The Fat Lady sang and I tried to not listen.

Retirement finally found me.  Army Hockey was ousted in the playoffs two weeks ago, ending our season and subsequently my career.  Unfortunately the final minutes of the last game saw us down more than we could make up before the buzzer sounded.  Though still not admitting defeat, I realized that my life as a hockey player was approaching dangerously close to its demise.  The seconds kept ticking away.  Every time I looked at the game clock I cringed, not only because we were losing, but also because if the score didn't change dramatically and quickly I would never have the chance to play another game in my Army hockey uniform.  The thought was crushing. 

I decided I was not going to go down easily.  I stepped on the ice for one of my last shifts with adrenaline pumping and a fierce look of determination in my eyes.  I was going to score a goal on my final shift!

I took a few strides when suddenly the puck took a fortuitous bounce and landed on my stick.  "Here we go," I said to myself, "back of the net."  I made a move to my left to avoid a defender and picked up my speed.  Racing down the boards across center ice I realized that the opposing team was in the midst of a line change.  "Perfect," I thought, "just what I need."  There was not a defender within twenty feet of me.  The only person left to beat was the goalie.  I had a clear path.  It was going to happen.

I began thinking of where I was going to shoot the puck.  "Five-hole? No.  Low stick? No.  High glove? Yes! That's it!  I am going to finish my career with a beautiful breakaway goal capped off with a magnificent shot off the cross bar and into the back of the net." 
Crossing the blue line I started moving towards the middle of the ice as to get a better angle to shoot.  I looked up at the goalie and stared him in the eye.  I thought I saw fear -- he knew I was going to score on him.  There was nothing he could do about it other than get it over with.  I handled the puck back and forth - flashing it in front of him to fool with his mind.  It was time to shoot.

I looked backed down at the puck.  The black disc spun slowly as it moved along with me.  In a matter of seconds that little puck was going to be in the back on the net.  I wound up to shoot.  Here it was - the final goal of my career. 

The lights at Mercyhurst's Arena are not noticeably bright, but as I looked upwards I could barely manage more than a squint without being blinded.  I thought that it was a bit odd for stationary objects to be moving while I wasn't.  I also found it strange that I was five feet from the goalies crease -- an area normally flooded with players when someone has the puck, as I presumably did, but there wasn't another skater near me.  "That's strange," I thought, "Where is everyone?"  

I soon discovered that the players were at the other end of the ice...with the puck that I thought I had.  The puck that was supposed to be in the back of the net.  The puck that was going to score my last goal.  The puck that distracted from paying attention to a rapidly approaching defender careening down upon me as I was about to score my final goal. 

Wow, some hit you took," my linemate said to me as I finally dragged myself back to the bench, "he really had you lined up!"  I said nothing.  "Didn't you see him coming?" another teammate asked.  I guess not.

The ringing in my ears as I skated off the ice was certainly from the pummeling hit I took in the waning minutes of my career, but I couldn't help but think it was some crude sports joke.  A "fat lady" was singing in my ears and I desperately did not want to listen. 

I didn't find my final shift as a hockey player nearly as humorous as I do now.  In fact, it was hard to crack a smile for days following that loss (it may have had something to do with the pain in my jaw).  However, as I look back at those final events I chuckle at the immense optimism and absolute certainty I had about the goal I was going to score.  The lightheartedness I have about that final shift is something I hope to carry on over to whatever it is I'll being doing next.  I learned a lesson that day.  I learned that even when you're absolutely certain about something it may not turn out in your favor.  All you can do then is get up, skate to the bench and move on.

Thanks for reading.
#7

For this blog I decided to invite a guest writer.  Emily Williams is an athletic intern with Army sports and an aspiring journalist.  She covers numerous sports here at West Point including hockey.  When I asked her if she was interested in sharing her take on Army hockey she was a bit reluctant, but after some coercion she agreed.  Emily writes from the unique perspective of not only an athletic intern, but also the daughter of a West Point graduate.  I must say that after reading her blog I was taken a bit off guard by her gracious comments towards this year's senior class.  Thank you for those, Emily, and thank you for writing!  Enjoy.

Parades at West Point are not like typical parades. As onlookers assume their seats in the aluminum bleachers overlooking the grassy stretch of the parade ground (a.k.a. "The Plain"), the Corps of Cadets simultaneously assumes their position in formation behind the stone edifice of Eisenhower Barracks. Announcing the corps' impending entry to the plain, the fife and drum band sounds the opening notes of "The Army Goes Rolling Along." By the second measure, the men and women of the Corps march through the barracks' corridor-like sally ports that align the plain. Resembling marching statues as they take their assigned positions on the green terrain, the grey-clad cadets command the attention of all the bleachers' occupants. Over the loudspeakers, a voice resonates across the plain, "The Corps of Cadets numbers 4,400. Each year approximately 1,000 cadets join the Long Grey Line as they graduate and are commissioned as 2nd Lieutenants in the U.S. Army." Spouting off more statistics about the average cadet, the voice continues, "Seventy percent of cadets graduated in the top fifth percent of their high school classes, and over 50 percent of cadets lettered in varsity sports." After reading a long list of similar stats that I never remember, the voice ceases and the corps retreats, marching back into the stony fortress from whence they came.

