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An enforcer’s requiem

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Last Updated on Monday, 09 July 2012 01:03

By Alexander Z

Your skates touch the ice for the first shift of the game. Your coach tells you to hit or be hit in that very first shift. “No better way to get your head in the game,” he says. You set your sights on an opposing player situated on the far blue line who has just received the puck. You take a few strides, extend your shoulder and make contact.

Everything goes white.

You come to. For a fleeting moment, your surroundings appear yellow. Suddenly you realize that you are skating with possession of the puck. You have no idea how you got the puck. You dish it quickly to the other defenseman and head towards the bench – but it takes forever, doesn’t it? Your feet seem so sluggish and your head feels heavy.

You hop over the boards and rip the helmet off your head, throwing it violently to the bench. You scream in agony – not out of pain but out of desperation. “What just happened?” you ask yourself.

You sit there, hunched over with your head in your hands. Everyone else is too preoccupied with the game to notice. You pick your head up and shift your jaw left to right, right to left. You place the helmet back on your head, lower the cage, and lock the straps.

You put the gloves back on your hands and pick up your stick. Your teammates skate toward the bench looking for a line change. You stand up and toss your legs, one by one, over the boards.

You are back in the game.

You return to the locker room between periods. Your head is lost in a fog and you feel overwhelmed with confusion. Even the simplest task of drinking from a water bottle seems too complicated. You squeeze the bottle but the stream of water pours down your chest. Frustrated, you throw the bottle to the floor. Your teammates laugh. They hold up their hands in front of you and ask, “How many fingers am I holding up?” They are all smiling.

You are not smiling.

You’re back on the ice again and battling for possession of the puck. You try your hardest but you can’t seem to get anything done. You feel frustrated, don’t you? You feel so frustrated that you want nothing more than to punch the opposing player standing in front of you – so you do. You punch him multiple times, enough to get the attention of the referee who raises his hand in the air. His whistle blows and he escorts you to the penalty box. “Two minute minor, roughing.” No big deal, right?

You stand there in the penalty box watching play develop outside when the box operator tells you to sit down. You don’t want to sit, do you? You shrug him off and pretend he isn’t there. Another man enters the box and tells you to sit. You’re getting angry again, aren’t you? Maybe you should fight them too. You would have but your coach yells at you from over the glass, telling you to follow orders.

You sit down.

The EMT comes over to the bench to pay you a visit. He extends both hands in your direction, offering his middle and index fingers. “Squeeze,” he says. You squeeze his fingers. He shines a light in your eyes. Your coach asks him, “What do you think?” “It’s your call,” says the EMT. Your coach looks you in the eyes, “Ready for the next shift?”

You nod your head.

The fans love it when you go for the bone-crushing, open-ice hits. They stand up and cheer when you lay bodies on the ice. Your coaches love it when you play gritty. They bandage you up when you draw blood on the ice – patching up your chin and dousing your jersey with bleach to remove the red stains. They cheer you on when you get in the face of opponents who antagonize your teammates. You’re out there to watch your teammates’ backs, after all.

You wonder to yourself, “Who is watching my back?”