Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Heard!” a chorus chants out.
“Form up in lines, starting on that goal line, ten across, six deep. Stand with people you don’t know if possible.” The kids scatter to follow my instructions, and as they find a place along one end of the ice, I keep going. “Elevated shuffle to the far red. Hips square, full blade, keep it tight with no excess energy expenditure. This is not the time to show off. We’re warming up. Go on my call.” The kids know what to do because most of them have done this since they could walk. “Go.”
The first group of ten starts down the ice, their back skate driving them forward over and over again.
I watch the line for issues, then call out “go” again for the next group.
Once everyone’s to the far end, we repeat the drill coming back using their other leg.
“Good. Now shuffle push to blue on your pads. Keep your chest up. Go.”
The kids drop to one knee and do the same single leg push but in a kneeling position on the ice, and then repeat it back.
I look over to DeBoer, who thankfully is watching the kids critically. I was a little afraid he’d be too busy on his phone to actually help, but so far, he’s been helpful in planning the drills with me ahead of time and as a second set of eyes this morning.
We split the group in half, each of us taking a smaller section for the next drill, which is all about keeping their eyes on the puck. Once I’ve got a circle of kids stretching from board to board, I skate into the middle, the same way DeBoer does with his group. But this is no dance show-off moment for me and him to battle it out. We drop a puck to the ice and without warning, shoot it off toward a kid at random.
DeBoer’s intended kid blocks his shot, and DeBoer waves for him to return it with a stiff nod of approval. My kid lets the puck go sailing past him. “Get it,” I tell him, and he skates off to retrieve the puck. “Always be ready,” I tell him when he returns, and the kid pops into position.
We keep at it, hitting the puck to kids for nearly five minutes while they rapidly respond by blocking with their sticks, dropping to butterflies, and focusing on all the ways the puck might come at them. DeBoer is especially good at sending the puck flying sideways, which keeps the kids on their toes because he doesn’t even look at them before it’s sailing between their legs. He’s a damn good goalie, but apparently he’s got some offensive skills I haven’t seen him use before.
After the kids think they’ve figured us out, DeBoer and I switch places, pausing to high-five one another at the center.
“Look out for the one in pink and black,” he tells me. “He sends it back like a rocket.”
I chuckle, eyeing the kid. “Thanks. Little man can handle more than you’d think. Don’t go easy on him.” I watch DeBoer’s eyes find the smallest kid in my group. He’s got to be at least seven years old to have signed up, but he’s tiny even in his full pads and gear so I sent him a couple of easy shots at first, thinking I’d be nice. But the kid’s form is perfect, and he’s got good instincts that held true when I sent harder shots his way too.
We go for another five minutes in our new groups, challenging the kids in new ways and encouraging them as they make good saves and tough misses.
After that, DeBoer and I take the kids through more drills, working on butterfly to recovery quickness, T pushes, and sliding until they’re all panting, sweating, and chugging water in exhaustion. But there are smiles all around. They know they’re getting better.
These kids love hockey the way I did when I was their age. The way I still do now.
Actually, DeBoer is smiling too.
I never really think about the fact that he’s a younger version of myself. When I joined the Moose, I was taking over for a retiring player so there was no rivalry, but the first team I played on, I was the backup goalie, the same way DeBoer is. I wonder if the main goalie, Jakobsen, felt as threatened by me back in those days as I do by DeBoer now. Did he hate me simply because I was a threat to his position? I try to remember if he was rude or dismissive to me, but I can’t think of a single time he was. In fact, Jakobsen taught me a lot, and I looked up to him as an idol in those early days.
A sense of shame washes over me.