"Ice Capades" - Stephen_Murray's Minnesota W/O
Feb 06 '04
The Bottom Line Try to guess which part is true and which part is fiction!
And, Mr. Murray, what would a Minnesota write-off be without at least one "Tall Tale"???
I think this may be the first Writer's Corner entry to Stephen Murray's 2/07/04 write-off. Although it is biographical, as in most stories from Minnesotans, about 90% is true, the rest is an attempt to make Minnesota loveable. Integrity intact, I've posted it in the fiction humour (or as we write in Minnesota, Humor) section:
ICE CAPADES
Everybody in Minnesota can ice skate. If you grow up there, and can’t skate, there are about 6-7 months of the year where everyone of those 10,000 lakes is frozen, and you’re really missing out. It’s so cold in Minnesota that the state pastime, hockey, can’t really be enjoyed in the out of doors. So, even little towns have built themselves arenas or indoor skating facilities where (you guessed it) the ice is artificial. Yup, all that frozen real water, and we’re paying to skate on pretend water….it’s what we do. Hockey is so popular for kids of all ages, it’s not unusual to have to take your youngest progeny (they usually start at 3) to hockey practice at 6 a.m. That’s the only time the ice is free.
It’s hard to be uncoordinated, because you just aren’t going to be able to ice skate very well. Such was my childhood.
Now, I could still play goalie in the hockey games, because, believe me, I could flop and fall on the ice very well. (Stop right there. Who allowed girls to play hockey in the 60's? Well, if you were from a town so small that there were only 12 kids in your 5th grade class, you had to let the girls play in order to have enough players for a real hockey game!) I just had to improve my timing and learn to fall when the puck was coming towards the net. The more spectacular the fall, the better chance of stopping the puck with some part of your anatomy. I liked to use my face mask the best.
It was awkward though, because I couldn’t get to the goal to play without falling down. Teammates had to “skate” me back and forth, one on each side. If they forgot me at the end of a period and headed for the bench or locker room without me, I was stuck. Crawling to the side was not an option. Better to pretend that you wanted to improve your skills during the break, by moving around in front of the net, falling periodically, as though you were practicing saves.
Another problem was when the game was ending, and your team was one goal behind. Then it was common practice to “pull” the goalie, and leave the net empty, while another “winger” joined the fray, trying to outman the other team and put the tying goal in their net. The extra “winger” couldn’t get on the ice until the goalie got off. See the problem? It took me 20 minutes to skate off! By then, the game was over.
So, I got asked to play on intramural teams mostly because I was a good joker and my mom would bake great treats for the team. At least I belonged.
What a relief to go to college in an even more northerly frozen tundra, in Grand Forks, North Dakota. A lot of Canadian hockey players ventured 40 miles south of the border to play, bringing one of their own extra-curricular sports, broomball, with them. As I recall, the rules were the same as hockey in broomball, but the game was played with fierce, hard sports brooms instead of hockey sticks, and a small, hard ball in place of the puck. And, most importantly for the skating-impaired, you played broomball in boots, not skates.
North Dakota was somewhat less cosmopolitan about its winter sports than Minnesota, and indoor arenas did not proliferate. We played broomball on the frozen creek that ran through campus, optimistically entitled, the English Coulee. The Coulee froze over around the end of September, as I recall, and the ice broke around the first of May, or so.
A whole lotta broomball was played whenever we could shovel the endless feet of fallen snow from the surface. Disorganized broomball is generally for both sexes, and teams were mixed. In our games, girls could tackle members of the opposite team, but guys were restricted from tackling and could only apply body blocks, like in hockey. Everyone had so many layers of clothing on to keep warm that big falls on the cold, cruel ice usually didn’t injure you. At last, my true competitive nature could shine! Without those skate blades, I had incredible abilities to stay vertical on the ice. Small and somewhat quick, I could elude body blocks and tackles, and, and expert on goalie-flopping, I could usually place the ball in the net, away from the goalie body parts.
My career in broomball ended on the cold February day that I caught not one, but two elbows to the face. Through my knitted face mask, the blows were hard enough to succeed in blackening both of my eyes. I'm sure those blows were landed by accident. The fact that I did the most trash talking ever used in the history of broomball could not have been a factor.
That evening was a big, formal fraternity party in honor of Valentine’s Day that I had been invited to by one of my tamer, non-broomball boyfriends; this particular lad and I were just getting serious. I thought I might even get “pinned” that evening.
As was the custom, pictures of the individual couples in their finery and corsages, were taken. My date was understandably not enthusiastic about the shot of us that we got later that month. A handsome young Swede in black tux, escorting a blonde princess in a rose pink gown, complete with two matching shiners! I am smiling, he was not. I was not invited back to any more SAE functions.
Trying to choose between my sports fame and my social agenda was tough. Finally, I gave in. I abandoned broomball and took a fencing class. That’s right, they actually allowed me to handle swords and epees. The results of that particular adventure need to be kept secret at this time to protect the noble nature of the sport of fencing. At least I could get dates again.
The moral? No sacrifice is too great for romance!
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Member: Lynne Quido
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