I just want you to know I’m not one of those hockey moms
But sometimes I wish I was.
My daughter’s team was in a hockey tournament recently in Cornwall and alongside the usual pre-game superstitions (mostly her), chips and wine in bed (mostly me) and juicing up the Jambox (both of us), her team made it to the semi-finals of the tournament – a game that they , the Hungry Hippos, sadly lost to hometown rivals, The Ugly Pucklings (the nicknames girls’ hockey teams give themselves is an entirely different blog post).
One of her round robin games saw them play a team from the Outaouais region just across Quebec border from Ottawa. It was not a pretty game. We tied 1-1 but not before our trainer had to tend to two Hippos who’d been checked by girls on this team (girls hockey is non-contact by rule but not always in practice), and saw the opposing team accumulate 8 minor penalties in one game. I’m don’t think my daughter’s team accumulated 8 minor penalties in the entire season last year. To make matters worse, one of their team members accumulated 5 of those penalties, and the coach then saw it fit to nominate her for player of the game. Not only is that bad coaching and parenting, but let’s agree that that is bad everything.
It was one of those games that gives hockey a bad reputation. Thankfully, the game finished with no real havoc and no serious injury.
The havoc started when we got home from the weekend – when I get to talk about my stellar parenting.
I should have just let it go, but I was irked, and the game became the subject of our family dinner conversation on Monday evening.
“You would not believe this team,” I shared with the boys. “Eight penalties in one game! Five to one player! And the coach gives her Player of the Game. Can you believe it?”
My son asked, “ Did you yell at the ref? Did you and another hockey mom go at it?”
That’s when it happened. I faked it. I faked the bad ass hockey mom.
“You bet I did! The refs were totally useless! And then you know what else I did? I stood up and yelled at the other parents. Oh yeah. I gave them a piece of my mind – and a piece of my hot dog. That’s when it really got going. I stood up and screamed “what kind of a goon show is this?” and one of the other hockey moms told me to shut up and then the coach of their team told me to shut up. Then, this other hockey mom and I got into it in the stands. Then you know what I did? I spit on her. Oh yeah. I spit on her. That b!tch was asking for it, you know it!”
They stared at me.
They know I did nothing like that at all. *Sigh*
“Well … well,” I stammered, “I wanted to do!” I said. “I’m totally going to do it next time.”
I’m such a rebel … in my dreams ….
“Ice cream, anyone?”