The Fastest Doc In Canada

In the early years of the Twentieth Century the townsfolk of Antigonish, Nova Scotia would often see pre-medical student Ronald J. MacDonald nonchalantly running past horse drawn wagons and carriages on the highways surrounding their town. “What a grand doctor he’ll make”, the old folk said. “He’ll just grab up his bag and set off on the run, and be half way there before a horse could be hitched up. He can beat any horse.” (Antigonish Casket, April 24, 1947)

Ronnie J., as he was known to his friends, was perhaps the fastest physician to grace the roads and tracks of our country…and the United States. Born in 1877 at Frasers Grant, Nova Scotia, near the university town of Antigonish, Ronnie got his early running experience chasing cattle in the fields of the family farm. His father, Lauchlin “the Drover” MacDonald, made his living driving cattle and would often travel on schooners to supervise as cattle were transported around the Maritimes. Tragically, young Ronnie’s father died in 1888, when the schooner “Mary Ellen” was lost with all hands on a return trip from Newfoundland. When he was sixteen, Ronnie’s mother, Elizabeth, decided to move the family to Massachusetts. Older brother Alex became a linesman with New England Telephone and Telegraph. Ronald soon joined his brother in the linesman’s trade, but the two diverted themselves in their off hours by running with Father Scully’s gym club.

Ronnie J. showed early promise as a runner, with especial talent for the newly re-discovered “marathon”. The re-establishment of the Olympic Games by Baron deCoubertin in 1896 sparked a revival of the long distance race, inspired by the feat of a Greek runner who brought news of his nation’s stunning victory over the Persians at the town of Marathon in 490 B.C. In 1897 the Nova Scotian won the 7-mile United States Cross Country Championship. In 1898 he set a new world record for the 11-mile cross country race.

Later in 1898 MacDonald entered the newly established 25-mile Boston Marathon and became the first Canadian, and only the second person to win this event with a time of 2:42:00. The race was a bit of an upset for by the fifteen mile mark Macdonald was two and a half miles behind the 8 leading runners. With a burst of energy Ronnie surged ahead and completed the last ten miles in only 56 minutes, leaving the erstwhile leader, New Yorker Hamilton Gray, in his dust. The Boston Globe described the race as “the fastest ever run by a human being”.

Ronnie enrolled in pre-medical studies at Boston College in 1899, but continued to run, and in 1900 once again entered The Boston Marathon. Betting was legal at that time and thousands of dollars changed hands based on the outcome of the race. MacDonald put in quite a credible performance until he was handed a sponge in the latter part of the race, which turned out to be laced with chloroform. Canadian J. Caffery, from Hamilton, Ontario went on to win the race.

Despite being a Canadian citizen, Ronnie J. was chosen to represent the American Olympic Team in 1900. The 25-mile Olympic Marathon was held in Paris on a blistering hot day. MacDonald was comfortably in the lead near the end of the race, having passed the other contenders in the seventeen-man field. To his surprise he found many of the French contestants at the finish line on his arrival, looking surprisingly fresh. It was alleged that nationalistic Frenchmen had ensured their compatriots would take the top four spots in the race by providing free taxi rides.

In 1901 Ronnie competed in the Boston Marathon once again, running neck and neck with Sam Mellor, the winner, until he was forced to stop due to stomach cramps. Later that year, Ronnie moved back to Antigonish, Nova Scotia to continue his pre-medical studies at St. Francis Xavier University.

In addition to embarrassing the carriage owners of the town over the next two years he broke the Canadian three and five mile records, and went on to set a new world record for the indoor mile. Graduating from St. F.X. University in 1907, MacDonald enrolled in Tuft’s Medical School, and upon graduation completed postgraduate work at Harvard.

Dr. MacDonald went on to set up practice in the town of St. George’s and later in Aguathuna, Newfoundland. He ran his last marathon in St. John’s, Newfoundland, beating John Lorden of Ireland. In 1913 Ronnie J. married Ad Pieroway of St. George’s, subsequently raising a brood of 3 sons and two daughters. After 27 years of rural practice on the island, he chose to relocate his practice to Antigonish to provide his children with expanded educational opportunities. His last appearance at a public race was as a starter for the 1942 Highland Games (which he had won in 1901).

Tragically, Ronnie J. suffered a stroke in 1942, after which he was confined to a bed or wheelchair. He died on September 3, 1947, apparently after a seizure, and is now buried in Heatherton, Nova Scotia.

