was basically what I lived for through-
out highschool. I went to a school
that taught K—12 and therefore since
grade six I had admired and idolized

kicked ass in much the same way. Our
team was so formidable that nobody
could stop us...nobody but Cale and his
Detroit Red Wings.

fucked up and therefore Cale, pre-
dictably, was able to score the winning
goal 15 seconds into overtime.

Game two was a blowout, as was the

= DOWN SIDES

Darren Paterson, Sports Editor

Section Editor’s Note—This began as a
small example to point out that sports get a lit-
tle too emotional and serious sometimes.

However, it turned into a personal narrative of
my encounter with this particular down side of
sports. I just dont think I could admit to my
dark side without trying to explain it first. So,

don't be all like “What in the sweet Hell is this
tarnation, contraptionistic, floobergem!?”
Because this episode of down side is structured
much like my previous quote. But hey! You

could enjoy it even still, so read on!

 

Okay, I’m sitting here in my bed-
room and I just finished burying my
cats in the backyard. I’m a little bit upset
and so, to alleviate some of my negative
feelings, I thought I’d take this time to
tell a little personal anecdote and muse
on the down side of sports. So bear
with me here.

When I was in grade twelve I was
captain, coach, and general manager of
my intramural ball hockey team. To give
you an idea of what this meant to me,
let’s do a little back-story. This league

 

the big kids who were in the hockey
league. In grade eight, I was finally
allowed to join the league and get
pushed around by the seniors. This
was my opportunity to learn from,
and be teammates with, my idols. I
was allowed a glowing chance to be a
part of the cool group in our school
and I loved it. Now here’s the catch, I
loved this league more than life itself
and yet I had never before played
hockey. So for the next few years I was
mainly concerned with not getting in
the way, scoring my first goal, scoring a
hat-trick, and so forth. It wasn’t until my
senior year (back to that again) that I
met my best friend and teammate, Matt,
and changed my goal to winning the
prized Block Cup. I was a rarity then, a
first-time team captain in grade 12, but
my only life goal for my senior year was
to win this cup. We had a mini-draft and
I drafted three of the best players in the

league thanks to

smart advanced scouting and draft
preparation. And really, my team kicked
ass.

In the first ten seconds of the first
game of the year, I won the face-off
back to Matt. He passed the ball back to
me and I crossed the centre line (we had
no blue offside lines). I heard Matt’s
voice and, without looking, I lobbed a
pass around a closing defender right to
a wide-open Matt. He put on a wicked
deke, scored a goal, and the season had
commenced. The rest of the season

 

fe

 

-

Cale was the best player in the
league, and he had also gotten lucky in
the draft by picking up the best goal-
tender and a couple of wicked grade 12
players. Most notably in this group of
players was another of my best friends,
John. (We'll get back to his significance.)
Ergo, our two teams were the con-
tenders. And, right up until the last

game of the year, my
team was tops in the
league. Guess which
team beat us in the
very last game to
overtake first place?
Tl give you a clue:
It wasn’t not Cale’s
team.

Anyway, we still
rolled into the play-
offs as the team to
beat. And we had an
easy time cruising
through our three-
and

finals.

semis
the
Guess who we met

game
into

there? No clues
this time. You got
it, Cale’s team. The
first game was a
0-0 tie through
regulation. Scary as
crap, too. You see, I had last pick for
goaltender so I picked the sieve. Thus it
was shocking to me that we managed to
make it that deep into the game without
Detroit scoring a goal. But here’s where
I made the mistake that I still regret to
this day. Being required to make line
changes every two minutes, I always
played my top four players to close out
a game. Thinking myself unable to play
any of these four players again I was
forced to put out a weak line against
Cale. This really sucks because I
could’ve put out better players but I

The winning-is-everything attitude
that I had developed caused me to
completely lose track of who I was.

=

 

a

deciding game three. But here’s where I
get to my point. (Finally!) In game three
there was a face-off in the other team’s
zone. With my team trailing by a couple
of goals with only seconds left in the
game, our chances of coming back were
gone. But I refused to give up. I was fac-
ing off against my previously
mentioned friend John. He was a gamer,
and so when the ball was dropped he
fell on top of it to kill time and protect
it. In a sudden competitive fury, I took
my stick and crosschecked him as hard
as I could across his back. How dare he
steal my dream away from me like that!?

However, I truly regretted my lapse
in judgment. I was completely lost in a
blind rage. I’ve never lost it like that
before and certainly never expected to
on my best friend. I have apologized for
this since and he has graciously accept-
ed (but it’s probably easier to be
gracious when your name’s on the Block
Cup), and we have made amends.
However, this is a black spot in my
career in sports and represents, to me,
how competition can get out of hand. I
can’t imagine any other situation that I
have experienced, or will experience,
with my friends that I would respond to
so irrationally. The winning-is-every-
thing attitude that I had developed
caused me to completely lose track of
who I was.

But you probably don’t care much
for this drivel, so, if you’ve made it this
far, then thank you, and if you’ve
stopped reading, then me and the per-
sistent ones can shate the inside joke
that you suck balls. But anyway, thanks
for allowing me this chance to vent and
reflect a little more personally on the
down side of sports.

Oenover § 18/2000