Guest Blogger: Appreciating the Bigger Scope of Things by Captain Napalm

Happy Friday, MGF fans! Hope the weekend is filled with fun times and relaxing moments. I'm particularly excited because I have a fresh, new, first timer on Guest Blog! Thanks to Captain Napalm for writing this one! It's a personal favor that I greatly appreciate! Catch everyone on Sunday! - Lily

It was really all so sublime.

I'm fading along the blue line...ready to slide down the line either way...my right, towards the boards if the winger shouldn't get there fast enough...to the middle of the ice should someone foolishly attempt to ice the puck up the gut. My line of vision picks up the movements I need to key on…the opposing defenseman curling behind his own net, wanting to make the safe play...the left winger who's keying off his defenseman, my center man, who's shading the winger, awaiting any possible turnover.

It's like a chess match, except it's the smell of the ice, the cool air stinging your lungs, and the huge lights creating an aura of murkiness and madness in what we consider to be a normal world. And, just like that chess match, someone always has to move first.

And it's their defenseman.

Our winger's all over him, until he finally panics, and rings the puck hard around the boards. My boards. I act on his movement, before the puck's even left his stick, and scramble to the point. The left winger also recognizes this move, and attempts to cut the puck off even before me, but our center follows him into the boards, crashing into him and allowing the puck to slam into my skate.

Like a thousand times before, without even thinking, my stick carefully toes the puck, and I backpedal, walking the blue line...my vision expanding to see everyone reacting to me.

Chess game again...it's our move this time, though.

I can't go to the logical move - the center is still tangled up with their winger along the boards. There's a winger aggressively coming out to challenge me, just as our winger forced their defenseman into a turnover. There's a titanic battle in front of the net, a frustrating mass of humanity battling it out using sticks, wits, and strength. My defensive partner, who had sunk low, has pulled away from the winger on his side, and was high along with me.

In reality, there are a million combinations of moves. As in any chess game, any move I make will also have repercussions on further moves. In effect, you want every move you make to be part of some grand plan.

So...I stop. Hard. The sound of those blades shaving off that layer of ice is electric. The puck's immediately on my backhand, yet I change and wire a hard pass right down the blue line. The sharp clap of the puck hitting my partner's blade is music to my ears. And the puck movement has allowed another piece to fall - the winger that so quickly challenged me has now overshot me, leaving me alone for a split second.

Game…

His move was essentially a poor one. My defensive partner sees the lane open, and I immediately jump into the void created by the fore checking winger, now desperately scrambling to get back. The puck gets hammered right back to me...my legs churning as I move towards the net.

As the players converge towards the net, there's actually a strange calm that slides over. The puck is maybe forty feet away from what we’d like to consider its destiny, and I'm carrying it closer and closer.

Move? Men are tied up, the holes closing fast. My eyes are glued to the goalie. He's a big man, and moves very well. I'm waiting for his shift, he's waiting for mine. I can hear the skates digging, closing the already small window I have. The puck's on my forehand...he knows I'm a shooter, not one to deke. He's waiting me out, hoping I'll commit too early, or...if I don't commit at all, allow my move to be nullified by his teammates closing the gap.

It's always a game of chess.

Set…

I do move first...dropping my right shoulder in an exaggerated display of shooting the puck. His move? Come out farther, and butterfly...his legs sprawl, taking away anything low...his glove poised, ready to snatch the puck out of midair should I go high. But his reaction leaves one area open.

Match…

By coming out of the net, he's opened up the entire backside...and the winger that furiously fore checked the defenseman into turning the puck over to begin with has slid out from behind the net.

The hard pass I send to the winger is easily handled and slammed into the open side of the net.

Afterwards, we’re laughing and joking, and sharing a cooler full of beer in the locker room. That skate is among one of the best in the area. Regularly showing up are ex-Division One players and even a couple of ex-NHL’ers.

Someone tosses me a beer while saying, “Great play out there.” There’s an exasperated rolling of the eyes from one of the younger kids.

“Yeah, it was a nice play…but what’s to get all geeked up about? Just pick up hockey…”

And I thought about that.

“Just pick up hockey? Yeah...you’re right. That’s all it is. But sometimes the simple purity of the moment allows you to re-connect with you. The universe is just a huge fucking puzzle, and I know I’ll never solve it. But what you’ll learn going through your life is quite simple. The harder you look, the less you’ll find. What you have to do is not look…but just let these things fall into your lap, and enjoy the hell out of them. Because one day, you’ll wake, and wonder where the hell your life went, and there’s no damn way you can get that back. Perfection is all around you. You just have to open your eyes and appreciate it.”

And everyone thought about what I said.

The purity of that moment -- of any moment in life -- is one to be cherished and never forgotten.