Photo Credit

Ronald John MacDonald – Public Domain

Doc Jocks: Dr. Ronald J. MacDonald is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

It was probably Wednesday or Thursday of last week when I realised that it was nearly the end of June, which meant one thing: the Tour de France was about to start.

I got excited.

I got happy.

I got a little upset because I’d only just started to get back to a normal human’s sleeping pattern, but now that the Tour was back, that was going to be thrown through the window.

Still, the Tour was on.

Stage 5 - Carhaix - Cap Fréhel

I wish that I could watch cycling all year round. It’s not that I don’t want to; trust me, I do. Every time that Phil Liggett or Paul Sherwen mention the Paris – Roubaix or the Giro d’Italia I regret not having been able to watch them.

Sadly, for the most part, all of cycling’s attention is on the Tour de France each year, and every other big event sort of gets sidelined by the networks.

In fact, let’s be honest. Here in Australia, we’re lucky to get the Tour de France, one of the biggest sporting events of the year. It has been relegated to SBS, one of the “other” free-to-air channels that we have, and the one that focuses on international current affairs and news.

But I love the Tour de France. I don’t mind the three or four hours of sitting watching men in tight lycra riding. Why? Well, maybe it’s because I can appreciate just how impressive they are, physically, athletically; but also because of the payoff at the end of a stage. Whether it’s a mountain climb or a sprint finish, there is always something happening.

Tonight was the best example. It was Stage 5, from Carhaix to Cap Fréhel, and it was a bloody roller-coaster of a finish. Take a look at the stage profile shown below and you’ll get an idea what I’m talking about, and for sprinters who usually like a nice long flat before they have to go well beyond their own personal red-lines to push themselves over the line first, a hilly finish like this is a bitch.

Tour de France '11 Stage #5 Profile

That’s why when Mark Cavendish won the stage, it was worth the previous hours’ worth sitting there, watching as time after time riders crashed and fell under the slow and sometimes torturous pace that was being set.

“Proper hard” Cavendish described the finish, but he was also extremely clear about how important the other 8 men on his team had been to his winning the stage. In fact, in most instances, when interviewed, the sprinters – who are big, gregarious and larger than life – are often the first to point to their teammates and remind the world how, without their teammates, they would be utterly useless.

Don’t like sport that much? I’d almost be willing to guarantee that you may end up liking watching the Tour de France, especially if what you do like is France. Listening to Liggett and Sherwen commentate a somewhat static sport like cycling might sound boring to you, but it’s really not. These two guys know cycling back to front, and after covering the Tour for so long, they know France pretty well too, and give you a beautiful cycling tour of the country, the history of the regions, and architectural commentary that I just love listening to. It’s really quite amazing.

All of this is what makes, for me, the Tour de France the greatest sporting event in the world. I’m always a little sporadic at this time of year; in describing why I love the Tour so much, and in sleeping, waking, working, etc. Sufficed it be said, I’ll be up late tonight watching Stage 6 of the Tour de France, no matter what I have on tomorrow. Or the next day.

Photo Credit

Photo Courtesy Tour de France.

Tour de France Sparks My Yearly Love Affair With Cycling is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

My excellent friend Dale P. sent this to me yesterday. After watching it, I knew I wanted to share it with our readers. I wondered what to say about this remarkable young man. I decided that the video and its write up are more than sufficient. I hope Manuel touches your heart as much as he has touched mine. Thank you Dale for another great find.

Manuel, thank you for your strength, your courage, and for shining your bright and wonderful spirit on us all. Truly, you are an inspiration!

Manuel de los Santos is one of sport’s most inspirational figures. Growing up in the Dominican Republic, he played baseball from a young age and by 2003 was planning to turn professional. But a motorcycle accident changed his life forever when he lost his left leg above the knee.

Following this accident, he moved to France and on seeing the film, ‘The Legend of Bagger Vance’, he was inspired to take up golf. Now 26 years old, Manuel lives in Paris and plays to a handicap of just three, competing in high profile tournaments all around the world. His extraordinary golf swing has become instantly recognisable.

Peter Montgomery read about Manuel at the end of 2009 and had the idea of making a film about him. This short documentary portrait is the result.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Manuel De Los Santos is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

Author Star Weiss takes a trip to an ice filled magical arena filled with pomp, circumstance and emotion.

I’m a sucker for figure skating, even though I still can’t tell the difference between a triple salchow and a triple loop, no matter how many careful diagrams they publish ahead of time in the local paper.

