The old guy loves his Saturdays — his own private hockey day.

He begins the day with the sports section of the local rag. When he’s done he heads to the basement and the old beer fridge that works well enough to keep his cold ones cold. He checks to make sure it's well stocked. The day ends hours later when he nods off in his big comfortable chair with the remote in his hand and the TV tuned to his favourite program, Hockey Night in Canada. What could be better?

Just before noon his son shows up in his monster four-wheel drive to ferry him from one rink to another to watch his grandsons play. He can't wait until next season when his granddaughter will join a team as well.

Billy's game is first, although use of the word “game” is a stretch. This is minor hockey at its best. The parents who crowd into the bench, one for each player, are responsible for getting their kids on and off the ice. The quickest method is to reach down, grab him by the arms and haul him over the boards.

The players plant their sticks on the ice for balance and chase after the puck, always a bit wobbly. If you could throw a blanket on the ice it would cover all of them. They fall, get back up and flop to their knees again. The parents giggle and the refs laugh.

The ride after the game is full of Billy's youthful enthusiasm.

"Did you see that shot I took, Granddad? Only way the goalie stopped that was by diving. Hank’s coming to David's game, too. Will you buy us popcorn and a hot dog?"

He laughs and agrees. After all, what good is it to have grandchildren if you can't spoil them a bit?

Game two is a different world. Danny is on a rep team full of the best players in the region. They’re big boys and they skate hard, shoot hard and hit hard. Winning is what they know and what everyone expects.

Danny's team scores a couple of goals early, then the referee calls a player for hitting from behind. The refs have no tolerance for any check that resembles contact from the back. The coaches know it and so do the parents. In minor hockey it’s clear: you don't come up behind a player and make a hit.

The players also understand. When they barrel into the corner on the forecheck they attack from the side, avoiding the direct collision. If they come up behind a player who has his face to the boards they wrap their arms around him to cushion the impact. When the ref detects an illegal hit the players skate to the box without question. The hockey czars have successfully reduced the number of dangerous checks from the back.

The rest of the game is uneventful. Danny’s team steamrolls its way to a lopsided victory, yet it wasn’t as much fun as watching those young kids who are just learning the game.

When the old guy gets home his Saturday night dinner is waiting: Nachos smothered in cheese with a side order of beer. He sits back in his chair and puts on Hockey Night in Canada.

Tonight the Leafs are in Montreal. There’s an air of optimism surrounding the Canadiens for the first time in years, mainly because of Bob Gainey, the new GM who has links to the glorious past. On this evening, Larry Robinson, a former teammate, is in the building. His presence merits a pre-game interview.

Robinson is asked about the rash of eye injuries from high sticks. He says the problem begins in minor hockey. He says kids feel protected because they wear helmets and suits of armour.

The old guy shouts at the TV. Ten years ago kids might have played that way, but the minor hockey games he sees every weekend show the opposite: kids have learned to avoid dangerous situations.

He watches the first period and finds himself dozing off. The crowd is pumped, but the game is a bore.

Then it's time for the maestro of mudslinging, Don Cherry. He says Robinson was right, the problems with the high sticks and dangerous play started when the NHL forced players to wear helmets.

The old guy grabs the remote and changes channels. It takes a lot for him to reject his beloved game. His wife claims he’s getting grumpier by the moment and maybe she’s right.

He can’t understand how two smart, powerful hockey leaders can blame protective equipment for causing eye injuries. It’s like saying construction workers would be safer if they didn’t wear helmets on the job. He wishes they’d hang out at the rinks and watch the kids play. They’d see how the game keeps getting better.

He goes from channel to channel and there’s nothing on. By the time he gets back to the game, play has resumed and he settles in to watch the best in the world do their thing. He tries to watch but his eyes close. There’s just something missing, something his grandson’s game earlier in the day was overflowing with: fun, excitement, naïve joy.

  [Email Ken here]

Hi, Ken! I liked your piece about the Old Guy and the different levels of hockey ... but I'd add one more that he might like.

If say, his wife or his adult daughter [the mother of his grandkids] took up the game, and he wandered down to Bill Bolton Arena in the Annex area Monday nights, there he'd see floppy-ankled beginners learn the game in the company of a truly great, enthusiastic, passionate bunch of gals. Moms, lawyers, doctors, sales reps, video producers, artisans, players all.

I think he'd see the camaraderie that is the other naive joy about this game ... the concept of team, and team meaning all of the women who are their to reclaim their place on the ice. Some have learned as kids, most have learned as grown ups.

But they have an understanding with the little guy all right.

Cheers!

Shelley Hobbs
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I get to your article when I can at work.

I'm writing from the suburban Chicago area, grew up here — and as I'm sure you've heard from other U.S. folks, hockey is no less of a passion or a path of life for our kids down here than it is up by you. (Though obvoiusly, the Canadian culture is steeped in the nuance, spirtit and glory of hockey in a way my son and I can only imagine and wish to experience. - Ken Dryden did a pretty good job of explaining it in The Game.)

I just wanted to write to say thanks, for what I see as a great service to the sport and to hockey families everywhere.

Like a great cartoon that you just gotta cut out and share with your friends — your articles bear so much truth, and as I get older — so many bittersweet memories of my son's younger days and my too-shortsighted attempts at coaching.

My son is now a high-school-level goaltender, but I see now he is so much more. He is a pretty darn good student, a fine musician and a great kid.

I too have sat and watched a spirited Travel Squirt game before my son's team takes the ice — and enjoyed the youthful exuberance and all out effort the kids are making out there — and I've come to appreciate the game even more that none of the kids on the ice are mine, and I can sit back and laugh and cheer and enjoy every effort the kids are making out there, with no bias or concern for the outcome.

Hockey is a way through this life, it's seasons, it's sacrifices, its highs and lows. I thank you for reminding us of what's important.

Well, for what it's worth - I just wanted to write and say thanks Ken, the world is a far better place for your being here.

Jack E. Haeger
Chicago, IL
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