Banana Curves And Boomerangs.

I remember while I was growing up in the Lawrence Heights housing project that my pocket money was always on the lighter side. Actually, for the most part I never really had any pocket money. I didn't get 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 seemed to have the necessities which were a lot more than many other kids growing up in the Jungle had.

I was a happy kid; I was just content to simply play road hockey outside after school and on the weekends. I literally spent hours upon hours after school developing the skills I needed for our weekend games. Having no money meant that my mother buying me my one annual new hockey stick was a luxury and if I broke it the chances that I was getting a new one anytime soon were not very good. My only other 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 used the plastic blades anyway. Some guys would heat them up and put on the biggest banana curves. In our apartment you could always tell when my custom curve was finished because the smell of the bubbling plastic just before I submerged it into our kitchen sink full of cold water had an awful smell.

Many of my mother's oven mitts were ruined since the plastic got too soft and it would stick to the mitt while 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 all over again if I had a bad game. Afterall, it had to be the blade's fault, what else could it be? 

Some guys would grind their blades down to a lethal sharp point at the tip. It was those same guys who would rarely hit the net when they took a shot. They would always shoot from anywhere and everywhere and they were always chasing down their errant shots when the ball would sail far beyond and past the goal.

When a blade got real cold it would crack when slashed by another player's stick. A cracked blade always meant a quick repair and another trip up to the stove, but 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 have 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 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 pitched the blade. The Mylec was my favorite and the beige coloured blade sold for about two bucks.

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

The same company also sold the orange 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 nasty welts on whatever body part it struck. Tennis balls were softer and 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, although I always preferred the orange hockey ball.

The combination of cold weather, banana curves and orange hockey balls made for many painful afternoon memories. I was hit in the face many 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 winter air and would play well into darkness when our only light would be a single street light. Many times 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.

When I was a kid I never really did develop a booming slap shot because I was always afraid of breaking my stick. I would forever become the playmaker 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.