Skating Away

Skating Away

by Max Slavin

~1~

I sat on the bleachers and watched as my team lost in
the first round of the State playoffs in my Senior year.
Heart-wrenching to say the least, especially considering
it was probably my last year playing competitive hockey,
to have had to experience an upset like no other in the
last game our team would play that season. Over 14
years of hockey and I would have never expected it to
end like that, staring at disbelief as the skaters funneled

through the door off the ice, speechless as the final
buzzer rang throughout the building.

~2~

I could hear one of my teammates – who unfortunately
also got suspended for the game - storm down the
metallic steps beside me, leaving behind clanging
echoes with each monstruous stomp, muttering to
himself, “It’s not fair. It’s not fair. This is bull…” I

slowly pushed myself up from my seat, nearly falling
back down as my legs went numb, and I made my way
around the boundary of the ice back to our locker room.

~3~

Each step I took was guiding my further and further
away from my future as an athlete in the best sport in
the world. I took it all in, shuddering at the thought

of never seeing another scoreboard with my team’s
name on it; never stepping onto the ice for warmups

with the boys; never playing another game again.

~4~

14 years before that brutal loss, my dad had taken me
out to my first hockey practice at the ripe age of four.

I still have the tiny skates I used to wear stored
somewhere in a box in our garage, size 2. It's
miraculous to see how much a player – or person, for
that matter - could see for themselves the changes
that occurred over such a long period of time, just by
looking at an old pair of skates. For me it was
different, because if anyone would’ve asked the first
thing that came to mind when they mentioned my
name, my family would be the first to say “hockey”

without hesitation.

~5~

The sport had been with me for so long, from skating
to watching my hometown NHL team win the all-time
greatest trophy in the world three times (not to brag),
and even getting to skate on their home ice for a State
championship. I couldn’t imagine my life without the

game of hockey; what it had done for me over the
years, the person it shaped me to be, and the small
moments that made every game worth the physical

and emotional turmoil.

~6~

For the first few years of my skating endeavors, my
dad elected to be the coach of every team I was on. I
didn’t mind it at first, and I had to admit it was cool
seeing my dad behind the bench with me for every
game. Hockey was like a mutual bond we shared, one
of the rare ones at that, which made it all the more
difficult when I transitioned to another club to play

for, because I knew it meant he wouldn’t be there
beside me during games. I dubbed this time with my
new team “the development years,” because that’s

essentially what it was.

~7~

Those were the years where I knew I had to make the most
of myself, both on and off the ice, to improve every facet of
my game. Every opponent became just another obstacle to
overcome, and every win was one step closer to the ultimate

prize, but with every game, my love for the sport and the
competition grew, because while they were all fairly
unpredictable outcomes, the only thing I knew I could

control was my own game. The lust for competition and
utter dominance was apparent to myself and to my

teammates, and with that came a certain level of intensity
that I put on myself to bring forth for the team, day in and

day out.

Don’t
make me
regret it

~8~

Hockey stopped being a sport for me around the time I was
selected to be a part of the junior varsity team at my high
school. Most of the players on the squad were old friends of
mine that I had played with when I was younger, so being
reunited was a bit reassuring in terms of our overall team
chemistry, but once I made the cut to play varsity the next
year, the whole dynamic of my approach to the game had to
shift. There were about two guys on the team that I had
heard of before joining, compared to the well-known team I
got to play with the year prior. I walked into the coach’s
meeting one-on-one when he made his decision, which was
essentially a cut-to-the-chase version of: “You made the

team. Don’t make me regret it.”

I was casually stunned to say the least, given I wasn’t even
top ten in scoring on the J.V. squad the year before, but I
had to play my cool in front of the coach, at least until I left
the room. All the other players were awaiting their own
individual meetings, but the only person that came into

focus was my new Captain, shooting his arm out and
around the back of my neck and pulling me aside to talk to

me. The hallway came to a hush; the only sound I heard
was us shuffling away from the crowd, the other players’
stares darting at my back. The first thing that came to mind
was thinking, “this guy better not pull a movie cliché and
say something dumb,” as the Captain relaxed his arm and
placed it firmly on my shoulder, almost as to reassure me.

