Say Hello To Mom For Me

I used to play minor hockey, from the ages of 12-17. I was a goalie, and at first I sucked. I was on a team where I had become the whipping boy, bullied in the locker room by some members of my team. I remember being pinned down and having water dumped on me a bunch, pucks shot at my back at practice, not fun.

The main facilitator was someone named Spencer. I don’t recall doing anything to be the source of his bullying, but there it was. We barely lost a game all year, partially because our team was stacked, and partially because I was becoming a pretty solid goalie. But our locker room rapport was obviously terrible. No team cohesion, and it all was to do with me being bullied, constant bullshit.

For whatever reason, I decided to not mention it to anyone and just sucked it up. In hindsight, I probably should have told the head coach, and things might have changed.

Anyways, fast forward to the next season. Rep tryouts happened, and I was one of the 4 goalies to make the cut. Spencer failed to make the cut. He was in house and I was in rep. Sweet, fuck off and fuck you.

Our rep team was awesome. I got along with everyone, and we went undefeated. I played the best games of my life, and made memories that’ll last forever.

In the break between the regular season and the playoffs, one of our defensemen got injured. This meant that Spencer started “AP-ing” with us, which is basically a tryout. Comes to practices, does drills. No games until proven. But this was still a problem.

He would shoot pucks at me with my back turned. That usually is a good way to piss a goalie off, ask anyone. He would come down for shots during drills and aim at my head. I continued to ignore it.

After one fateful practice, the players are in the locker room changing. I wasn’t in the best of moods during this particular week, as my mom had attempted suicide several days previous. She was in the hospital’s psych ward. Somehow, Spencer had found out about this, and said the single worst thing he could have said.

“You’re such a shitty, goalie, your mom is going to try and kill herself again.”

Everyone in the locker room froze, and looked at me. Blood pulsing in my head. I remember focusing on untying my laces, but it was impossible because my hands were shaking so much.

Spencer is done changing, so he gets up and leaves. Everyone goes back to their business, and I calm down enough to shower and clean up and head out myself.

When I left the arena, my father was waiting in his car, parked in the fire lane 15 feet from the entrance. Between the car and me was Spencer. He has a stupid fucking grin on his face, and says, “say hello to mom for me.”

I immediately drop my hockey bag. I’m holding my goalie stick in my hands. I don’t even recall making a decision. I wound up, and with two hands, swung the stick like a baseball bat as hard as I could into his side. It made a fantastically satisfying thump. I had hit him with the meaty part of the stick.

Spencer turtled and hit the ground, and I told him to simply shut the fuck up. I picked up my hockey bag, opened my dad’s trunk, and threw everything inside. When I hopped in the passenger side, my father remarked, “That was a bit of an over-reaction, don’t you think?” And we drove off.

Later that day I received a phone call from a very irate Spencer’s father, telling me Spencer was in the hospital with internal bleeding, broken ribs, and a lacerated spleen.

So I guess I did over-react.

Oh and a final note, that was good enough for 18 months probation and 100 hours of community service.