Banana Curves And Boomerangs.

While growing up in Lawrence Heights my pocket money was always on the light side. Actually, for the most part I never really had any pocket money. I never got an allowance when I was a kid and it never really bothered me. I had everything I needed, but not everything I wanted. I always had the necessities which were a lot more than many other kids growing up in the Jungle had.

I truly was a happy kid; I was content to simply play road hockey outside after school and on the weekends. I literally spent hours upon hours developing the skills that were needed for our weekend games. My mother buying me a new hockey stick was an annual luxury and if I broke it the chances that I was getting a new one anytime soon were not very good. My only option would be to put a plastic replacement blade on the end of my broken stick's wooden shaft.

My new stick would always eventually break and all the kids would use the plastic blades anyway. Some guys would heat them up and put on the biggest banana curve. In our apartment you could always tell when my custom curve was finished. The smell of the bubbling plastic just before I submerged it into our kitchen sink full of cold water left an awful smell.

Many of my mother's oven mitts were ruined, the plastic got too soft and it would stick to the mitt while I was bending the hot blade. Looking back I now realize that I always overheated my blades. The following week the curve would have to be redone if I had a bad game, it surely had to be the blade's fault. 

I mean what else could it be? 

Many guys would grind their blades down to a lethal sharp point right at the tip and those same guys would rarely hit the net when they took a shot. They would shoot from anywhere and everywhere and they were always chasing down their errant shots after the ball sailed over and past the goal.

When my blade got real cold it would crack when slashed by another player's stick. A cracked blade meant a quick repair and another trip up to the stove. This time I was just heating up the plastic and smoothing the crack together with a butter knife. This repair usually was just a temporary fix and I would need to buy another blade in the near future.

I remember there were two brands of blades that were very popular and you could buy them both at the Canadian Tire store. Cooper made the Superblade; it was white and sold for about a buck. The best blade though was the Mylec. I remember Phil Esposito who was one of the best players in the NHL during the early 70's endorsed the blade. The beige coloured Mylec blade sold for about two bucks.

I was hit a few times by a spinning Superblade that would fly off a shaft and resemble a boomerang flying through the cold winter air. What made the Mylec blade better was it came with two little screws that held the blade securely onto the shaft. Therefore no boomerangs with the Mylec blade.

The same company also sold the orange street hockey ball and because the ball did not bounce it was perfect for road hockey. The problem was that the ball got very hard on cold winter days and it would leave a nasty welt on whatever body part it struck. Tennis balls were softer and I developed better eye hand coordination because they were always bouncing. Tennis balls also lost their fuzz, got dirty and went from green to grey very quickly easily camouflaging with the pavement or dirty snowbanks. If I recall we probably used both balls equally, but I always preferred the orange hockey ball.

The combination of cold weather, banana curved blades and orange street hockey balls made for many painful afternoon memories. I was hit in the face a few times while doing my Borje Salming imitation sliding on the hard packed snow to block a shot. Although, I sustained most of my welts and bruises on my legs and thighs. 

Road hockey was such great fun and great exercise. We spent hours in the fresh cold winter air and we would play well into darkness when our only light would be a single street light. Many of our games ended when our ball got lost or we could no longer even see the ball. For all of our games we always tried to have two goalies and two real mesh goal nets, but most of the time our goals were just dirty chunks of ice that we banged off a parked car's wheel well.

I never really did develop a booming slap shot because I was always afraid of breaking my stick. I would forever become the playmaker and always looking to make a pass rather than shoot myself. Even in my adult years I still favor a perfect pass to set up a goal rather than scoring a goal myself.

I guess some old habits will stay with me for life and I know that is one habit I will probably never break. 

Even though I can now afford a new hockey stick whenever I need one.