Defining a Hockey Player

Take the definitions of "Territoriality" (the pattern of behavior associated with the defense of a territory*) and "Determination" (direction or tendency to a certain end*) and multiply them by 10 to the 12th power and you've barely begun to describe a hockey player.

I like most sports to a degree; however, they're more fun to watch in a group and at the actual event than on t.v. Still, generally speaking, they're ok (except tennis because you can't get rowdy without getting stared at and golf because you'll never convince me it's a sport... unless it's played Happy Gilmore's way).

Hockey, in my humble opinion, goes beyond the mere term "sport". In most sports you have levels of "fan-dom", from the fanatics who paint their bodies and run around mostly naked in blizzards to those on the other end of the spectrum. The ones who are only there for something to do or to hang out with friends. With hockey, there's no real in-between, it's either/or. Either you love it Or you hate it (with an occasional "psycho-fan" thrown in just for good measure).

Moving from fans to players, you have men a breed apart (women, too, but I'm writing this so we'll stick to the masculine). Off-ice, behind the scenes and away from the arena you have (for the most part) some of the biggest marshmallows on earth. Men who love kids, who go out of their way to help others and be kind. Men who try to give back to the community they live and work in.

Don't get me wrong, hockey players are not saints. They are very human, but the difference from on the ice to off is dramatic in the extreme. Think Dr. Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde. Mr. Nice Guy to Wouldn't-Want-To-Meet-Him-On-A-Dark-Night-With-George-Foreman-At-My-Back.

For example, you have **Hank (as in "Hank" from the movie "Me, Myself & Irene") who, off-ice, is quiet, friendly, easy going, almost the type you expect to find sitting off to one side and "people-watching". Yet, on the ice, he becomes a rocket with an extra "go-gear" and an attitude. You can hit him once, maybe twice (if you can catch him) but then he goes on the hunt. The fans will roar their approval as Hank shows a member of the opposing team what it feels like to be caught between an immovable object (usually the wall) and an irresistible force.

I'm not sure what motivates one to be a hockey player. Granted, for the fan there's great excitement; the high speed of each play, the sudden break away and rush on goal (ours or theirs), the mounting of tensions as a player tries to get under an opponents skin. But, what makes the player want to play?

For the player, he's chasing a small piece of frozen galvanized rubber (often referred to as "the Biscuit") while five other guys as big or bigger than him try to get in his way, take the puck or knock him down (sometimes even out). And the goalie is even crazier! When a player shoots the rock-hard "biscuit" at his net, does he duck (as any sane person would)? No, he goes out of his way to get IN FRONT of the puck.

Granted, the goalie gets to strap on an extra 20 pounds of protection, but that just means he better be strong enough to still move faster than that 100 mph puck flying at him or he earns nick-names like "Red Light" and becomes a bench warmer or, worse, 3rd string goalie in some lowly bar league.

Is there a difference between major and minor league hockey, you ask? Well, is there a difference between the local TWA airliner and the Concorde?

My feeling is that there is more drama in the minors (remember, I'm writing this from an entirely biased point of view). You have young men working to establish themselves and reach the majors, former major leaguers fighting to continue playing the game they love and some who have a chance to realize dreams they might otherwise never reach.

What about the fighting, you say. Hockey is so violent. Well, yes and no. A player will try all sorts of tricks to "bend", if not actually break, the rules of play. He is trying to get under the skin of an opposing player, to get into his mind and break his focus so his team can get the puck into the net. He will, however, take great exception to those same tricks being pulled on him or his teammates.

The fighting is to remind those who try to take advantage of the limits that certain behavior is not allowed. To enforce the rules when it seems the referee isn't. In fact, it's for this very reason almost every team has one or two players referred to as "Enforcers". This is a very descriptive title, I assure you. The Enforcers' job is necessary, but it goes beyond mere fighting.

An Enforcer also uses his fighting skills to pump up his own teams' esprit de corps. Sometimes, as one Enforcer told me, he will fight simply because he's in a bad mood and an opponent has hit his last nerve. In the case of one particular Enforcer, most opposing players went out of their way to avoid a 2nd confrontation with him. Beller was quiet, but he was deadly with puck or fists (not to mention the occasional can of Red Bull....but, that's an entirely different story).

The Enforcers' final job is protection. The coach will usually assign him to the team's lead player and his job is to stop checks from being cashed at that players' expense. I'd add the goalie to his list of duties, but it's universally understood that, if you mess with the goalie, the whole team will pile on.

Unless you happen to be the size of Frenchy, in which case it only feels like the whole team has piled on. At 6'4" and 220 lbs, Frenchy pretty much covers the net, the crease and any player dumb enough to get too close while trying to rile him.

And dreams are reached.

Ken Baker, as a young man, suffered from a serious and undiagnosed medical condition and was unable to continue playing the game he loved after college. For several years, while living with and hiding the pain and confusion he was in, he buried his love for hockey and worked as a writer.

Once his condition was diagnosed (a tumor on his pituitary gland that forced his body to produce more prolactin than a nursing mother) and treated, his mind turned once more to the game he'd loved and been forced to abandon. Deciding to find out if the dream was gone for good, and urged on by his loving wife Brooke, Ken contacted the owner of the Bakersfield Condors minor league pro-hockey team and proposed the idea of writing a book on minor league hockey from the inside.

Given the go ahead, Ken joined the Condors as their third string back up goalie for the 2000-2001 season and followed them, pillar to post, and putting in grueling hours of practice time (even to joining the team in disgrace when, one night, the coach went Herb Brooks and made them skate wind sprints after a particularly bad game) without ever knowing if he would see the ice except at practice. But Ken never gave up and was finally able to play in his 1st (and only) pro game the last night of the regular season. It was hard, it was painful and it was nail-biting, heart-pounding, hair-pulling edge-of-the-seat action from beginning to end.

Did Ken win his game that night? Well, you'll have to read his book, "They Don't Play Hockey In Heaven", to find out. But I will tell you this, Ken Baker fits the definitions of Determination and Territoriality to a T!
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*Merrim-Webster dictionary
**Nick-names are used to spare me the groans of the players who might recognize themselves.
Ken's book can be found at Amazon.com and BarnsandNoble.com. It is also now available in paperback edition.