Snow Village, featuring igloos, an ice hotel, a restaurant, a convention center and an ice chapel for weddings. The inauguration is scheduled for January 6. You probably have to take your skates off before going in.

Puckbite interviews Captain CanAmerica

2011-10-29T15:33:00.000-07:00

Cross-border hockey harmony crusader Captain CanAmerica was in town last week as a guest of the Montreal Poutine Hockey Club. He sat down for a chat with Puckbite:

Puckbite: You’ve met a lot of adult recreational hockey players. What are the major differences, if any, between American and Canadian players?

Captain CanAmerica: The Canadian spy told me that he once played a pick-up game in Kitchener, Ontario (he had to review his profuse scribbling to identify the rink) and the boards at that rink were higher and thus more difficult to scale when returning to the bench. That tidbit aside, adult recreation players born on both sides of the 49^th are similar: They share a zeal for the pre-game banter; the sights and sounds of competition – the skating and stickhandling and shooting – and then the post-game camaraderie. A good beer, a good donut. And the hockey stench is the same, regardless of allegiance to the Maple Leaf or the Stars and Stripes.

To answer your question more directly, kind sir, one difference is nomenclature: sweaters versus jerseys, senior versus adult. Another is that Canadian senior players tend to have been at it longer than stateside players. Late-bloomers, yourself excepted, are more common in America than Canada.

PB: Are there differences between the way Americans and Canadians view someone who starts to learn and play hockey as an adult?

CC: A Canadian who’s been playing since he was four might say to a forty-something-first-timer, “It’s about time, right? What took you so long, eh?” Americans, except for reckers (as I like to call them) in regions like the Upper Midwest and New England, tend to be more committed to other sports. In Arkansas, where college football reigns supreme, someone not familiar with the lure of hockey might say to Saturday pick-up players, “Where y’all going with those big bags and sticks? Don’t y’all know the Razorbacks are on?”

PB: Hockey is deeply woven into the Canadian national identity. Are there signs of this occurring in the United States?

CC: No way. Well, maybe. Again, it’s a regional thing. In Canada, hockey, many have said, is a religion. Even if you don’t believe in it (the Canadian spy talked to one such person last week) you still know where the church is, and that Paul Henderson and Hayley Wickenheiser sit in the first pew. In the States, hockey is more of a cult sport. I mentioned adult hockey in Arkansas…well the Rusty Blades and Rusty Babes will tell you that adult hockey at the Arkansas Skatium is becoming more popular.

PB: What’s the best part about playing hockey in Canada and what’s the best part about playing in the States? Are there any drawbacks to playing hockey in Canada or to playing in the States?

CC: Well, another story the Canadian spy relayed to me: In addition to the aforementioned incident in Ontario, he also attracted a bit of negative attention in La Belle Province, in that skating rink in the mall you have in Quebec. Le spy didn’t know much French at the time and didn’t realize the rules prohibited skating backwards. He was reprimanded but avoided international scandal. As far as a drawback to playing in Canada? That’s a tough one to answer, even for an international superhero. I suppose if you’re on a Newfoundland senior team, the travel to play against mainland competition might become wearisome. In the States, a disadvantage is that there is no Rideau Canal. I don’t know of anyone in the U.S. who can skate to work.

PB: How do you see the future of adult recreational hockey in the U.S. and Canada?

CC: I see more merging, more sharing, more joint ventures evolving. CAN/AM camps (I’m waiting for CAN/AM Hockey to announce that I’m its official superhero) and other international tournaments will become more popular as our sport thrives and as the Internet connects the hockey cultures. Global warming may diminish the duration of a pond hockey season, but it can’t squelch our enthusiasm.

(photo by J.-P. Plouffe)

Pond hockey dreams

2011-10-14T16:54:00.000-07:00

One of my hopes for this winter is to waddle down a forest trail in snowshoes, dragging a toboggan full of hockey gear and shovels, all the way to a sheltered, secluded marsh. I figure once I clear the snow off, the ice should make for some good hockey, that is if anyone’s adventurous enough to join me (so far my eldest son just gives me blank stares). This video gives my wish a little boost. I especially like the guys’ use of a hole in the ice and a water pump to prime the surface.

Meanwhile, since I’m not playing hockey until December, I’ll have to content myself with skating around my three-year-old, practicing correct hockey posture, pivots, backwards skating and backward crossovers. We actually have a great time. I hardly ever get to race Green Goblin though (see previous post). During lunch breaks, I put a sock on the blade of my stick and practice with balls on a shiny floor in a remote stairwell where I work. I lift weights, do roadwork and watch games on TV. And I bought a Subban figurine for inspiration.

I look forward to the day when I’ll have the leisure for regular weekday indoor pickup games and other marvelous opportunities. In about two months, ponds and outdoor rinks will be offering their infinitely flexible schedules under blinding blue skies. Ah, winter! I’m gonna cry now.

