Monthly Archives: December 2010

Inside the Sin Bin

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I pulled penalty box duty at one of the Boy’s games on the weekend as hockey parents are generally required to do a couple of times a year.  I was lucky to only be tasked with filling in the game sheet and not running the clock. The clock is an odd and unpredictable bit of technology that is a little tough to pick up when you only run it once or twice every twelve months.  Each arena inexplicably has a slightly different clock configuration with a lengthy list of instructions for what should be the most basic of functions.  For example, if you need to add a goal for either the home or visiting team you press Set, then you press “home goal” or “visitor goal”, then you press Yes, then you press plus one. Should this not simply be a one-button process?  Running a clock at a minor hockey game should not require a University degree.

The game sheet, by comparison, is generally a much simpler job as you just need to record any goals, assists or penalties.  The penalty codes are defined on the back of the game sheet; they too are fairly self explanatory (Hooking – HKG, Tripping – TR, etc.)  The challenge in this job comes when you are managing the game sheet for boys ‘ games at the Bantam level or higher, where the number of penalties are directly proportional to the amount of testosterone and adrenaline multiplied by the number of boys on the ice and then further multiplied by the mood of the ref for that particular game.  Prior to the game on the weekend, the head referee asked me if I was familiar with all of the hand signals for penalties.  In retrospect, this should have been my first clue as to the way the game would be called.  The game started pretty quietly with a goal for the home team…a penalty or two for the visitors.  Then the flood gates opened.  Before I knew it the entrance to the penalty box started to resemble the revolving door at the Hilton.  Tripping, hooking, high-sticking, slashing, roughing and even an out of the ordinary kneeing.  The hand signals were flying fast and furious.  My right hand started to cramp up from the excessive writing.  I began to worry about running out of ink in my pen.  Sixteen penalties would be called up until the 0:19 point in the third period, when there was one final flourish.

With the score 4-2 for the home side, the visitors decided to let out their frustrations by roughing up a player in the corner to the right of their net. The roughed up player scrambled to his feet, flinging his arms in self-defence.  In turn, one of his teammates came rumbling in to defend him; knocking an opposing player to the ice and promptly smothering him in a bear hug worthy of a WWE event.  Yet another two players witnessing these antics decided to put in their two cents during the melee.  The referee took out his little notepad and began tallying the damage in terms of the penalties to be allotted.  The net result was three fighting majors and two misconducts totalling 35 minutes in penalties.  Cue more ink from my depleted writing utensil.  Ultimately the fighting majors would also carry nine games in suspensions.  Now one could argue that all of this could have been avoided by more conscientious and fleet of foot linesmen. It was also surmised that perhaps the referee was put in a suspending mood by some catcalls from the stands.  Regardless, the game sheet was in danger of needing an addendum.  I, on the other hand (no pun intended), was in need of a deep finger massage.

 One other small highlight from the game in question was the arrival of the Boy in the penalty box to serve one of the several Interference penalties that were called.  Upon his departure, the Boy said to me “Watch the hit I deliver when I get back on the ice!  If the ref wants interference, he’ll get it all right.”  True to his word, the Boy leapt back on to the rink and proceeded to skate around the opposing teams net to lay a very solid check on a visiting player, leaving him in a heap.  I beamed to my penalty box companion running the clock, “He said he was gonna do that.”

Fast forward about 18 hours to the Devil’s game; another opportunity for me to take a place in the penalty box. This time I decided to put my intellect to the test by taking on the game clock.  In stark contrast to the night before, this Bantam BB mostly non-contact girls hockey game saw my penalty box mate only have to deal with a meagre five penalties in a 2-0 victory for the home team.  I, on the other hand, deftly managed to screw up the clock, when what I assumed was a two minute penalty turned into a four minute penalty.  There was no way I could figure out how to delete and re-enter a penalty, much less correct it – detailed, step-by-step instructions or not.  We would just have to relay the time of the end of the penalty to the coaches via the officials.  Otherwise, this was a relatively quiet game from a score-keeping perspective.  I did get a first hand report that the Devil tallied an assist on one of her team’s two goals.

All in all, I much prefer hurling catcalls, I mean constructive criticism, with the other parents from the stands; making sure, of course, that I properly gauge the mood of the ref and limit the hurling to a justifiable/semi-tolerable amount.  I don’t want some other poor schmuck on the game sheet to blame me for his/her carpal tunnel syndrome.

#imahockeydad

Inside the Sin Bin

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I pulled penalty box duty at one of the Boy’s games on the weekend as hockey parents are generally required to do a couple of times a year.  I was lucky to only be tasked with filling in the game sheet and not running the clock. The clock is an odd and unpredictable bit of technology that is a little tough to pick up when you only run it once or twice every twelve months.  Each arena inexplicably has a slightly different clock configuration with a lengthy list of instructions for what should be the most basic of functions.  For example, if you need to add a goal for either the home or visiting team you press Set, then you press “home goal” or “visitor goal”, then you press Yes, then you press plus one. Should this not simply be a one-button process?  Running a clock at a minor hockey game should not require a University degree.

The game sheet, by comparison, is generally a much simpler job as you just need to record any goals, assists or penalties.  The penalty codes are defined on the back of the game sheet; they too are fairly self explanatory (Hooking – HKG, Tripping – TR, etc.)  The challenge in this job comes when you are managing the game sheet for boys ‘ games at the Bantam level or higher, where the number of penalties are directly proportional to the amount of testosterone and adrenaline multiplied by the number of boys on the ice and then further multiplied by the mood of the ref for that particular game.  Prior to the game on the weekend, the head referee asked me if I was familiar with all of the hand signals for penalties.  In retrospect, this should have been my first clue as to the way the game would be called.  The game started pretty quietly with a goal for the home team…a penalty or two for the visitors.  Then the flood gates opened.  Before I knew it the entrance to the penalty box started to resemble the revolving door at the Hilton.  Tripping, hooking, high-sticking, slashing, roughing and even an out of the ordinary kneeing.  The hand signals were flying fast and furious.  My right hand started to cramp up from the excessive writing.  I began to worry about running out of ink in my pen.  Sixteen penalties would be called up until the 0:19 point in the third period, when there was one final flourish.

