I love the different outdoor rinks across Montreal that you can go to. Against the backdrop of downtown skyscrapers and the cross on Mount Royal or a majestic old church and tobacco factory or nestled among inner city apartment blocks, I can just practice if I want; learn to drive to the net and protect the puck, pivot better, use the outside edges better, work on my wrist shot listening for the crisp loud ring of the puck off the iron of the crossbar. PING! I love that sound. Work a little harder each time and I improve, my body remembers and I feel rewarded. Sweating freely at -13C, I'll stop for a moment to watch my breathe steam in the cold winter air and look up at the jet black sky that seems even more infinite by the contrast of the outdoor lights beaming down illuminating all that is snow and ice. Then I join the game, chase the puck with everyone else like a pack of rowdy dogs, shout and call for the puck in some bilingual hockey pidgin, watch all the skating styles from makeshift shuffles to efficient and crisp strides mix it up, swarm the ice like a flock of birds, up and down the rink. I love outdoor hockey, the fact that it doesn't require a huge refrigerated building to make the ice, that it's natural and rugged and free and outdoors and brings people together. I love it and whether or not it loves me back is beside the point.
Monday, February 13, 2012
One Way to Love
I love the different outdoor rinks across Montreal that you can go to. Against the backdrop of downtown skyscrapers and the cross on Mount Royal or a majestic old church and tobacco factory or nestled among inner city apartment blocks, I can just practice if I want; learn to drive to the net and protect the puck, pivot better, use the outside edges better, work on my wrist shot listening for the crisp loud ring of the puck off the iron of the crossbar. PING! I love that sound. Work a little harder each time and I improve, my body remembers and I feel rewarded. Sweating freely at -13C, I'll stop for a moment to watch my breathe steam in the cold winter air and look up at the jet black sky that seems even more infinite by the contrast of the outdoor lights beaming down illuminating all that is snow and ice. Then I join the game, chase the puck with everyone else like a pack of rowdy dogs, shout and call for the puck in some bilingual hockey pidgin, watch all the skating styles from makeshift shuffles to efficient and crisp strides mix it up, swarm the ice like a flock of birds, up and down the rink. I love outdoor hockey, the fact that it doesn't require a huge refrigerated building to make the ice, that it's natural and rugged and free and outdoors and brings people together. I love it and whether or not it loves me back is beside the point.
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