So, when the 2011 Canadian Figure Skating Championships came to Victoria recently, I was there, in the front row, just behind the CBC camera guys, (sometimes craning my neck around the TV camera) the day the senior competition began. In fact, I arrived early so I could watch—for the first time ever—some of the skaters’ practice sessions.

Very few people, I’ve learned, go that early, so the arena was nearly empty and the skaters just a couple of blade’s lengths away. The ice dancers were warming up, three or four pairs on the ice at a time…and yes, inevitably, there was one small back to back collision, but both skaters turned briefly to check the other out, and all was well. I imagine that happens a lot.

Each twosome was given a chance to practice to their own music, although others competitors were still on the ice. Couples would stop suddenly, in mid-manoeuvre, glide and chat a bit, and then pick up the music perfectly at a different point…complete mastery over their material. One couple (turns out they were from BC) clearly commanded the rink from the moment they set foot on it, all black, blond and dazzle I was close enough to hear the distinctive scraping of edged blades on ice as various skaters swooped by.

It goes without saying that they were young, fit, good-looking, and smiling, although during practice sessions the performers’ mask sometimes drops and a serious expression appears momentarily. It’s a little unsettling to see how instantaneously the smiles are put back on, but one of the truisms of figure skating is that it always combines extreme athleticism and skill with professional showmanship and entertainment value. Which makes me think it must be one of the most difficult competitive sports of all. (Can you think of any other sport where you are expected to smile while in the midst of your most dangerous moves?)

The opening ceremonies were next. The competition began with a pair who started off with a big throw, a clean jump and applause. I got goosebumps.

A skater fell and the crowd emitted a collective “Ohhhh” in commiseration. My eyes misted up unexpectedly. I couldn’t help it.

There’s something about being there, beside the ice, part of the collective consciousness, that pulls you in. The music enfolds you. When one pair hams it up with a Western theme, the crowd is completely won over, on its feet. Of course I am too. It’s irresistible.

There’s something inimitably Canadian about excelling on ice. If hockey is our yang go-for-the-gusto team sport, figure skating is our yin, elegant intricate individualized pursuit of beauty and perfection. We own it. And there is something deeply satisfying about this love affair.

Photo Credits:

Mylne Brodeur  John Mattatall,

Patrick Chan

Feature Pic Shawn Sawyer

Courtesy of Skate Canada.

Being There… is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

Dare We Compare? is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

Climb On! is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

On an island in the Caribbean, the small town friendliness is as enticing as the white sandy beaches.

Choosing to live on a Caribbean Island offers many obvious benefits — soft white sand beaches, crystal clear blue sea, lush tropical foliage, and sunrises and sunsets beyond compare. Then there is a benefit that I was pleasantly surprised to encounter—becoming a member of the Roatan Global Village. It’s proving to be small town living at its best.

Now admittedly, small town living has its downsides too, anonymity is not an option. It can be said that if you are on the east end of the Island and sneeze, by the time you drive to the west end (at most 37 miles away) people will ask if you have pneumonia. But that kind of everybody-knows everybody-else’s-business (with exaggerated details) happens in any close knit community.

The bonus to the small town living feel on an Island in the Caribbean Sea is that we share our differences. I came from Canada with an understanding of snow tires and toques (that’s a knit winter hat), maple dip donuts and Tim Horton’s coffee. And by the way — as you chuckle to yourself—I say, “out and about” not “oot and aboot.”

I now count among my friends fellow Roatan(ian’s) who have come to call Roatan home from just about every country you could name. We all brought our cultural habits and preferences, and, okay, so I too giggle at how others pronounce words compared to me.

We, the members of the Roatan Global Village spend a lot of time together—somebody is always calling a meeting—whether it is to cheer on each other’s sports teams (unless of course our home country is a contender) or celebrate each other’s holidays and traditions. We come together to support common causes, and to praise accomplishments.

We band together for friends in need, and to mourn the loss of others. And if there isn’t a specific reason to have a meeting, we’ll get together just because!

And I’m happy to report that as a member of the Roatan Global Village, I now know that; shrimp are stimp, conk is how you pronounce conch, and tomorrow/next week/a month from now/maybe never, is pronounced mañana!

Photo Credits

All photos © Genny RossBarons. All Rights Reserved.

The Roatan Global Village is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

A new dad offers tips on how you can play hockey and still be in your family’s good books.