The Green Goblin

2011-10-10T06:47:00.000-07:00

Irk: another one of my inner demons.

His face looks like last week’s leftovers piled onto a soiled newspaper. He’s so ugly he makes Charles Bukowski look like Brad Pitt. So ugly he could be forty years old or a hundred and forty years old. Same face. He wears a nylon warm-up suit in a shade of green that was popular for about five seconds in the eighties. He skates with his hands folded puritanically behind his back, sporting a subtle smirk.

He’s not the fastest during Saturday morning free skates, but I consider him my main rival for velocity domination because he’s currently hard for me to beat, without it being impossible for me to feed him my snow. I catch his reflection in the protective glass as he outdoes himself to try and pass me. Does he know I'm getting light-headed and there are bear traps clamping down on my thighs?

I call him Green Goblin and I hate his guts.

Every so often he leaves the ice. To vomit in a trash can and stretch the lactic acid out of his thighs, I guess. I try to rest by practicing fast and tight backward crossovers at center ice. This is not restful. It only shifts the lactic acid to another part of my legs.

My wife is mildly amused by my manic competitiveness. I’m a little ashamed of hating this guy, but I don’t post to be inauthentic. I’ve tried to strike up a friendly conversation with him. He mostly responds with curt, dismissive sentences, mumbles and grunts.

Me: Hi!

Green Goblin: Ugh.

Me: Do you know if there are a lot of people at the weekday morning skates?

Green Goblin: Dunno. I work.

I dropped it, but my next utterance might have been, “ Go to hell. ” I’ve had better chats with my son’s gerbils. I half expect him to squat in the changing room and take a dump.

This tale would bring a twinkle to a therapist’s eyes, the twinkle he gets when he’s onto something. “ Does Green Goblin remind you of anyone? ” he’d venture. He figures I’m projecting a part of my psyche onto G.G.: an Oedipal representation of my father, or an inner monologue – generated by feelings of guilt – that persecutes me, strives to undermine my self-esteem and is less uncomfortable out there in the guise of my nemesis.

All that’s probably true. I hate his guts anyway. I’m also grateful that he and my competitiveness have met; they're the spark and fuel that rocket me to the edges of my envelope. That sounds a lot better than how I actually look on the ice.

Maybe the Goblin has a mental problem, maybe he's grieving the loss of a loved one. Maybe he's what Sigmund Freud referred to as a twit. All I know for sure is that he doesn’t give up more easily than I. He's the Grim Reaper to my fear of aging. That's what happens when you take yourself too seriously. (illustration by J.-P. Plouffe)

Ice and Stripes Series: Zap! Shinny (studies)

2011-10-02T05:56:00.000-07:00

Zap! Shinny (study 3).

It’s a theme of particular relevance to playing hockey in an aging body. For prose pieces and short films on this theme and related ones, consult older posts.

Zap! Shinny (study 2).

Zap! Shinny (study 1).

When the ice finally takes in the rinks and rivers freeze up it's a magical time. To play hockey under a boundless sky, unfettered by schedules, reservations and fees. I want this painting, when it's completed, to convey the sudden seasonal turning point as a forceful, portentous and happy event. (artwork by J.-P. Plouffe).

Toque statement

2011-09-27T19:09:00.000-07:00

Right To Play has teamed up with Roots to offer a line of apparel. A portion of the proceeds goes to support Right To Play, which helps children in disadvantaged areas of the world learn through sport. Items like this toque are currently on sale.

So, why not make it your team’s official off-ice head warmer? You could collectively assist a great cause.

Guest blogger: Jim Dwyer

2011-09-14T16:08:00.000-07:00

Captain CanAmerica (illustration by J.-P. Plouffe).

Jim Dwyer, editor of The Hockey (and Donut) Blog and Canadian Spy, sent Puckbite and its readers a press release today:

Dear reader,

I present a new business partner, Captain CanAmerica. All yours, mon ami.

Captain CanAmerica, here to serve. Okay, I’m a fledgling superhero working on my tag line. Given the early stage of my development, I can reveal little of who I am. In comic-book parlance (I’m still waiting for an invitation to Comiccon de Montréal 2011), I am the Canadian Spy’s sidekick.

While my partner’s is stealth—he has eluded many would-be interrogators—my method is more overt. You’ll see me on guest posts here, and perhaps on other sites, as we—my partner, you, and I combat the common villain: our inherent intolerance of those whom we do not yet know or understand.

Captain Canuck-meets-Captain America, I am not. A maple-leafed belt and star-spangled shield do not suit me. I endured no alien rays or scientific experiments to strengthen my skeletal and muscular systems.

