Hockey makes you happy

ST. IGNACE, Michigan, February 2020 – They came from all around the Midwest, from all across Canada and – as beer-league hockey goes – from outposts as remote as Florida, Texas and California. More than 1,000 strong they were, seven-man (and women) teams for a mammoth four-on-four pond hockey tournament on the nearly 30 Zamboni-ed rinks on the northern banks of Lake Huron.

I was invited by the event’s organizers in this enchanting Upper Peninsula community to spend a few days mixing with the skaters, their families and the legion of fans who come less for the games and beer and more for the camaraderie.

I’ve been around this sport a lot over the last 35 years, covering games on three continents, and I left more in love with it than I’d ever imagined. That struck me like a thunderbolt as I watched skaters come off the ice after their games, headed for the warming tent and a cold Labatt’s – the Canadian brewery that sponsored the event.

What occurred to me on the first couple of days when the windchill hovered around zero or below was that I couldn’t tell the winners from the losers. Everybody, and I mean every single competitor, left the ice beaming. For three memorable days, St. Ignace led the planet in rosie-cheeked, nose-running smiles.

And it hit me: Hockey just makes you happy.

Whether they play it, or their kids play it, or they follow the game at any level from Mini Mite to the National Hockey League, they all behave as though they share a secret that the rest of the world will never understand or appreciate – that ice hockey is the best damned sport on Earth. Especially when it’s played outdoors on a pond, whether it’s something that dad does every winter with a hose in the backyard, or on the black ice of a frozen lake, makeshift rinks surrounded by snowbanks, with a small target at either end serving as the goal.

Behind a table covered with books in the warming tent, I had the pleasure of meeting and speaking with many of the skaters, their family members and fans.

A couple of guys came up curious about the book, wondering what it was about. I was nonplussed.

“How can you be here in Michigan playing in this tournament and not know anything about The Russian Five?” I asked.

“Well, we’re from Kentucky,” one of them said. That explained it. I asked about their background playing the game.

“We just love it,” the guy said. “We’re not very good at it, but we’re good at beer. And bourbon.”

Turns out there were three teams from Kentucky in this tournament. One of them played in a championship game on Sunday. Go figure.

On Saturday afternoon, a young couple from Oakland County approached and they started talking about how much they loved the story after seeing the documentary. Now they wanted their own copy of the book. I asked them how they wanted me to inscribe it.

“Make it out to Kendall,” he said.

“Oh sure, great,” I said. “Does Kendall play hockey?”

“No,” he said. “But she will. She hasn’t been born yet, but she’ll be here in about a month.”

I immediately look at the man’s wife, confused.

“Oh no, not me,” she said. “We’re adopting her.”

I began to write, “For Kendall. . .”

And I heard him whisper to his wife: “This will be her first book.”

That’s when I lost it.

But at least I had the presence of mind to ask them if they would pose for a photo with me.

Then I took a little break. Went out into the cold, fighting a stiff wind and snow that was blowing sideways to watch pond hockey on rinks as far as the eye could roam.

Standing there alone, admonishing myself for not wearing a hat, I found myself smiling as I dabbed a little more moisture from my eye.

Yes, I confessed, hockey makes me happy.