October is my favourite month of the year. The National Football League is in full swing, Major League Baseball has its World Series and the National Hockey League is starting up. For a sports fan, there is an overload of sports programming on television, especially when you consider NCAA football on Saturdays.

But as much as I love watching sports, there is nothing like playing the games. This year I might have gone a little overboard — last season was my first back playing ice hockey and I loved every minute of it. When the season was over in April, our team captain had a summer shinny game once a week on Sundays throughout the summer and I played in a summer league in Vancouver. Oh, and I played the occasional shinny game on Thursday mornings before work.

This year, I am playing league hockey again and organizing my own shinny game once a week. The guys and gals I play hockey with are amazed …

“Didn’t you just have a baby a couple of months ago?”

“You look more refreshed than before the baby!”

“You have the coolest wife in the world!”

“Do you mind if I take notes when you talk to your wife when asking to play sports?”

Honestly, due to the game times being between 8pm and 11pm, I found that I have enough time to spend with my wife and baby. We are still able to sit down for dinner together, I am able to put my daughter to bed at night and help out around the house on the weekends during the day. So really, are two or three nights (sometimes mornings) of playing really all that bad?

So for all you who think you cannot balance both, trust me you can. But just remember that in any relationship, there is give and take. So you may find the following rules helpful:

1. Get home quickly after the game ends: Don’t think that just because you are out of the house you are free to do whatever you want. Remember that you are out to play the game, not drink beers for an hour after the game.

A friend of mine played a late game, had a few drinks with the guys afterwards and called his wife — who was sleeping, as was their eight month year old daughter — to pick him up. Long story short, daughter wakes up and cries all night and wife DECIDES that husband will not play hockey for the rest of the week.  Lesson learned, he is the first one out of the showers now.

2. Help out around the house the best you can on game days: Washing the dishes, cleaning toilets, changing diapers and vacuuming are all positives in ensuring your wife will not make a big deal of when you are about to leave.

Trust me, sitting around all day at home in front of the TV when there is a lawn to mow or cars to wash does not sit well at the best of times. So if you do nothing all day and then get ready to go out and play sports, don’t be surprised if your wife is ‘displeased’ with you.

3. Make sure you spend quality time with you family: Since my hockey schedule is set a few months in advance, I make sure to books trips or outings on days and weekends that I am not playing. Whether it is going out for dinner or taking a road trip Vancouver Island, I make sure that my wife and daughter spend enough time with me, especially now in the early stages of parenthood.

My wife needs me to organize our social events because, being a first time mother, she finds herself buried in housework and taking care of the baby. Now more than ever she now she needs time to enjoy herself with her family outside of the house. So although I can find the time to enjoy myself, it is important to understand she needs her social time as well.

These are just a few tips to help all you who love sports to make sure you get an adequate time to enjoy yourself. Like I mentioned earlier, it’s all about give and take. So if you happily give your family your time and effort, they in return will be happy to see you enjoying yourself doing something you love.

Photo Credit

“Calgary Flames Baby Booties”

Until next time.

New Dad and All, But I Still Have Time for Ice Hockey! is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

There’s a madness that enters certain people’s eyes when they talk about sailing and the sea. I’m not talking about those folks who don Hawaiian shirts, book a week in the Caribbean aboard a charter boat then come home loaded with rum and stories of the Main. I’m speaking of the real madmen (and women). The ones who are blowed-in-the-glass sailors; the ones who love North Atlantic greybeards; and those who only take the outside passage from Ushuaia to Buenos Aires. My friend Derek Hatfield is one of those madmen.

Sailing is a great time waster. In years past, I would disappear for days only to wash up in some Great Lake port hundreds of miles from home. Now, I often waste entire mornings on Skype talking with my old buddy Bobby Lush in Montreal about sailing.

Bob and I worked together when I edited a national yachting magazine and he was one of the first guys I encountered whose eyes lit up with that blue-zeal light. Bob has single-handed back and forth across the Atlantic since the mid-seventies and Shelagh MacKenzie featured him in the 1982 National Film Board of Canada film Singlehanders.

We stay in touch over the America’s Cup and yak about other events taking place far out to sea and far beyond the ken of the common herd.

On the other hand Derek and I don’t talk that much. He’s too busy; still he’s an incredible guy. Actually a hero of mine, but I won’t tell him that to his face. We stay in touch through the press releases his wife Patianne and others send out.