As a granddaughter and daughter of West Point graduates, I have attended my fair share of these military parades, and, unlike most onlookers, the aspect that appeals to me most occurs not during the parade, but before and after when the plain is barren.

Prior to the parade, my eyes always drift to the soon-to-be-occupied parade ground. My thoughts rewind through time and, while I do think of famous past cadets such as McArthur and Eisenhower who treaded the ground in front of me and who now permanently reside on this ground in monument form, it is the past cadets whose identities have been long forgotten who consume my thoughts. I wonder what their names were, where they grew up, and what hobbies they enjoyed. After the parade, these same queries reenter my thoughts as my eyes, once again, drift towards the now recently abandoned plain. This time, however, I wonder about the current cadets whose shoe imprints are still visible in the thick, damp grass of the parade ground. Failing in my attempts to assign names and personalities to the men and women who fill these shoes, all I see are the imprints of 4,400 statistics. I find it unfortunate that the only facts my fellow onlookers and I know about these men and women are compacted into a list of figures that we may or may not remember. Consequently, as I began my internship this semester for Army athletics, my ambitions were to not only gain experience in my field of study, but to also uncover the identities of those clad in the grey.

With the majority of my time as a media intern spent interviewing coaches and players of various Army sports teams, I have come to know the cadets who not only wear the grey uniforms but who also don the Black Knights' jerseys.

One of my first interviews was back in January with the six seniors of the Army hockey team. That day, my co-worker Dennis and I were interviewing the guys for what we in the Army sports broadcasting office call "Black Knights Sound Bites." Aired once a week on the Army sports website, Black Knights Sound Bites are icebreaker questions such as "Who's your favorite actor?," "What's your favorite band?," "Who is your favorite Army Athlete?," etc. While I was preparing the camera for the interviews, Will Ryan, Zach McKelvie, and Josh Kassel came shuffling into the room. They must have been relieved to be finished with classes for the day (or some equivalent circumstance) because all three were in exceptionally high spirits.
"My favorite actor is Samuel L. Jackson," Josh chuckled, responding to the first question, "I like him because he stars in great movies like 'Snakes on a Plane' and 'Lakeside Terrace.'"
Laughter erupted from Zach and Will who were standing behind the camera.
"It's not 'LakeSIDE Terrace,'" Zach exclaimed, "It's called 'LakeVIEW Terrace.'"

I could not help but to share Zach and Will's laughter. It was quite obvious that Samuel L. Jackson was not really Josh's favorite actor. However, in a poor attempt to fool us, he failed to remember the title of Mr. Jackson's latest movie. 

As Josh, Will, and Zach continued entertaining me with their Black Knights Sound Bites responses, Mark Tilch, Bill Leahy, and Matt Hickey arrived, awaiting their turns at interrogation.   

Throughout my initial interview with the Army hockey seniors, I learned that Josh enjoys listening to the Zac Brown Band (when he is not watching Samuel L. Jackson movies, of course); Zach's favorite food is grilled cheese because he once scored two goals in high school after eating a grilled cheese; Will Ryan's favorite Army athlete is none other than his teammate Zach McKelvie because he is fond of Zach's "grace on the ice"; Mark enjoys listening to the Rolling Stones because his mom always listened to them when he was young; Bill's favorite movie is "Hook" because the idea of never growing up appeals to him; and Matt is a fan of Bob Dylan's "Subterranean Homesick Blues."

Following my first encounter with the guys, I developed a fondness for their gregarious personalities. And, over the past few months interviewing and getting to know these six seniors, I have developed a respect for them as well.  Within each of them is an extraordinary commitment to team - not just the hockey team, but also the Army team. It is humbling to witness these guys giving 110 percent everyday, fully aware that they will never play professional hockey. "Hockey may be what got me here," Matt said in one interview, "but it is not what's keeping me here." Sharing Matt's attitude, the other seniors know that upon graduation they will report to their assigned posts and serve in the U.S. Army, protecting and fighting for our country. Instead of playing for fame and recognition, they simply play for the love of the sport and for each other.

Prior to playing their last home game a couple of weeks ago, the seniors were honored for their four years of team commitment. Before the guys entered the ice, I assumed my usual spot behind the home goal. Observing the atmosphere around me, I detected no apparent difference that night at Tate Rink as opposed to any other night. Spectators were filing into their assigned seats, children were begging their parents for more popcorn from the concession stands, and the zamboni was making its final lap around the ice. After the zamboni disappeared, the announcer's voice echoed throughout the rink, "Ladies and gentlemen, please turn your attention to the ice as we honor our seniors of the 2008-09 season." Hearing the announcer over the loudspeakers, it reminded me of the voice heard before the cadet parades on the plain. This time, however, there was no reason for me to listen; I did not need an anonymous voice to convince me of the quality of the men before me.

As the seniors skated to the blue line, I did not see statistics. I saw the six guys who stole my laughs back in January and the six guys for whom I have the utmost respect. I saw friends, hockey players, soldiers, and tomorrow's leaders. I saw Josh, Zach, Will, Mark, Bill, and Matt.