My sole superpower (as far as we know) is summoning my best self. With the solar-powered lamp embedded in the butt end of my recycled wood hockey stick, I aim to illuminate the people who populate the provinces and territories that comprise Canada, and thus enlighten all kind-hearted citizens on both sides of the 49^th Parallel.

Follow the adventures of Captain CanAmerica at Canadian Spy: News and Insights from the Northland.

Support

2011-09-05T09:46:00.000-07:00

After my final hockey course, last Saturday, a player asked why I hadn't posted anything about the deaths of Derek Boogaard, Rick Rypien and Wade Belak. I told him it had a lot to do with my being a clinical social worker. I'm saddened by these deaths, but it goes against my professional grain to form an opinion without a more significant amount of facts.

I read a lot of posts and comments all week. There was no shortage of opinions, even as the paucity of information persisted. I've counselled a lot of men in my more than twenty-five years of practice. Some were plumbers, some executives, some were high-level athletes. Most worked hard on better understanding themselves and changing certain ways of thinking and behaving. Most also had to overcome a long reluctance to seek help. Guys don't tend to jump on the opportunity.

Although men often have a quiet, virile way of supporting each other emotionally, that's seldom enough to encourage another guy to go for psychotherapy. Especially if the guy's worried it might be seen as a liability in his workplace. So I was glad to read the joint NHL-NHLPA statement that sets as a goal to make players “ (...) feel comfortable seeking help when they need help. ”

I wish them all the best. (photo by J.-P. Plouffe and his eldest son)

Sunday Morning Shinny

2011-09-03T10:29:00.000-07:00

For those like me who yearn for pond hockey, here’s a gem of a video from Toronto by Kathleen Doody. It's called Sunday Morning Shinny. No, Bruins, you can’t go and vie for the Margaret Philp Cup.

Less is more

2011-09-02T04:00:00.000-07:00

I love hockey’s bold, unambiguous colors and hard-edge stripes. Yet there's something about a muted gray logo on a black background that I find really appealing in the new Reebok NHL Black Ice Premier Jersey. It's understated and might suggest a team that's all game, no flash. It works especially well with the Sabres logo. I could see it as provocative branding for a new team.

I cut a bear silhouette out of dark grey polar fleece and had it sown on a Reebok Edge no-logo Avalanche home jersey. It looks cool. It’s my Franz Kafka jersey (see my May 21, 2011 post). Of course the name and number on the back have to stand out more so players don’t look like Navy SEALs on a mission.

History never denied

2011-09-01T04:00:00.000-07:00

McFarlane’s upcoming Subban figurine.

It’s been two years since my dad died. When I was 9 or 10, he was given a pair of tickets to the Canadiens at the Forum. Because hockey was only a source of humiliation for me at the time – I couldn’t even skate – I turned down his offer to take me and missed a chance to see Jean Béliveau and the rest of the team work their magic. My father was visibly disappointed. He put on a smile and invited my cousin who played peewee hockey. They ended up having a great time. It didn’t take long before I regretted my decision. Now that I play hockey it stings even more.

In Quebec, it’s almost blasphemy to decline an invitation to a Habs game. Although there are fewer and fewer Quebecquers in the NHL, it’s almost a given that every able-bodied male will play the game and sustain a lively interest in it even after age benches him for good. So when I tell people I took up hockey as an adult, no one’s impressed. They say next to nothing and if they’re not smiling indulgently their expressions scream, “ You’re ludicrously late! ” or “ So what? ” Women seize the opportunity to let me know their husband’s been playing since he was 4 and is in a two-game-a-week league. There are no brownie points for hockey latebloomers in Quebec. You take it up as an adult because you want to and nobody’s gonna pat you on the back except perhaps your trainers and fellow players.

But deep down it feels like I fit in more by playing hockey and it feels like I’m somehow making it up to my dad, after passing up his invitation over four decades ago. I’ve become a big Habs fan. Jean Béliveau is my all-time favorite player for his speed, poise and uncanny reading of the play and for the same reasons I liked Roy Rogers as a child: he’s an earnest, even-tempered and eminently likeable fellow. When I finally met him and told him I’d just picked up hockey he said, “ At your age? What, are you mental? ” Then he pulled my sweater over my head and shoved me into a table full of half-price Gomez bobbleheads. I’m kidding, of course: the bobbleheads were only 10% off.

I don’t attend Habs matches because tickets are too pricey and I don’t want to run into Jean Béliveau again, but I catch every game on TV and watch snippets of Habs talk shows. There are usually three different shows every night. They all end in gossip, stale arguments and wild speculation. Each year I enjoy forecasting the Canadiens will win the Cup. This time by defeating the Bolts, then the Hawks after the latter have put away Colorado. Bye-bye, Boston!

It was Jean Béliveau’s birthday yesterday. He turned 80. All the best, number 4.