Pete, the happy dog and I were on our morning constitutional when I heard a very familiar noise. It was snowing lightly and the wind was blowing but the noise was unmistakable. As we headed down the street, the noise became clearer. Were my ears tricking me or was that a solitary person skating and shooting pucks on the outdoor rink at North Dale playground?
Sure enough, there he was -- a young man simply going up and down the rink, shooting pucks at an empty net.
The young man lined up half a dozen pucks. One by one, he began rifling them into the unguarded net. There is an unique sound a puck makes when it is hit correctly -- a CRACK that isn't done justice by words.
We chatted for a minute or so. He said he had played hockey as a kid and this was his private workout. Some people run and others get on a bike. This fellow was having a wonderful time skating by himself and shooting pucks past an imaginary goalie.
It reminded me of my high school days when I used to do the same thing on the outdoor rink that was behind the dorm at Assumption. Although it seemed I was out there for hours, it was probably only 20-30 minutes at a time. But each time I shot harder than Frank Mahovlich, skated smoother than Jean Beliveau and had niftier moves than Gordie Howe.
Pete was bored and wanted to get home. I suddenly felt I was intruding on this fellow's private paradise and went on my way. As I did so, I imagined this guy sitting in some boring meeting in the afternoon. I imagined our guy daydreaming as his company's accountant (or was it the CEO?) droned on about something that really wasn't very important. I imagined my guy smiling to himself as he remembered a wonderful half-hour he had spent alone on the ice.
I think I need to get my skates sharpened
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