With the score 4-2 for the home side, the visitors decided to let out their frustrations by roughing up a player in the corner to the right of their net. The roughed up player scrambled to his feet, flinging his arms in self-defence.  In turn, one of his teammates came rumbling in to defend him; knocking an opposing player to the ice and promptly smothering him in a bear hug worthy of a WWE event.  Yet another two players witnessing these antics decided to put in their two cents during the melee.  The referee took out his little notepad and began tallying the damage in terms of the penalties to be allotted.  The net result was three fighting majors and two misconducts totalling 35 minutes in penalties.  Cue more ink from my depleted writing utensil.  Ultimately the fighting majors would also carry nine games in suspensions.  Now one could argue that all of this could have been avoided by more conscientious and fleet of foot linesmen. It was also surmised that perhaps the referee was put in a suspending mood by some catcalls from the stands.  Regardless, the game sheet was in danger of needing an addendum.  I, on the other hand (no pun intended), was in need of a deep finger massage.

 One other small highlight from the game in question was the arrival of the Boy in the penalty box to serve one of the several Interference penalties that were called.  Upon his departure, the Boy said to me “Watch the hit I deliver when I get back on the ice!  If the ref wants interference, he’ll get it all right.”  True to his word, the Boy leapt back on to the rink and proceeded to skate around the opposing teams net to lay a very solid check on a visiting player, leaving him in a heap.  I beamed to my penalty box companion running the clock, “He said he was gonna do that.”

Fast forward about 18 hours to the Devil’s game; another opportunity for me to take a place in the penalty box. This time I decided to put my intellect to the test by taking on the game clock.  In stark contrast to the night before, this Bantam BB mostly non-contact girls hockey game saw my penalty box mate only have to deal with a meagre five penalties in a 2-0 victory for the home team.  I, on the other hand, deftly managed to screw up the clock, when what I assumed was a two minute penalty turned into a four minute penalty.  There was no way I could figure out how to delete and re-enter a penalty, much less correct it – detailed, step-by-step instructions or not.  We would just have to relay the time of the end of the penalty to the coaches via the officials.  Otherwise, this was a relatively quiet game from a score-keeping perspective.  I did get a first hand report that the Devil tallied an assist on one of her team’s two goals.

All in all, I much prefer hurling catcalls, I mean constructive criticism, with the other parents from the stands; making sure, of course, that I properly gauge the mood of the ref and limit the hurling to a justifiable/semi-tolerable amount.  I don’t want some other poor schmuck on the game sheet to blame me for his/her carpal tunnel syndrome.

#imahockeydad

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Volunteers???

The Devil took to the ice last night in some unfamiliar gear along with two of her other normally non-goalie teammates. As mentioned, her team lost its regular goalie for at least a month to a non-hockey related injury last week and now find themselves scrambling for substitutes.  This is the risk a team runs when it only carries one goalie.  The league in general has a dearth of goaltenders.  As such, the options are limited to beg, borrow or steal from other teams.  This will be the case this upcoming weekend as three potential stand-ins are either playing for their regular teams at the same time or in completely different locations making it impossible for them to lend a much needed, gloved hand.

And so, the coach put out a call for any volunteers who may want to audition for the vacancy between the pipes; whether they had prior experience or not. As they say – desperate times call for desperate measures.

Never one to back down from a challenge or a chance to try something different, the Devil threw her helmet into the ring and said she’d give it a shot.  The last time she tried goal will have been over four years ago in house league, but she threw on the pads and grabbed the over-sized stick with glee.  Once in the net, you could see that while technique was lacking, sheer determination to keep the puck out was present in spades.  I was on the ice for practice and fired a few shots at her along with the other coaches. She naturally flinched and fought the urge to turn sideways on a couple of chest-high blasts.  Shots on the ice were the toughest for her to handle, as they likewise seemed to be for the other two new trainees. We provided all three aspiring backstops with a crash course in net positioning, angles and the basic goalie stance.  The Devil did actually have a pretty good catching hand.  Post-practice we all concurred that the regular goaltender’s job would be safe upon her return. The three volunteers were commended for their efforts. Each had her strengths and weaknesses; particularly in light of a single session.  One of the three has some more recent experience; displaying the most technique, but also letting in her share of “softees” as they all did.

I think my favourite moment happened during a scrimmage at the end of practice. As players fought for a loose puck behind the net, the Devil turned completely around to get a better view of the action. When the puck emerged back out front she had to spin quick while trying to regain her bearings in the crease.  On the way home from the arena she admitted this was her biggest faux pas. She knew it was the wrong move. Instinct to chase the puck took over.  I got a chuckle out of it so it’s all good.

Time and availability will determine who may have to step into the breach and take on the role in an official capacity. The rest of the team for its part will need to likewise step up. They will have to support their fledgling tender, whoever that may be; limiting the number and difficulty of the shots she will face. The team has an opportunity to turn a potential negative into a positive as they have an excellent opportunity to get stronger as a team.  In the meantime, some anxious parents will no doubt be watching a couple of games from behind slightly splayed fingers. I admit that I kinda do and don’t hope their mine.

#imahockeydad