Thread: On re-discovering the joys of Hockey

When I was much, much, younger I played hockey twice a weekend for my local team. I wasn't much good, but I did a little more than make up the numbers. The social side of the club was brilliant, and then in 1986 it all came to an end as I headed off to Uni, as a not so mature student, for three years of drinking alleviated by some reading in the Uni Library.

On leaving Uni, I re-entered the world of work moving around England and Wales regularly, but never settling anywhere long enough to take up the game again.

Then last week-end, the local team - far far away from my original club - were packing bags to raise club funds. I recognised a couple of faces from the village pub and fell into conversation. It turns out that they train at the local leisure centre for two hours on a wednesday evening, and I would be more than welcome if I were to turn up.

So, last wednesday, having retreived my sticks from the back of the loft, having bought some new sports kit, and having checked my dignity in at the door, I turned up.

I last did any serious phys in 1986 (but in my defence I have kept reasonably fit through roadie-ing and clambering up and down 40' storage tanks), and so it was with some trepidation that I waited to see what was in store.

First hour - some gentle exercises and stretches to get us warmed up - no real problems. Even got to reminisce with the other old farts about playing on real grass (and shale if we were playing on the "all-weather"). Then we moved on to skills and drills, and I was amazed to see that I could still stop a fast moving ball, remembered the difference between pushing and hitting the ball. I was even more amazed to find that I could still do both.

By this time I was starting to work up a bit of a sweat, but felt very comfortable. I was even - God forbid - enjoying it.

Then we hit the second hour.

Mens squad split into three elements. Quick matches across the width of the pitch. First to score wins, winner stays on. We're in blue, win the first, lose the second - off for what feels like all of thirty seconds, and then back on. We didn't come back off.

After thirty minutes of running around like a loon with a stick, I would have gladly walked off for a bottle of beer. After thirty five I would have crawled off for a bottle of water. As it was I stayed on, and on, and on.... well you get the picture.

Finally the whistle went for the torture to end.

Had a quick chat with the club captain. I had enjoyed myself thoroughly, and was handed an application to join - I obviously hadn't upset anyone too badly.

Went off and had a shower, and headed home. Stopped off for a pint in the village. Curry and a lager for tea and so to bed.

0015, my right knee decides that it's going to throb like a love-child all night and encouraged the skin graft on my right shin to do the same. No sleep for me until roughly 0545.

As I'm currently on leave I get a lie-in, until 0845 when the builders arrive. Then I'm up like a thing that gets up very quickly, and spend the day doing boy type things - getting the brews, going to the builders merchants, spending money hand over fist - all the while I'm not feeling too bad. I don't feel that familiar ache in the base of the spine that comes from running around for 80 minutes bent double, I can happily climb stairs.

After nearly a quarter of a century, I'm not as unfit as I thought I was.

My body was being sneaky.

This morning the alarm went off, I threw off the duvet turned to Mrs Fingerz and uttered the words "Darling, when you go into town today, can you pop into Body Shop and by me a new one. This one's broke"

I'm going back on wednesday though.

Copied from blogs (original entry) - post comments here.

The hardest part about playing hockey is telling your dad that your gay

Did he take it badly?

haha, fair play lad

In fairness i can't say anything as i've never played the sport.