There is likely some truth to the persistent mythology that young boys growing up in northern climates play hockey. This was certainly true of most boys I knew, myself included.
Unlike most boys, however, I wasn’t very good at it. But then, hockey was about more than just playing on a team, winning the city championship, getting up during those long, long winter mornings in the pitch black and thirty below outside for a 6am practice; it was also about learning how to cope with a troubled home life, bullies, betrayals, rejection, friendships, everything in the world outside.
Some of the kids I played hockey with came from the other side of the tracks. The one rule that superseded all others was that they never allowed you to feel sorry for them.
So in taking a breather from the NFL, I have this: it started as a loo ...
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Article written by Dave Trembley