The Ol’ Men’s Leaguer has been thinking a lot about bodychecking in the men’s league lately. I guess I should call it “pretend checking” because we’re playing “no check,” yet lately I’ve endured a pretty loose interpretation of “no.”
Since I seem to be aging at an alarming rate, something like a year every 12 months, I’ve become more and more frightful of a few dudes running into me during our B-League tilts.
I enjoy no-check. I want no-check. In fact, the ol’ Men’s Leaguer sets a goal at the beginning of every season: never fall down, ever, all season.
Still, most nights I can’t get through a period without at least two harrowing fake-check moments. It’s scary. It’s almost like they just don’t care that I’m wanting to: A.) get to work tomorrow, and B.) see my family again. What is it with these guys? Who are these checkers?
I’ve come up with a list of the basic types of the men’s league menace.
The TV Toppler
They see it on the Versus channel Tuesday night and they’ve just got to mimic it on the ice Wednesday night. Out west they want to be Dustin Brown of the Los Angeles Kings. He’s sooooooo cool, with his board-slamming style. In Dallas it’s the Stars’ Brenden Morrow, down South it’s Jordin Tootoo of the Nashville Predators and up north you’ve got plenty of choices, from the Ottawa Senators’ Chris Neil to the New York Rangers’ Sean Avery to the Pittsburgh Penquins’ Gary Roberts to (heading west) Darcy Tucker of the Toronto Maple Leafs and Jerome Iginla of the Calgary Flames. Hall of Famer Mark Messier made his name playing hard and “damn it” they will too.
The Fitness Freak
All hustle no skate. Here’s the guy who took up hockey maybe two years ago and he attacks the sport like he attacked his last seven triathalons. He goes hard all the time. You’re the first man to a loose puck but Fitness Freak is coming hard. You get there and brace yourself because this hard body has no idea what skate maneuver to make to either slow down or miss you. The Fitness Freak is too “spirited” to be allowed in the C League yet dangerous in the B League.
Ranger Rink Rat
He was a high school player but it was on a Michigan or Wisconsin high school state finalist squad so he played fourth line and he has A LOT of unfinished business. He thinks he shoulda played Division 1 in college. Pride is his weapon and he’ll use it on any unsuspecting guy out for a night of passing the puck with his friends. After the Rink Rat shoves you in the corner and steals the puck, don’t try to go get it back. He knows just where to slash your wrist.
Last week the ol’ men’s leaguer had one of those menacing checker moments. I was at my usual left wing spot and had just taken a pass up the left boards and was heading gingerly into the attacking zone. I stopped just past the blue line to make my usual review of the situation, which normally lasts slightly longer than the average NHL shift.
I was about to feed my young centerman when here came The TV Toppler. He arrived with a fury, clearly trying to pin me to the boards. I lightly stepped out of the way, poked the puck through his legs and as I started to step around him I could feel lumber on the back of my leg.
I looked back to see The Toppler falling backward to the ice, yet still swinging away with his Easton close to my all-important face and neck. I passed the puck and looked back at him and said, “Dude, you gotta calm down.” Believe it or not, here’s what he said: “It won’t be youuuuuu. You won’t score again!”
Flattering, I thought. He apparently had planned this. He had targeted me and I felt flattered. I was having a normal night at that point – maybe a goal and a couple of assists – and it struck me as kinda cool that The Toppler wanted to play Zdeno Chara (Boston Bruins) to my Chris Drury (Rangers), Jay Bowmeester (Florida Panthers) to my Vincent Lecavalier (Tampa Bay Lightning).
From now on I’m going to see things a little differently. Perhaps each whack or knee I feel in the course of what is supposed to be a mellow evening is, in fact, a message from the other team’s bench. They’re talkin’ about the Ol’ Men’s Leaguer over there, and I ought to expect and enjoy the consequence of my brilliant offensive game.
More likely, they just want to hit something fat and slow. That’s me. The Men’s Leaguer.
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