Hockey is a Cult

As I was trying to think of a catchy title for this post I thought of how we are often referred to as “those hockey people”. I looked up a few definitions of a cult and if you take out the religious aspect the definition I found was: A small group that is not part of a larger and more accepted group that has beliefs regarded by many people as extreme or dangerous. I found this amusing. Some of my non-hockey friends have called me crazy for taking my kids out of school for a hockey tournament.  In addition, hockey people won’t ever admit it to anyone outside of the group, but they have all at one time or another down-played their kids’ injury to their family doctor to get clearance to play. (not me, though) Extreme? Dangerous? Nah, in our “small group”  what happens in the compound, I mean at the rink, stays at the rink.

Since I started my blog to share ideas about how to use and display collections and vintage treasures, this post is about a work in progress at my house. It is our broken hockey stick collection. Yes, I am now stooping to the level of decorating with trash.

If you are not part of this cult let me explain. I married a man who has played hockey his whole life. He was so happy when we had kids because he knew some day he would fulfill an item on his bucket list. He was finally able to coach a hockey team.

My son’s first hockey skates are the same size as his first white leather Stride Rite walkers.  Here in Michigan the ice rinks have little skating frames that resemble a miniature version of granny’s walker. Reason being, the kids are put on skates so young  they aren’t even that good at walking yet.  Luckily my son loves the game as much as my husband.  He is 17 and now plays for his high school.

My husband is in his 50s and still plays hockey on what’s known as “the beer league” A bunch of middle aged men get together a few times a week and play hockey. It’s a tight group. The wives are friends. Many of the kids have played on a team together at one time or another.  We have vacationed together (stayed in hotels for hockey tournaments). We have spent holidays together (gone out to eat during Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas for holiday tournaments). It has been our second family.

We live and breathe hockey in this house. Unfortunately, it happens to be a pretty expensive sport. Some hockey parents even choose their ice bill in lieu of a college fund.  They can’t afford both. What is an ice bill, you ask? It is a monthly bill hockey parents make so their kid can be on a hockey team.  It is about the equivalent of our gas bill, no; our electric bill, no; about the equivalent of our cell phone bill for four ipones with unlimited everything.

In addition to the ice bill comes the equipment: a really big bag full of pads for shoulders & elbows, guards for necks & shins,  helmets & jocks for the beans, skates and a stick or three.  With the money we paid for our son’s last pair of skates we could have purchased a decent used car. Again, if you are not in the cult called hockey you might think I am making this up or crazy.

The last piece of equipment I want to mention is the stick.  Hockey players are very particular about their stick, how they tape it, how often they tape it, what curve they use, what strength they use. I think there is a university in Canada somewhere specifically to study and teach hockey stick engineering & taping. They can cost as much as an ice bill. The player needs spare sticks, game sticks, practice sticks. A stick can be snapped in two in a hot second.

So our wall of broken hockey sticks is a treasure to me.  I could not accept that all those expensive sticks so quickly became trash, I just couldn’t. Some were broken in the beer league. Some were broken in a practice & some in a game. Some were donated by I’m pretty sure future NHL players. It is my shrine to the cult called hockey.  It is the most expensive paneling you will ever find. Like my wine cork dart board back drop, I am not going to add it up. Some spots are still empty. As I said, it is a work in progress. I am not in any hurry to fill up those empty spaces. That would mean my husband and son are out shopping to replace a broken stick.