The latest though came from the race committee of the Velux 5 Oceans Race and describes Derek learning emergency medicine by sewing pig’s knuckles together to make sure he’s ready for the big race.

Derek is also an offshore, around the world, single-hander – in other words a real blowed-in-the-glass sailorman.

Derek recently arrived in La Rochelle, France, with his boat Active House. Active House is a recycled sixty-foot, Eco 60 racing yacht named for his sponsor.

The Eco 60 is built for sailing downwind (with the wind behind it) following the route of the old clipper ships. It is long, narrow, flat-bottomed and ultra lightweight – blistering fast.

Ocean racing uses these boats because the newest represent state-of-the-art technology. The difference is that the boats used in the Velux 5 Oceans are second hand. They have to have been built before Jan. 2003.

This makes the boats affordable and gives the million-dollar plus boats a second life and keeps them out of the junkyards. They are also not the kind of used boat you buy for Sunday cruising on English Bay.

Unlike athletes in mainstream sports, these sailormen (also factor women into the general taxonomy) on the fringes are more interesting and adventurous, but need more help. Ergo the sponsor.

The 5 Oceans race is named for the five oceans the racers will have to cross to win – North Atlantic, South Atlantic, Indian, Pacific, and Southern Oceans. In crossing these alone, competitors will sail somewhere around 30,000 miles and unlike golfers, can’t bail because of the weather.

Okay, what makes a man nuts enough to head down to a place where the only things he has for companionship are icebergs and penguins? It sure ain’t the North American fame factor.

The Europeans love sailing and view pro sailors in the same light we reserve for football and basketball players.

I once asked Derek what made him do it and his answer was his love of competition.

Nice cliché Derek. Right up there with the great cliché lesson in the movie Bull Durham. You’ve got to say those kinds of things when your biggest challenge is not a 40-foot wave, but hunting the money to send you scooting down the face of that wave.

Perhaps closer to the truth is the story about taking his family to Macdonald’s in Paris, being recognized and having to sign autographs. I suspect he really enjoyed that. Dorothy Gale knew her heart’s delight was at home with dear old Aunty Em in Kansas, but once Derek slips his line, he ain’t I Kansas anymore and he has to leave the comfort of home to find his heart’s desire. Whatever that may be.

Derek raced Active House in the Velux 5 Oceans Race which began October 17th , and over the course of report on his progress here at Life As A Human I will try to answer the question – what makes him do it?

Photo Credits

All photos @ World Wide Image Inc. except for “Derek Hatfield and His Children in France” Copyright 2010 © Ainhoa Sanchez

The Madness to Challenge Five Oceans is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

Although born in Canada, I spent the formative childhood years in the United States at a time and place in which hockey was not something many people played and followed.

I never really followed the game much until my nine-year-old stepdaughter, Meaggie, started playing Novice level hockey in our hometown of Lantz, Nova Scotia. Suddenly I was thrust into the midst of a sport about which I knew very little. Attending her first game sort of felt like attending my first neuro-anatomy lecture. In both cases I felt totally lost!

I decided to make a concerted effort to demystify the game. After all, I finally did manage to figure out neuro-anatomy, so how hard could hockey be?

My first step was to purchase the book HOCKEY FOR DUMMIES. After all, Mark Messier says right on the front cover, “…Hockey for Dummies will turn you into one” — and he should know what he’s talking about. (Okay, I deserve a two-minute penalty for quoting out of context from John Davidson’s excellent book).

Why is Hockey, Hockey?

First of all, the word “HOCKEY” apparently derives from the French word “hoquet” or “bent stick” (not to be confused with the Yiddish, “twisted shtick”). Its first North American appearance was in Nova Scotia, where freezing soldiers, running out of rum to stay warm, hit upon the idea of skating about like madmen on frozen bodies of water flailing sticks at each other in order to raise body temperature.

This apparently struck a chord across the country and soon freezing Canadians everywhere were getting into the act. In 1892, Lord Stanley, impressed with the game, donated a huge and rather ugly trophy known as THE STANLEY CUP, which became the Holy Grail of hockey.

With this vital historical information I was ready for my first encounter with Novice Hockey, starting in the locker room. Donning hockey gear makes scrubbing for the Operating Room look like child’s play. Apparently one of the most vital pieces of equipment is the HOCKEY CUP (or “hockey mug” as Meaghan once called it). Please note that while THE STANLEY CUP is technically a “hockey cup,” it should never be worn, though no doubt some have tried.

