“I didn’t even know that school had a hockey team!”
Those were always the first words out of people's mouths when I told them what my scholarship was for, usually followed shortly thereafter by the questions why hockey? And why Coronado State?
The latter was an easy enough thing to answer; it was because Coronado State University had a Division 1 hockey team for the very first time this year and they were willing to completely waive my tuition in exchange for me playing on it. The first question, however, was not quite as simple. Asking me why I played hockey was akin to asking a normal person why they chose to breathe oxygen instead of carbon dioxide. I play hockey because there is no other option for me. It’s instinctual. It’s one of the things that keeps me going. I don’t just love the sport. I need it. It’s a part of who I am.
My fascination with hockey all started with a cartoon called Rocket Daze. It was one of those nostalgic “extreme sports” animations that only could have existed in the 90s. It was about these kids who lived in California and wore backward caps and big puffy wide-billed sneakers and rode everywhere on their skateboards. It was wild and surprisingly political for a kid’s show. It was pretty much my favorite thing in the whole world. My friends and I were cosplaying TJ and the gang years before cosplay was really a thing.
Anyway, the entire premise of the second season was the crew forming a street hockey team to compete against TJ’s brother’s ice hockey team. After watching those episodes of Rocket Daze about a million times over, I finally worked up the nerve to ask my parents to take me to a hockey game for my birthday. They were more than happy to oblige; the tickets were cheaper than any other sporting event they’d ever been to and even with all three of us going, the cost would be less than hosting a big party.
The day was November 19th. I was newly eight years old and the Arizona Sunspots were playing the Colorado Whales at Kennedy Desert Arena, less than twelve miles away from our house. We were seated in the lower level right behind the Spots’ bench where we could hear every curse word flying around on the ice and see the sweat dripping down the back of everyone’s necks between shifts. The sound of players smashing into the boards was unbelievable and the weight of their giant bodies made the plexiglass tremble all around us. I couldn’t believe that someone could hit people that hard for a living.
During the first intermission, the mascot, Sunny, came over and gave me a high five and got the, admittedly small, crowd to sing me Happy Birthday. Then, right before the second period, the now retired Sunspots captain, Andy McElroy, reached up and tossed me his stick. At the end of the third, the two teams were tied at two apiece and the game went into overtime.
I sat there through the three on three hockey game with my tiny fists clenched and my eyes about ready to pop out of my skull. Anytime I thought for sure that one team was about to score, the other team recovered or shot up the ice and batted the puck away. After the five minutes of overtime were up, there was still a tie and the game went to shootout.
Usually Major League Hockey shootouts are a quick matter of best two out of three, but if nobody scores or each team matches goals tit for tat, then the shootout can go on indefinitely. This particular shootout went on for fourteen rounds. Fourteen! Billy Hammstoy, AKA “The Hammer,” finally won it for the Spots by netting one glove-side on Whales goaltender Big Tony Medina. It was, and still is, one of the coolest things I’ve ever witnessed in real life.
I got suited up and started playing in the junior leagues less than three months later. Turns out, I was really good at it. The rest, as they say, is history.
But that’s a bit too much to say on my first meeting with someone, especially here in this state. Despite being home to both a major league and several minor league hockey franchises, trying to sell an ice sport in Arizona was never going to be the easiest task. Heck, selling any sport in a state where the bulk of the adult population was originally from someplace else was going to be difficult. The rest of the MLH seemed to agree that the Sunspots were a waste of money, but the organization had gone on long enough now where it’d be weird to just take them away.
So, yeah, usually I just shrug it off and say that I like hockey because it’s a good way to cool off on a hot day, or better yet, I’ll just avoid talking to people altogether. And that brings us into the here and now, where the person I was currently trying to avoid talking to was my mother, Jocelyn--well, not so much avoid talking to as get rid of. Don’t judge me, okay? I was stressed out enough as it was and her worrying, although warranted and appreciated, was only making things worse.
Mom and I were both standing outside of her minivan in the Cactus Jack Parking Garage. It seemed like every inch of this school had a proper title like that. She was patting down my white T-shirt and tugging at my shoulders in a very mom-like way. I had one hand rested on the handle of my single rolling suitcase while the other patted her back halfheartedly.
“Carter, honey, are you sure you don’t want me to go up to your room with you, help you get settled? Are you hungry? You still have plenty of time before the welcoming ceremony. We could go get lunch. Your Aunt Rae says there’s this taco place down here that is just to die for!”
I laughed a little and pulled back.
“Mom, I’ll be fine. It’s college. Not boot camp. I’ll be back home in a few months for Thanksgiving and in the meantime, if you miss me that badly, I’m only a few hours away. You could always come watch a game or something.”
My mom nodded and sniffed, barely holding back her tears.
“You send me your game schedule as soon as you get it.”
I nodded. “I will.”
“And call me every weekend, no matter what.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And don’t do anything stupid.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Mom. When have I ever done anything fun outside of hockey?”
She stood back and considered me for a moment.
“Maybe you should do something stupid then... just once... for the experience.”
This time we both laughed and fell into a genuine hug.
“I’m gonna miss you, baby,” she whispered into my chest.
“I’ll miss you too, Mom,” I admitted. I gave her an extra squeeze to emphasize my point.
We broke apart and stared at each other for a few seconds more before I nodded, picked up my suitcase, and started dragging it away. I made it all the way to the end of the paved corridor before turning back to give her a little wave. She hadn’t moved an inch and she already had tears openly streaming down her face.
She waved back like she was sending me off to die in a war.