~9~

“D’you make the team?” he asked.
I told him I did, and that I had no idea why. He

shook his head as if to say that wasn’t what I
should’ve been worried about.
“Nervous?”
I confirmed I was.
“Don’t be.”

~ 10 ~

Couldn’t have been more cliché than that. All I was looking
for was a bit of reassurance, someone to tell me that I was
going to be just fine on this team, and there was no chance
I was going to get hurt, or picked on for not being a stud
like everyone else, or god forbid not make any friends on

this team. Looking back on it I was definitely more
paranoid than I should have been about the season, and the
next two for that matter. Getting hurt was just a part of the

game, and I took on any role that my coaches gave me
because I wasn’t playing to be the best player on the ice – I

knew I wasn’t.

~ 11 ~

I was playing to win. In any way I could, I was going
to help give my team the best chance to come out with

a victory, and some days my efforts paid off; other
days, I let the competition get the better of me, but the

drive to win was always there. My Junior year, our
team was the best it had ever been, proving ourselves
by making it to the State finals in the most prestige
rink in Illinois. Coming up short was devastating, but
it seemed like nothing compared to the next season.

~ 12 ~

I was suspended on the last game before the State playoffs
began. Not even five minutes went by in the game and I was
sent to the locker room to sit and wait for its conclusion. Of
course, I knew the suspension meant I wouldn’t be eligible
for the next game, which if we didn’t win the current one,

meant the first game of State. I thought of all of my
teammates I let down, the fans and my parents watching
the game, but most of all I thought of how much it sucked
to be in the position I was right then (and, ironically, how I
was probably going to end up using this moment as the

center point in some school essay in the future - who
would’ve thought).

All this time passed by, probably 15 minutes and I
didn’t move a muscle. I just sat and thought and
regretted, but mostly thought about what got me to sit
in a locker room while my team – my friends – were
leaving their hearts out on the ice. I shrunk my arm
out of the sleeve of my jersey and started to take it off
slowly, just as my dad came into the room, probably
to comfort me, but he didn’t say a word. My jersey sat
in my lap, the team crest staring back at me while I

heard in front of me, “Don’t worry about it.”
Probably the dumbest thing that he could’ve said in
that moment, and I was ready to tell him off. “Don’t
worry about it” he repeated. “Come watch the game.”

~ 13 ~

And there I was, dumbfounded with my mouth open,
looking at an empty locker room not knowing what to
think in that moment. Maybe I shouldn’t have been

thinking about anything. Maybe I shouldn’t have
been nervous about joining the team, or nervous
about playing a playoff game, or nervous about being
suspended; maybe I should’ve dropped my obsession
with competition and just enjoyed playing hockey.

~ 14 ~

I had a lot of regrets throughout my hockey career,
but that’s not necessarily how I would define my
experiences over the past 16 years. I was beyond
lucky to strap on my skates every game or practice,

the smell of rich and sweet hot chocolate permeating
the locker room, as I would get ready to play the

game I loved with pride and passion. No one game or
moment distinguished my success or failure as a

hockey player, but as competitive as I was, or tried to
be at least, my experiences could’ve been more

worthwhile had I taken the opportunity to appreciate
them when they happened.

~ 15 ~

Nonetheless, the game is a part of me, and I got the chance
to see myself grow with it and from it, as a competitive
athlete and now as an appreciative one. The game has
blessed me with countless opportunities and connections

made throughout my life, of which I continue to make and
benefit from. At the end of the day, while the experiences
I’ve had through the game are set in stone, they’ve helped
shape who I am as an athlete and as a person, allowing me
to change my mindset in the future and realize that there is
more success in appreciating the moments than focusing on

the competition surrounding them.