Other pieces of gear include various pads, garter belts, hose and assorted paraphernalia, like something from twisted Victoria’s Secrets catalog for heavy steroid users. Power point: tie your kid’s laces real tight or the child will look like they need the attention a good orthopedic surgeon out on the ice.

Next, after taking my seat in the stands, I harnessed my keen powers of observation to absorb as much practical information as possible about the game. Here are the fruits of my labors.

Zambonis, Pucks and Wings

My first observation was that the most important man in the rink drives a vehicle with a name like an Italian dessert — the Zamboni. Before the game begins this gent resurfaces the scarred and pitted ice to pristine smoothness in a way that which would be the envy of any cosmetic surgeon. I also noticed that the playing arena or RINK is decorated with lovely BLUE and RED LINES, five attractive circles and two semi-circles. Although this gives the RINK a festive look, I later found that there were functional uses for these markings as well. Oh yes, the RINK is covered with ICE.

At any one time there are supposed to be six players on each team. One fellow, who appears to be more heavily armored than his teammates, stays in the CREASE, or semi-circle in front of the net. He or she is constantly bombarded with a hard rubber disk called a PUCK (apparently not named for the elf in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, though both fly and are capable of causing a lot damage).

In Novice hockey, the GOALIE’S job is to strike imaginative and entertaining poses, while allowing the PUCK to pass between her legs, under her arms or bounce off various portions of her anatomy before it enters the net. She is also equipped with a stick larger than that of his teammates, which she uses to keep from falling down and with which she occasionally and apparently unintentionally blocks the PUCK from entering the net.

Of the remaining five players two are designated as DEFENSE and theoretically are supposed to prevent the opposing team members from getting too close to the GOALIE. There are three players who are designated as OFFENSIVE, though frankly I did not find their behavior any worse than that of any one else on the ice. One is called RIGHT WING and the other LEFT WING. The CENTER stands between these two, presumably to settle any political differences in an amicable manner so that everyone can get on with the game.

Getting Onside with “Offside”

Hockey has a vocabulary as esoteric as that of medicine. Unfortunately, Latin 100 class will not allow you to figure out the meaning of these terms as they appear in deceptively plain English. Don’t be fooled. When they called someone for ICING the first time I kept wondering where the cake was. When I finally realized there was no cake I still couldn’t figure why they kept blowing the whistle every time a puck was fired down the rink toward the opposing side. Wasn’t this the reason they were playing in the first place? After the whistle blew they had something called a FACE-OFF. Despite the name, all the players’ faces appeared to remain firmly attached.

OFFSIDES was another term that baffled me for a while. As close as I can figure out, the REFEREE (that’s the guy in the striped pajamas) just waits until one team gets a good run on the opposition’s goal, then maliciously blows his whistle and spoils all the fun, making everyone go back and do another FACE-OFF.

It’s the Penalty Box for You

PENALTIES, at least at the Novice Level, were rarely called. Just to clarify one thing, if your daughter is called for HOOKING, don’t panic. It simply means she slowed another player down by “hooking” her stick around them. Though one may see TRIPPING, SLASHING, SPEARING and other horrific forms of behavior, at the Novice level it appears to be mostly unintentional and aimed at self or fellow teammates as often as the opposition. Later on, players tend to direct these activities more towards opposing team members.

If called for a PENALTY, the player is made to sit in a PENALTY BOX. This is a bit like a “time out” for being naughty and the length of time in the PENALTY BOX depends on exactly how naughty you’ve been. Parents in the stands often take issue with the REFEREE or LINESMAN’S decisions in this regard. From parental comments I was touched to learn that most of these officials are hired as part of a pro-active employment program for the perceptually challenged.

At the end of the game each team appears to vent their accumulated frustrations by pelting their GOALIE with blows and bear hugs, then line up and wish their opponents well. Often an MVP is named (Most Vituperative Parent?) Then everyone goes Tim Horton’s and has hot chocolate.

So there you have the fine points of Novice Hockey in a nutshell (a term also synonymous with “hockey mug” I believe). Armed with this information, even the rankest tyro should be able to razz the referee in a knowledgeable and informed manner at their next hockey game.

Photo Credits

“Hockey Ice” courtesy of cbc.ca

Hockey for Dummies by John Davidson

“Hockey Equipment” courtesy of www.puckbrain.com

“Olympic Zamboni” Photographer Unknown

On Thin Ice (or Hockey for Dummies Made Even Easier) is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN