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.
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