"You play hockey? On ice?"

Humans mark milestones as a way to honor the past, to pause for reflection.  Not all anniversaries deserve fanfare; some pass with barely a whisper.  It's often just as well, as we tend to over romanticize the past.  In the next few paragraphs, please permit me to do just that.  Sometime this month, I have no idea the actual date, marked the twentieth anniversary of the end of an era that only a handful of people even care about.  Twenty years ago this month, a tiny rag tag recreation league ice hockey team played its last game together ending one of the most formative times of my life. 

You wouldn't think playing on a beer league ice hockey team could have such a profound effect on someone, but playing for KNK Vending (just a sponsor nice enough to foot the bill for jerseys) actually changed my life.  Two friends, Matt and Eddie, pushed me to join the ice hockey team they were forming.  I was reluctant.  I could barely skate and, though I enjoyed the sport thoroughly, I wasn't trained in the intricacies of the game.  I was also shy and afraid to try new things.  In the team's second season, my buddies pushed enough that I signed up, hoping to have some fun.  I am forever grateful to Matt and Eddie, for it was some fun that we had. 

On the ice we eventually found success.  We were a bunch of inexperienced young players with some older veterans sprinkled in.  We were brash, fast, and took ourselves way too seriously.  The other teams hated us.  What we lacked in skill and experience, we made up for with fitness and hustle.  We became better the more we played together.  We wanted to win and fought (sometimes literally) hard to do so.  We attacked each Saturday night game with a Stanley Cup-sized thirst that, in retrospect, seems quite silly.  Not that I would change a thing.  Though we never won a championship, we had a blast turning the stodgy rec league on its ear for a few seasons. 

Personally, playing hockey benefited me greatly.  I found an athletic endeavor at which I was actually halfway decent.  I quickly became the fittest I have ever been.   I learned that mucking and grinding, winning the puck battle along the boards is about the most fun you can have with your clothes on.  I figured out that nothing is quite as refreshing as an ice cold beer in the locker room after a game.  Hockey gave me confidence; my wife used to tell me she wished I was half as aggressive in real life as I was on the ice.  Saturday night, and the chance to skate freely, was often the highlight of my week. Of course, the hockey itself was just a springboard.

The real gift hockey gave me was my teammates.  Without responsibilities like families and careers, we basically ate, slept, and skated hockey (and beer and tacos).  We held team meetings that were equal parts strategy sessions and beer-fueled hijinks.  We sported team jackets and held Wacky Hat Nights.  We played midnight street hockey on any well-lit tennis court or parking lot we could find.  We hurled terrible insults and nicknames at each other; the more vile the better.  We raced shopping carts, carried each other out of bars, and laughed as much as I have ever laughed.  Friendships grew and were strengthened.  Stories were born, stories that make our wives roll their eyes as we tell them again and again.  Yes, my teammates, and the silly shit we got into, the fun we made for ourselves, was the real gift of KNK Vending.

Sometime that March, after we lost our final game playing together, I closed my eyes for a moment.  When I opened them twenty years had passed.  During those years, some of us played together again, sometimes even against former teammates.  Many of us have "retired", but remain friends.  We have stood in each other's weddings and consoled at funerals.  We have watched our kids grow, some even playing the game we love.  Some of us still play, no doubt being harried by some young punks like we used to be.  Circle of life and all that.

Twenty years after peeling off that red sweater for the last time, we don't see each other often enough.  We mostly talk through Facebook or texting.  Hell, some of us don't even speak anymore.  And that's okay, times change.  What will never change, for me at least, will be the fondness with which I look back on that era, or the love I have for those guys.  Happy Anniversary, Gentlemen.